At Adelaide’s words, Mira jolted like a sparrow from a hedge, palms braced on the mattress, wriggling out from the sheltering quilt. “Sorry, I… I spaced out! I—”

Her voice scattered like dropped beads. Adelaide eased her back with a gentle tide of pressure, and her head sank into a cloud-soft pillow.

“It’s late. Let your words lie where you lie.”

Mira froze, mind a blank slate under moonlight, not grasping the intent. But Adelaide wasn’t speaking in riddles; she simply lifted the quilt and slid in beside her, turned onto her left, and angled her face to Mira.

“So, why did you come back, Mira?”

Just like in all their rehearsal runs on the road, Adelaide’s first serious line after the teasing was the expected question.

Shoved onto the bed, Mira finally caught up with herself. Though she lay flat, tension ran through her like drawn bowstring; she recited her prepared words with a clockwork cadence.

“I—I know the Carne Family’s still hunting me, but this thing ties into the final Flower Dancer trial. Varie and the others aren’t there; I don’t have anyone I trust. The safest way was bringing it myself…”

She’d almost let a wild thought give her away, and just returning to the Elf capital broke Adelaide’s first directive; her nerves knotted like wet rope, making her tongue trip.

Yet, despite her nearly lighting a fuse, Adelaide didn’t show the annoyance Mira braced for. No frown, no cold shoulder—just those scarlet eyes catching moonlight.

In them, Mira saw a glint—expectation.

Hope lifted inside her like a paper lantern; maybe this would work? She pulled the vial and the Magic Crystal Stone from her arms, explaining as she pressed them into Adelaide’s hands, eager to answer that expectant gleam.

But the moment slipped sideways.

Evidence that could tip the “truth” trial should’ve sparked delight. Adelaide didn’t even twitch a brow. She skimmed them, then offered a perfectly polite smile.

“Thanks. You did bring two fine things to plug Silan’s mouth, Mira~”

Her tone stayed airy, but Mira’s heart dropped like a stone in a well.

She’d noticed it. Even though Adelaide masked it with seamless grace, Mira still saw it—the instant she revealed the proof, that flicker of expectation went out, replaced by a brief, thin shadow of disappointment.

Contrary to the words, this wasn’t what Adelaide wanted.

They lay there, sharing a quilt and separate thoughts, and silence pooled between them like still water.

After a beat, perhaps to break the brittle air, Adelaide spoke first.

“So, Mira, did you just get back here?”

“…I arrived around noon today.”

Mira’s answer wrung the topic dry like a drought maid twisting a bare towel, and even Adelaide—usually silver-tongued—showed a trace of helplessness, weighing how to rescue the limp conversation.

Yet, compared to what Mira blurted next, that line was practically high EQ.

“I saw… you and Miss Lianke.”

“…Ah.”

Adelaide’s lips parted; she stalled for half a breath, gaze drifting like a leaf.

Regret hit Mira the instant the words escaped. What was she doing? Was this the time to bring that up? With what right to sound hurt? It was like blaming her sister—shameless—

Adelaide cut through the storm with a clean blade. “It was just for show. Elves love that kind of spectacle—you know.”

The chaos in Mira’s head stilled like dust after rain. She lifted her face. Adelaide seemed to read the knot and gave the answer Mira most craved.

“Is… is that so?”

“Of course.”

All the knots before their reunion, all those rooftop handkerchief-biting spirals, evaporated in that promise. Mira felt her heartbeat again; thawed blood pumped through chambers that had gone numb, a fine tremor rising from the core—call it obsession or softness, one line flooded her with joy.

She watched Adelaide, face to face on the bed. Silver hair spilled into her palm like moonlight. The Magic Crystal Stone lamp on the desk glazed Adelaide’s profile; her thin ear turned ruby through the light. She wore that warm smile Mira loved, like when they used to whisper under one quilt as children.

For a breath, a wordless peace outweighed her rightful guilt, and a foolish grin tugged at her lips—

Until her gaze caught Adelaide’s spare collarbone and, beyond it, the desk.

It was clearly her work table; scattered letters and bamboo slips told the story. Not a mountain, just a thin layer, yet Mira’s pupils tightened. Papers lay in a storm’s drift, and the cabinet below gaped with crammed corners of mail. It looked like the owner had shoved a little mountain of letters and scrolls inside in a rush, not wanting the visitor to see.

The desk wasn’t done speaking.

Beyond the stack that would take days, what stopped Mira were several small bottles. In the hurried tidying, they’d been left out, nudged toward the edge; one hung with a third of its base over air, ready to drop.

It hadn’t dropped. Through the notch between Adelaide’s collarbone and slender neck, Mira saw the half-suspended bottle and the pale yellow liquid inside.

She knew it. Spinal fluid.

Yes—spinal fluid. A handy sacrifice for a Blood Mage. More than its combat edge, that tissue’s practical trait is keeping one awake.

Mira knew what that meant. The last time she’d seen it was in her sister’s room.

It was winter. Adelaide had caught a cold and skipped school for days. Worried, Mira slipped back to the Douglas Family at night and found the hidden door, usually masked by the bookcase, standing open. She climbed in through the window, followed the secret path, and saw Adelaide collapsed over the lab bench, clutching this very vial.

Illness, nights without sleep—or both—must have overwhelmed her before she could complete the sacrifice.

When Mira carried her back to bed, Adelaide murmured in her sleep, “Use it… and I won’t be sleepy…” That told Mira what the offering did.

And what it meant.

Her sister was forcing herself to stay up.

Mira looked back at Adelaide; joy drained like tidewater.

Once you see it, everything aligns so plainly it’s a wonder she missed it. Those dark circles beneath makeup—wasn’t that why she needed heavy cover? That scrambled desk—Adelaide adored order, almost compulsive about tidying. Yet used and unused vials, letters, and files sprawled together. Why? Did her nature flip in days? Did she give up?

No. Of course not. She was trying to hide evidence bright as noon. Even asking Mira to lie down wasn’t just closeness; it was to block her line of sight, keep her from seeing the clues, keep her from recalling Qingning’s last words before leaving.

She must have been… exhausted, these days.

Like back in the Empire, when she held on alone.

Mira looked at Adelaide and bit her lip, hard enough to taste iron.

Her heart ached, truly ached, a blade turning slow.

She hadn’t seen Adelaide use spinal fluid in so long. She’d taken that as proof her state had improved, and felt comfort in it.

Yet after just a few months apart, the old pattern returned like winter wind.

Pain cinched tight in her chest; breath thinned to threads. Emotion hit a brink, and she couldn’t help voicing the question whose answer she feared.

“Sister… why did you use the thing from my hometown… to challenge Silan?”