Lilith slept alone.

The night at Hibiscus Manor was tranquil.

In the vast room, only her own breath was audible.

The canopy embroidered with intricate patterns hung drawn.

The curtains were tightly shut—outside, not a single ray of moonlight seeped through.

It had been a long time since she last experienced this.

This solitude. This quiet, safe night.

The sleep routine she’d grown accustomed to five years ago felt strangely unfamiliar tonight.

When she first returned, she hadn’t struggled. Quite the opposite—she’d felt a kinship with Jetri’s relief.

Ease. Comfort.

Yet tonight, she tossed and turned.

Perhaps because she’d grown used to hearing extra breaths around her?

Perhaps because this bed was too soft?

Or perhaps because the silence was absolute—utterly unlike the wilderness she’d called home?

Lilith was a Rogue, the scout and assassin of her squad. Most nights, she rarely slept at all.

As a Half-Elf, she needed little rest.

So she’d become the ever-present night watch.

Only occasionally swapping shifts.

Jetri used to share those long watches with her.

When their four-person squad first formed, only Vya and Victoria had known each other beforehand.

Lilith had been a stranger to Victoria, Vya, and Jetri alike.

Yet the first kindness hadn’t come from warm, sun-like Vya, nor from calm, lake-serene Victoria.

It came from Jetri.

Before their departure, Jetri spent every coin he owned.

Beyond that pile of steel shortswords, he bought stacks of Magic Scrolls, vials of potions, Vya’s near-royal-grade plate armor, five enhancement rings for Victoria, and a temporary invisibility charm for Lilith.

Victoria wasn’t short on coin. Neither was Lilith.

But neither had prepared so thoroughly. So they’d accepted Jetri’s oddly fervent generosity.

Their first shared watch was on the third night after leaving the city.

The Radiant Star Squad still felt like strangers. After brief introductions of skills and roles, Lilith silently took the first watch.

They hadn’t yet ventured deep into Demon Clan territory.

Frankly, their strength wouldn’t have allowed such recklessness.

Mostly, they patrolled the human-demon borderlands.

Lilith still remembered Jetri’s words that first night together on watch.

The weather had been foul.

Hazy. Damp. Heavy with the promise of rain.

Lilith perched motionless high above, scanning the shadows.

Jetri appeared below.

Honestly, he startled her—but he never noticed.

“What?” the Half-Elf asked coldly.

“Nothing,” Jetri replied, looking up from beneath the tree.

“I’ve set temporary alarm spells around us. Come down? Let’s talk.” He smiled.

Lilith always sensed calculation behind Jetri’s expressions.

Especially with strangers.

Not genuine emotion—but tools to steer others’ feelings.

She felt neither fondness nor dislike.

Just disinterest in conversing with this infamous peer.

“Unnecessary.” Her refusal was icy.

“Ah, don’t be like that…” Jetri showed no embarrassment. He clung like a leech. “We’re squadmates now. Talking’s necessary.”

His persistence grated. Lilith vanished.

But when she reappeared on another branch, Jetri was already ambling toward her.

“No need to run. See? I can track you easily. Keeping up is—”

Before he finished, irritation flashed across Lilith’s face.

She shifted again.

She didn’t believe he could truly follow her every move.

But soon, she had to.

“That’s not my point. I’m useful. So talk.”

Jetri’s smile had vanished. His tone was flat. Businesslike.

Lilith’s expression flickered.

Finally, she landed soundlessly before him.

“Now will you talk?” Jetri asked, smiling again.

“How did you find me?” Lilith demanded, face stern.

“Alarm spells. Remember?” Jetri’s expression said, *Is that all?*

Lilith’s eyes narrowed—like a huntress seconds from pouncing.

She didn’t press further.

Though she knew he was hiding something.

“What do you want to discuss?”

Annoying as his methods were, Lilith had no counter.

She craved silence—that’s why she volunteered for watch.

Endless chatter was unbearable.

Just as she resigned herself to conversation, Jetri asked:

“You think I lied earlier?”

Two crimson flashes sparked in the Half-Elf’s eyes. “Mind-reading?”

“Not mind-reading. I’ll explain how I tracked you—but in return, you detail that teleportation trick.” Jetri’s face was utterly devoid of his earlier warmth.

Lilith felt like she was bargaining with a merchant.

She agreed.

Jetri didn’t stop there. Until dawn, he traded one intriguing tidbit after another for her secrets.

Most weren’t deeply personal—certainly not measurements.

He asked about abilities. Habits. Temperament.

Random, trivial things.

By first light, Lilith realized she’d told him nearly everything.

Yet it had felt… natural.

The Half-Elf’s cheeks flushed belatedly.

Before the others woke, she asked:

“Why were you so determined to know about me?”

Jetri tilted his head.

“To raise our survival odds. What did you think? To flirt?”

He snorted.

“And why did *you* spend so much on gear?”

From their night’s talk, Lilith knew Jetri wasn’t some selfless saint.

“To survive.”

The squad’s sole Mage stated it flatly.

“You, Vya, Victoria—two crown princesses and a duchy heir. Nobles, all. I don’t trust you.”

“Nothing shows now. But if trouble comes? I fully expect you’ll sacrifice the one with no backing first.”

He shook his head. “Nobles…”

“So I prepared. To keep you all safe. That’s how I avoid betrayal.”

The black-haired, black-eyed Mage spoke quietly.

The air seemed to chill.

He looked less human than before—utterly unlike the man who’d begged for conversation hours earlier.

Lilith’s pupils trembled. Faintly visible veins stood out on her sword hand.

“You—”

She remembered her fury.

“You shouldn’t think like that!”

She’d pinned him down before she knew it.

“Pessimism keeps you alive. So does cold reason.” Jetri didn’t flinch. He stared up at the Half-Elf straddling him like a ruffled cat. “Like this shortsword—I didn’t buy it for you to kill me with.”

Lilith froze. Her blade was buried a centimeter from his ear.

Vya woke at the commotion. Seeing the scene, she lost control.

“What are you doing?!”

The knight’s charge knocked sense back into Lilith—and sent her flying like a ragdoll.

“It’s not her fault,” Jetri said as Vya helped him up. His icy mask had melted into a lazy grin. “My fault for asking her measurements. Ha.”

“Sorry,” he added, pulling Lilith up.

Her gaze held conflicted shadows.

As he lifted her, Jetri whispered in her ear: “Some truths are best kept quiet.”

That was Lilith’s first impression of Jetri.

Rational. Calculating. Pessimistic.

Almost cold.

Not her own quiet reserve—but a deeper indifference.

He rarely saw the world through feeling.

Now, lying awake, Lilith felt no trace of sleep.

Memories always crept in during the deepest quiet.

She sat up.

Drew back the curtains.

The capital’s moon tonight was brilliant.

Large. Round.

Its gentle light bathed the Half-Elf.

Lilith usually disliked bright nights—they made her feel exposed.

But now, she missed the constant unease of the road.

And the one who’d made her feel safe.

A sudden impulse surged.

*Why not…*

*Go find him now.*