Grace returned to the inn late at night. Most had already retired to their rooms, while others lay passed out drunk in the bar.

One exception remained.

In the empty lobby, a lone man sat beneath a flickering oil lamp, casting a long shadow across the floor. At the sound of footsteps, he turned. Seeing Grace, his face flushed crimson.

"Grace," Edmund murmured.

Grace gave a slight nod. Her clothes, now tidied, appeared neat enough in the dim light.

"What is it?"

Edmund scratched his head, avoiding her gaze as he stared at the table. He sputtered, "Before... before we hunted Adonis down, I’d been thinking..."

"Thinking what?" Grace stood still.

"If we succeeded—if we both survived—I wanted to..." He stood abruptly, face burning but eyes blazing with resolve. The words he’d choked back for days burst out: "I love you, Grace!"

"I fell for you the moment we met," he continued. "Your smile captivates me. Your courage moves me. Every gesture pulls at my heart... I’ve waited for the right moment. Now that Adonis is gone..."

He trailed off, ducking his head with a shy grin. From his pocket, he produced a delicate box. Inside lay a ring, glowing softly under the lamplight—crafted from the most beautiful mermaid’s tears of the Southern Sea by Zangwill’s finest artisan.

"Be my wife, Grace?" He knelt on one knee, offering the ring with trembling hands.

For a heartbeat, Grace was moved. Edmund always seemed like a steady, mature leader—but at twenty-six, he was barely two years her senior. As founder of the upstart Red Hawk Mercenary Company, his dream was to elevate it to S-rank. He poured every ounce of himself into that goal, neglecting his own life. Utterly dependable.

She’d never expected this confession—so impulsive, yet unexpectedly endearing.

Memories surfaced: nights and days together in the mercenary camp. Had she ever admired this man? His fearless charges into battle. His sharp judgment. The warmth he showed his comrades. That innate magnetism of a born leader. Wouldn’t any woman’s heart flutter near him?

Had she once been one of those women?

A faint smile touched Grace’s lips. Under Edmund’s hopeful gaze, she extended her left hand.

Unlike her sword-calloused right, her left hand was elegant—pale, smooth, fingers long and graceful. Edmund’s hand shook as he cradled it. The ring slid up her slender finger, settling at the base. Pure euphoria flooded him.

He looked up, ready to pull her into a passionate embrace. In his mind, this would lead to a searing kiss—and perhaps more, if she allowed...

"Thank you, Edmund. I’m tired. You should rest too."

Her hand slipped away before he could react. Grace glanced at the ring on her finger, her eyes devoid of emotion.

She smiled politely, turned, and ascended the stairs. Edmund stood frozen in the empty hall long after her figure vanished around the corner, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

...

At dawn, Loran entered the kitchen. Ignoring the crew’s odd stares, she took two bread rolls and a cup of warm milk, then headed to the courtyard.

Reaching the carriage, she reached to undo the ward she’d set the night before—only to find it unresponsive.

*Replaced?*

Before she could investigate further, the ward dissolved on its own.

*What’s happening?*

Bewildered, Loran opened the door. One glance at the bed inside turned her blood to ice.

Two figures lay tangled under a thin blanket. A girl and an Elven woman. Bare shoulders gleamed above the covers. The girl slept facing inward, still unaware. The elf curled around her from behind, bodies pressed close in intimate warmth. Crimson love bites dotted the girl’s neck—bold, mocking declarations.

Loran’s throat tightened. No words came.

Melissara stirred, sitting up slowly. The blanket slipped, revealing the smooth curve of her back. She swept her golden hair aside and turned to Loran at the door. "What is it?"

Loran lowered her eyes. "She needs breakfast."

Melissara nodded. A playful glint flashed in her eyes as she pinched the sleeping girl’s nose.

"Mmm... ngh!"

Mushiyu shook her head, swatting blindly at the hand. When it wouldn’t budge, she snapped her eyes open—straight into a pair of dazzling sapphire ones. Sleep-fogged, she stared blankly before realizing the elf was teasing her.

She shot a glare. "Le’ go o’ me!"

But her drowsy scowl held no sting.

Melissara released her, cupped the girl’s face instead, and brushed a kiss on her pink lips. "Good morning, Yuer."