“Mm...” The bat folded its wings like paper fans and sank into thought, a pond gone still. I couldn’t read his weather. Had he seen through Lucimia’s mask? Her look mirrored the Bloodkin like a moon on water. He’d doubt at most, not stamp it as fake.

“You’re Vick’s daughter? You’ve grown so much?” The bat’s voice fluttered, a lantern’s glow in dusk. “You’re far prettier than as a child. Bet you’ve got plenty of suitors?”

Huh?

Her heart stumbled like a cart on a stone. Lucimia stiffened, a deer caught in sudden torchlight.

What was this? The talk felt like kitchen-table chatter, steam curling off teacups.

How should she answer? Was Vick real or bait tossed like a hook into a river?

Wait, slow down—paranoia buzzed like a brown bee around her ears. Her disguise was seamless as silk; maybe he really hadn’t overthought it. Maybe this was just a simple rendezvous.

But meeting through a bat instead of flesh was smoke behind a screen. Suspicion rippled like a chill.

How to answer?

After a breath held like frost, Lucimia picked a path. She sighed, a thin cloud leaving her lips, and shook her head like a willow in breeze. “Let’s drop that. We’ve got other things to discuss, right?”

That little sigh and shake were two reeds in the same current—either Bevi was wrong and she wasn’t Vick’s daughter, or she accepted it but it wasn’t why she’d come. It would force Bevi to think, if he was probing her.

No wonder she was prickly. After the valley, her heart had grown briars. That mess bloomed because she’d been too open, a gate swung wide at night.

Better wary than warm, she thought, a knife kept under the sleeve.

The bat paused, a shadow stilled on the wall, then spoke. “You’re right. Seems you’ve climbed to a decent rank. They sent you? Is war confirmed?”

What? War? Her stomach dropped like a stone through dark water.

So the Bloodkin really meant to wage war? Was Bevi truly undercover?

A hot impulse flashed—she wanted to cut Bevi down here and now, a thunderbolt from a clear sky. But sense snapped back like a taut bowstring.

“This corruption’s a damn mess.” The thought crawled like soot along her ribs.

She shouldn’t wade into this. She didn’t know the knots between Bloodkin and humans, their old grudges carved like scars. Without that, better keep her hands out of the basin.

Besides, on the road, common folk seemed fine with the Bloodkin, smiles like warm bread. Then why start a war? It made the Bloodkin look like the ones at fault.

Before Lucimia could speak, Bevi rolled on, his bat-voice a dry rustle. “It is a good time to start. We seize the whole city, chain the humans as blood slaves, kill whoever resists. You’ll pick first. Choose anyone to be your blood slave. How’s that?”

What??

His words were iron filings on the tongue. Shock flared; her gaze iced over, killing intent sharp as a drawn blade.

So the Bloodkin of this world were evil? Was that their aim in war?

Lucimia weighed the blade in her mind, considering whether to truly kill him now.

Bevi cut in, laughter like pebbles skipping twice. “Ha, I’m lying. Bloodkin don’t need blood slaves. That’s all human fiction. Also—were you just thinking about killing me on the spot, beautiful human miss?”

What?!

Exposed?

Not now—exposed from the very first step?

Was it something she said? Or was there a countersign at the start, and she’d missed the note?

Fine. If it’s blown, then drop the mask. Lucimia set a cold face, crossed her arms like closed doors, and asked, “How did I give myself away?”

“Simple.” The bat flexed its wings, a black leaf trembling. “The scent of your blood isn’t Bloodkin. It’s human. And… it has the Dark Deity’s tang.”

“Scent? Come on. You can smell blood through flesh? What does blood even smell like?” Lucimia frowned, confusion like fog pooling low.

“You’re not Bloodkin, so you wouldn’t know.” Bevi let that drift away like smoke and turned the page. “Relax. I mean no harm. And tarnishing Bloodkin’s name—I get it, because you’re being hunted. You’re helping Nirael, taking down Ment, a threat to the Empire. Right?”

Lucimia’s guard eased a notch, but her brow knit, a ridge of mountains. This man was a razor-edged info broker; he seemed to know everything.

“Not helping. Cooperating,” she corrected, words clean as cut glass.

“I see. Info’s like that—broad strokes, rarely exact.”

“Drop the chatter.” Lucimia’s patience thinned like paper held too close to flame. “You came for a reason, didn’t you? Not just tea and small talk.”

“Right. But talking here’s inconvenient. Mind coming to my hideout?” Bevi offered, voice smooth as oil.

“No.” Her refusal was a snapped twig.

“I’ve got good food at home. You’ve been on the road; you must be tired. There’s hot water for a bath.”

“Don’t you hear yourself? You sound like a creepy uncle luring a kid with candy.”

As if she’d go. Danger could lurk like a blade under silk.

“Heh, fine. In this world, suspicion’s a coat worth wearing. Better than a certain big-hearted fool.” Bevi’s chuckle was thin.

Big-hearted? He meant… Rexi?

Rexi’s heart was wide open, a door in spring. She trusted strangers like stray cats, fearless of claws.

“Alright, I’ll be blunt…” Bevi stalled, drew a deep breath like wind through pines, let it out as fog. His tone flattened, carrying a quiet weight. “Nirael’s plan might fail.”

The words tightened Lucimia’s brow, a storm banked behind her eyes.

Fail? How?

Ment was supposed to be gutted. His Cross was ruined by her hand, and the Purification Deity wasn’t cooperating. What could he use against her?

Bevi caught her doubt—clear water revealing stones—and explained. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve stepped into a trap of thought. You keep seeing you versus Ment. But what if Ment sidesteps your blade and strikes at Nirael instead?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me—Nirael’s plan is to Devour human energy along the route, break the Crosses, and use that energy against Ment. Right?”

“Right.” Lucimia nodded, a flick of chin. This info broker really knew everything; curiosity pricked like needles—where did he learn all this?

“That’s the hinge. Ment can’t stop your advance. With the Cross energy drained, he can’t sling curses anywhere, anytime, without ritual prep. So his only move is to keep Nirael from absorbing energy.”

“Keep Nirael from absorbing energy?” The idea rose like a shadow, half-seen.

“Exactly. Think it through. If he can’t halt your push, what can he do to stop Nirael’s Devouring?”