That night, Mira found nothing to rebut that tabloid spread, like combing a beach for a single clean shell and coming up empty.

If anything, the banquet only stitched the author’s words tighter, thread by thread, until they felt like silk pulled taut across her ribs.

Adelaide and Miss Lian Ke were close—so close Mira couldn’t lie to herself. “Just friends” sounded like paper trying to muffle a storm.

If “darling” could be friendly, and casual handholding could be friendly, then what about the dance? When they finally moved as one on the floor, pressed together as close as Mira once was with her sister during the Trial of Beauty, was that still “friendly”?

Reality stood in front of her, cold as a sword’s flat against her cheek, and wouldn’t let her deny it.

Adelaide was charming a luminary. Their intimacy eclipsed what Mira had known; even the small play of fingers between them drew squeals, like spring birds losing their minds. Every reporter lifted their image-slate, lantern eyes fixed on the pair.

Irony stung. Lian Ke’s estate had become the safest place for Mira; no one wanted their gaze to stray half a heartbeat from the two beauties on stage.

By contrast, even if the figure on the eaves stepped out of shadow now, no one would notice her. Not with the moon drinking in all attention.

Mira tightened a fist over her chest. Something inside had its tail set on fire, a frantic porcupine darting and shrieking, driving dull needles through the soft wall of her heart.

The only mercy was that the dance didn’t end in a kiss. That brief warmth flickered, then turned to ash as she realized how petty that relief was. Shame flooded deeper, like ink seeping through silk.

She shouldn’t have come.

When she decided to, what had she been hoping for?

To see her sister keep dodging Miss Lian Ke, holding a careful distance at every turn? Was that even possible? If things were that strained, Adelaide wouldn’t have come to Lian Ke’s manor at all.

Wasn’t this, honestly, inevitable?

Before, Adelaide’s restraint in public had a reason: Mira, the “mysterious Elf,” hovered at her side like a veil. A rumor that breathed.

But once Mira vanished from the crowd’s eyes, someone had to fill that space—whether for popularity, or for headlines.

And a beautiful, warm, open Elf lady willing to stand beside Adelaide at the tip of the wind and wave—wasn’t that the perfect choice?

Her mind said so. Her lips bled anyway. Her body froze, like a traveler caught in the far north wind. Even when Adelaide and Lian Ke embraced and parted, even when the public ball ended and the hall emptied, Mira still stood, rigid in shadow.

She didn’t know how she left. She only remembered stumbling through roofs and tiles, knocking loose bits of brick, almost getting spotted by patrolling Elves again and again.

The danger didn’t register. When her senses returned, she stood before Adelaide’s door at the Fana Family residence.

She should have come straight here. Yet her hand reached for the door and stalled midair, trembling like a leaf that couldn’t fall.

What’s wrong with me?

Something inside felt lit. Every breath burned her throat. It wasn’t her first time. Back in the Empire, when they tried to pair Samir with her sister, she had endured it. So why did this hurt like frostbite now?

Miss Lian Ke matched Samir on every measure. Mira had asked around in a teahouse before sneaking into the ball; Lian Ke was the true top of society. Connections on tap, networks like rivers. Hosting a public ball confirmed it. Just like Prince Samir, she could offer Adelaide everything Mira could give—and everything Mira couldn’t.

So the old question returned, bare and unanswered.

Mira Izabella—what are you expecting?

There’s nothing to agonize over, is there? Even if this isn’t politics—if Adelaide truly cares for that woman—that’s her choice. Mira should, Mira can only, be happy for her. Had she forgotten the vow at Adelaide’s sickbed, fingers curled around those brittle bones? Forgotten who she was? What right did a person like her have to feel that shameful—

Ease?

Her thoughts spiraled hotter, but her body stilled. Her hands dropped, a faint tremor fading into night. Her gaze fell too. Only a door separated her from Adelaide, yet she didn’t dare look at the paper lattice window. The shadow inside felt like a mirror to her selfishness, and she couldn’t bear it.

Until the door flew open, and a hand yanked her inside.

The door slammed. Soft warmth wrapped her wrist—skin she knew, a touch she hadn’t felt in far too long.

No time to savor it. Her knee hit something. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tip her forward, tumbling into—

Soft cotton.

“Shh. Don’t speak.”

A whisper. Another layer of cotton settled over her like a quiet snow.

Through the blanket, footsteps blurred past the door. Voices tangled, anxious. Knuckles thudded against wood.

“Adelaide! Are you okay? Open up—”

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

Adelaide’s voice, gentle as lamplight, cut through. The door opened again. Qingning stood there with a cluster of Fana Family guards, her expression shocked.

“It’s late, Qingning,” Adelaide asked, mild and puzzled. “What’s all this?”

Qingning glanced at her innocent face and faltered. “Eh? I just saw a robed creep standing at your door…”

“A robed creep?” Adelaide blinked, baffled.

“Yeah! I heard something in the yard and looked—scared me half to death!” Qingning had gone pale. “Really, that figure was like a statue—no, like a shadow. Right at your door. Didn’t move. I didn’t even notice her at first!”

I thought the Carne Family was at it again, pulling something dirty, so I called the guards. Did anyone harass you or threaten you— She talked fast, hands sketching what she’d seen, painting the “creep” into the air. Adelaide kept that same innocent, uncomprehending look.

“But I didn’t notice anything.”

“But—”

Adelaide raised a hand, stopping the protest, and sighed.

“Don’t get worked up. I’m standing here, aren’t I?” She stepped aside, almost theatrically, revealing the room. “I’m fine. You must’ve misseen.”

“Huh? Misseen…?”

Adelaide shrugged. “If the Carne Family really sent an assassin, why would she plant herself at my door and do nothing?”

The logic snagged. Qingning hesitated, deflated. “You mean I… just saw a hallucination?”

“Maybe the moon’s shadow looked like a person. I’ve misseen that before.” Adelaide softened her tone, slow and understanding. “Qingning, I know Silan’s recent moves have put you under pressure. Everyone gets jumpy when things tighten. It’s normal. Don’t worry.”

Qingning still looked unsettled. She wanted to argue, but her eyes swept the room. As Adelaide said, there was no other shadow inside.

She checked again. And again. Finally, she bowed her head.

“Sorry. Guess I was being twitchy… Disturbing your rest—my bad.” She turned, ready to leave with the guards.

At the last step, she paused, something unspoken tugging her back. She looked up at Adelaide.

“Adelaide, honestly… you’ve had it worse than us lately.” She faltered, worry shading her voice. “If there’s anything we can do, please tell us. Okay?”

It sounded like words she’d wanted to say for a long time.

Adelaide blinked, then offered a neat, warm smile and nodded.

“Mm. I will.”

With that promise, Qingning’s shoulders loosened. She left with the guards.

Adelaide closed the door. Once the footsteps faded, she layered a new soundproofing spell on the wood. Then she turned to the bed, where a lump rose like a hidden pillow under a quilt, and spoke.

“So, Miss Assassin—why were you standing outside my door, doing nothing, for half the night?”