Compared to that time at the desert oasis, half an hour wasn’t long; it was restraint drawn tight like a bowstring.

Yet the fallout dwarfed the last time for both Adelaide and Mira, like storm surf after a calm.

Because this time, Adelaide stayed awake, mind clear like a cold lake that still hid something feral beneath.

Awake isn’t the right word; her eyes had gone pink, a cherry-blush that screamed not normal.

Back then, Eilinoru blossom sap toppled her, let her sleep off the aftermath and dump cleanup on Mira.

She’d wake easy, carefree, and forget everything like mist, dodging responsibility with a smile.

This time, it flipped; Mira’s body was weak as paper, and Adelaide didn’t drink much, yet Mira flagged early.

Her reactions shrank to faint spasms, then she melted boneless into the bath like a dropped silk scarf.

When the wildfire in Adelaide’s lower belly finally cooled, she saw Mira beneath her, chest barely rising.

Water or sweat ran down that perfect curve like glass rain, and there wasn’t even the option to flee.

She swallowed the urge to bash her head on the tile, then wiped Mira dry, wrapped bandages, dressed her.

After that, she staggered out of the bath with Mira in her arms, like carrying warm porcelain through fog.

Maybe it was the blood’s effect; her body didn’t crash, though her mind felt scorched like sun-baked clay.

Trying not to replay it stained her cheeks crimson; her soul drifted, snagged by the soft weight on her back.

And that camellia scent made her want to turn and bite again, a sweet thread tugging her hunter’s teeth.

When she wobbled the door open, she missed the shadow waiting there—Varie, small round beast-ears twitching madly.

Adelaide ignored her and walked straight to her own tent, like a sleepwalker fleeing moonlight.

Then, a night with no sleep, time ticking like sand through glass.

In the morning, a soft cough at the tent flap plucked her up from bed like a harp string.

She stepped out and faced the tall beastman Varie had called a beanpole, standing like a post.

"The Hero has urgent business and hopes you can come this morning."

"I’m not in the mood—"

"It’s important. Please understand."

The solemn cut-in, the bruised moons under his eyes—Adelaide stalled, not catching the point at first.

It didn’t matter; Varie spelled it out to her face like chalk on slate.

"Finger-fiddler, you’re not even hiding it, and you aren’t my Nacha underling, so I don’t care what you do—"

"—but you do not use my bathroom for that. Did you hear me?"

"Eh?"

Inside Varie’s tent, Adelaide froze under the blunt opening like a deer in torchlight.

"And your noise last night was too loud. Nacha folk are sensitive to night sounds; wake us, we can’t sleep again."

"Don’t you Empire people know that?"

"I… we… didn’t…" Adelaide’s mouth hung open; her pale skin flushed a vivid, telltale red.

"Don’t say didn’t. At least six siblings asked me for sleep-mist leaves this morning—because of what you did in the bath."

"We did not mess around!"

The heavy table slap from the tent cracked the air; mana hummed with a dangerous resonance.

Adelaide panted, one hand braced on the table, the other fisting Varie’s collar, shame steaming off her face.

"We didn’t mess around!"

She shouted it again, ripped her hand free, and stormed out, leaving Varie blinking, baffled.

"What the hell? How are you the one getting mad, Nacha curse and all?"

Adelaide didn’t hear Varie’s grumbling. She kept her head down and walked, anger knotting like brambles inside.

Last night was torture enough for her mind, and now she learned it was basically broadcast to the whole caravan.

She grabbed her head, squatted, and groaned, misery pooling like cold water in her bones.

"Maybe use hypnosis and erase every listener’s memory?"

The dark idea surfaced and slid into place, a blade that fit the sheath too well.

"Right, last night wasn’t what she wanted… and they were eavesdropping, disgusting. It’s their fault."

"She’d just be protecting her privacy, fair and square, like drawing a curtain against nosy crows."

"Do it. Knock on each wagon, tag every dark-eyed face with sleep, and if hypnosis fails…"

"Then use the physical kind of amnesia—"

She sketched methods in her head like ink plans, while shoving blame to every edge she could find.

Mira’s too-perfect back; the mutated Eilinoru flower that traced a strange pattern on her lower belly;

Firefly’s wound on Mira that sent her blood scent blooming; the beastfolk girl who carved her mark first and sparked jealousy.

But no matter how she dodged, a sharp voice stung her like a bee’s needle of self-questioning.

"Adelaide, last night… why did you do that?"

"Uwah—"

She groaned again, hugging her head on the ground, but the venting broke off mid-sigh.

"Uh… sister?"

Adelaide snapped her head up. The tent flap lifted, and Mira stood there, looking at her ridiculous crouch.

She popped up like a sponge released from a press, spring-loaded to her feet.

"Mi—Mira, g-good morning. Why are you out of bed? Go, lie down, quickly."

"Mm."

Mira watched Adelaide’s broken words and cherry-red face, and seemed to understand.

She nodded and let Adelaide guide her back onto the bed, moving like drifting petals.

Once she lay down, she caught Adelaide’s hand, stopping that flushed escape artist at the doorway.

She shifted, leaving space on the mattress for one more.

"We… can talk a little?"

Adelaide’s steps locked. After a breath, she nodded, mechanical, and sat where Mira patted, careful not to touch.

The quiet thickened. Mira drew a deep breath, braced herself like before a dive, and spoke.

"Sis, you know, that bathroom uses Elf design, and Elves… their worldview is different from ours."

Adelaide jerked a nod like a frog poked on a nerve, then blinked, realizing what Mira meant.

"You mean… the Elves? The ones who created most spells?"

Mira bowed her chin, confirming Adelaide’s guess.

"They’re big on…" She paused, weighing words. "On entertainment. Culture that prizes pleasure."

Adelaide’s heart skipped a beat like a drum tripped.

"Those features are meant to induce, and the wall sigils carry hints, easy to trigger… certain impulses—"

"Mira, I’m sorry."

"While you were analyzing last night, I already gave up resisting. I admit it."

"You were hurt, and I—"

"It’s okay." Mira shook her head before she finished. "I don’t think it was your fault."

"Eh?"

"Truth is, I’ve been hiding things from you."

She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her blue gaze carried a quiet resolve, clear as winter sky.

"I understand now. If it’s need, not accident—if you can’t hold back—tell me directly."

Tell her? Tell Mira she wanted her blood? The idea flared like a blush under the skin.

"It feels strange while we do it, but I… I’m fine with it."

Adelaide stared at her. Mira’s cheeks picked up a soft pink, shy as dawn.

Safety washed over Adelaide, a steady trust like a warm wind, scattering her jagged anxiety.

After a long half-minute, Adelaide turned her hand and laced their fingers together, a quiet braid of warmth.

In Mira’s brief surprise, Adelaide rested her head on Mira’s shoulder.

"Until you’re better, I absolutely won’t…"

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

In the dressing mirror facing the bed, Mira’s reflection showed a small smile, clear as a crescent.

The sisters leaned together and let the easy silence breathe, like tea cooling in afternoon light.

Only when hurried footsteps rattled the tent entrance did Adelaide lift her head and unwind her arm.

The charged mood thinned, yet it felt different from before, like it still hid somewhere, quietly running.

"I’ll go check."

She said that and stepped out of the tent.

And saw Anta standing there, holding a bowl of steaming noodles, heat ghosting up like morning mist.