"Got it." Violette nodded in understanding.

"It's not a big deal, really," Jetri sighed. "We won't cross paths again anyway."

"Hm?" Violette tilted her head, puzzled. "Why say that?"

"The Demon King's dead. My job's done. I'll retire to some quiet village soon." Jetri smiled, his whole posture radiating ease.

"You're really quitting the team?" Violette blinked.

"Yeah. Not because of anything else," Jetri mused. "Just... tired. Ever since stepping out of the academy, I've had to stay razor-sharp—Demons, the Demon Clan, all that."

"Hmm..." His expression grew lighter as he spoke. "I've got money. Won't end up dead in some kingdom's gutter tomorrow. Retiring at twenty-five? Perfect."

Violette stayed silent, propping her chin on her hand as she watched him.

Her gaze flickered, lost in thought.

"That sounds nice," she finally said.

Jetri wouldn't linger in the capital anyway. Whatever tangled history existed between Violette and Vya? He couldn't be bothered to care.

He didn't bring up his earlier talk about "pursuing" her again.

Their conversation flowed easily now. Unburdened, Jetri chatted like old times—back when he'd visit the confessional booth under the guise of repentance. Mostly, he talked.

Violette listened.

Midnight chimes from the street snapped Jetri awake.

"Getting late, isn't it?"

He asked it like a question, but was already rising to leave.

"Mm." Violette smiled faintly, standing too.

"I'll head out then."

"Okay."

Jetri practically bounced away, giddy with retirement dreams.

Violette watched from the church steps, smiling until he vanished down the road. Only then did she murmur, "Why hide?"

"Your Eminence."

A slender figure emerged from the church shadows.

Celine Gloria.

The Church's youngest Cardinal.

"If you call me 'Your Eminence,' don't bother speaking further," Violette said without turning, still staring down the empty road.

"...Sister," Celine whispered, lips tight.

"Speak." Violette stepped back inside the church.

"Was it the Sage?" Celine asked.

"Him. Try causing him trouble if you dare." Violette shut the heavy doors, locking them with a click.

The church had stayed open this late only for Jetri. Normally, it would've closed hours ago.

With a flick of her wrist, Violette extinguished the lights. "But be ready for me to come after you."

"Why must it be him?" Celine's voice held less resistance now, only confusion.

Violette ignored her, doing a final sweep of the darkened pews.

"Let's go."

Celine followed silently.

The church settled into stillness behind them.

Jetri stood before his decade-old house, a flicker of irritation stirring in his chest.

*Might as well sell it soon.*

He slid his key toward the lock—then paused.

Unlocked?

He sighed, pocketing the key. *Vya forgot again.*

Truth was, locks meant little to them. Any thief foolish enough to break in wouldn't leave in one piece. Or something like that.

Inside, Jetri froze.

The dark house had suggested Vya was asleep. Yet there she sat on the sofa, staring straight at him.

Honestly, it was unsettling.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Jetri locked the door behind him.

"Jetri... let's talk." Vya's voice was hoarse.

"Sure. About what?" He flipped on the light, collapsing onto the couch opposite her. Limbs sprawled, head tilted back, he studied the ceiling. When silence stretched, he glanced up. "You wanted to talk?"

"Tell me how you met Violette." Vya's expression was uncharacteristically serious. Jetri rarely saw her like this—usually she was all easy smiles.

"Uh..." He hesitated, choosing a half-truth. "Met her tonight. Just bumped into each other, exchanged a few words."

He refused to be the third wheel in whatever mess involved Vya, Violette, Victoria, and Lilith. He'd be gone soon. No need to hurt her now.

"Jetri. The truth." Vya's whisper was raw.

"...Fine." He exhaled. "I knew her earlier. Just didn't realize she was *Violette* back then."

"How?" Vya pressed.

Jetri frowned, then softened at the exhaustion on her face. "You know I used to visit the confessional booth at church after classes. Violette was the one inside."

"Always?"

"...Yes."

Vya's face paled visibly. "Jetri... do you love her?"

His head throbbed. "Does it matter?"

"It does." Her voice cracked—not with anger, but despair.

"Yes." He admitted it flatly. "But it doesn't matter. I'm leaving the capital soon. I won't pursue her."

Vya shot him a grief-stricken look that made his chest tighten.

Before he could speak, she stood abruptly. "It's late. Sleep."

Jetri watched her stumble upstairs.

"Goodnight."

Her door clicked shut.

He opened his mouth—then closed it, sighing instead.

As Jetri turned off his bedroom light, the villa melted into the quiet night.

But not everyone slept.

On a balcony somewhere in the capital, a wheat-skinned Half-Elf twirled a slender steel sword. Her fingers moved deftly, but her eyes were distant, fixed on empty air.

Jetri had given her this sword.

He'd given her many, actually. Only one remained after their travels.

Unlike the heartbroken Vya, she seemed adrift.

"Jetri..."

The blade pricked her finger before she realized it. She paused, rubbing the tiny wound absently.