Theo approached Soma slowly, wiping sweat from his forehead after long hours at Assashin’s bedside.

  “Soma… he’s safe now,” he said, though his voice carried a note of concern.

  “But his fever still hasn’t gone down. The poison left lingering effects. He won’t be able to fight beside you for a while. You should rest too—just until he recovers.”

  Soma tightened her jaw, eyes fixed on her brother.

  “I can’t, Theo. I’ve already been off the field long enough. And with the situation right now… this is our chance to grow stronger. I won’t let it slip away.”

  Theo opened his mouth to argue, but the stubborn fire in Soma’s eyes silenced him. She turned away, her thoughts already drifting back to the shadows that awaited her.

  ---

  Across the city, another story was unfolding—one tied to Soma in ways neither of them saw coming.

  Maricella had just finished a harsh training session with old Spearhead. Her muscles burned, but her mind burned hotter. She’d finally done it—she had volunteered to join the raids of a guild openly hostile to Soma’s.

  It wasn’t betrayal.

  It wasn’t hatred.

  It was the only way she knew to prove her worth.

  To prove—to herself and to Soma—that she was strong… and that she should never have been left behind the day Soma chose to be alone.

  Her heart ached with a confusing mix of loyalty, jealousy, pride, and sadness.

  Maybe being Soma’s friend always came with this kind of emotional chaos.

  The next morning, she officially joined her new guild.

  And fate, cruel and poetic, set everything in motion.

  Because that very night, Soma set out alone—toward that exact guild.

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  Soma moved like a shadow through the night, her steps silent as breath. Normally, Assashin would have been at her side, cracking jokes or humming under his breath to annoy her. Tonight, she had only the echo of memories to keep her company.

  She slipped inside the Red Cloaks’ base, tranquilizing guards with swift, precise strikes. She kept to the shadows, refusing to fall into another ambush like the one that nearly killed Assashin.

  Everything was smooth.

  Too smooth.

  Then she saw her.

  A figure standing beneath a torch’s flickering light.

  A familiar stance.

  Familiar hair.

  Familiar stubbornness carved into every line of her posture.

  Maricella.

  Soma froze as if an arrow had slammed into her chest. The air around her thickened. Her throat tightened.

  All the hurt she had buried — the guilt, the loneliness, the fear of losing yet another person — crashed over her at once.

  Her heartbeat quickened.

  Her vision blurred.

  The shadows around her trembled like they shared her emotions.

  The Red Cloaks sensed the shift. They tightened their grips on their weapons, terror spreading through them like wildfire. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Then Maricella stepped forward.

  Bold.

  Sharp.

  Brilliant.

  Exactly as Soma remembered.

  She unsheathed her sword with a flourish, lifting her chin defiantly.

  “First Colonel Maricella Sánchez will eliminate the enemy standing before her — immediately!”

  Her tone was cocky, dramatic, almost mocking.

  Exactly the kind of line only she could pull off in a moment like this.

  The soldiers behind her found courage in her voice and rushed forward to support her.

  But they never understood the danger they walked into.

  Soma’s emotions spilled over — grief, anger, shock, longing — all twisting into something unstable and explosive. Her breathing grew heavy. Her aura darkened. Her control slipped.

  Then the storm inside her finally snapped.

  And she moved.

  Faster than the eye could follow.

  Faster than fear could form.

  One man fell.

  Then another.

  Then the next.

  Her strikes were merciless yet heartbreakingly quiet — the kind of violence that came from someone who desperately didn’t want to be hurting anyone at all.

  Her face stayed still.

  Her expression unreadable.

  But tears glimmered in her eyes.

  One by one, the Red Cloaks collapsed around her until only Maricella remained—bleeding, trembling, barely standing.

  She had thrown herself into every strike she could block, desperately trying to save her guildmates even when it was hopeless.

  Blood ran down her arms. Her breaths came sharp and shaky.

  Still… she smiled.

  That same bold Maricella smile Soma had missed.

  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Soma?”

  Her voice cracked, dripping with pain and sarcasm.

  “Or should I call you the Princess of Assassination now?”

  The words cut deeper than any blade.