Half a month later.

Warm water streamed down from a silver showerhead.

The droplets were sized just right—hitting every inch of skin with precisely the right pressure, that comfortable mild sting of hot water on bare skin, leaving a faint flush wherever it landed.

The bathroom was thick with white steam. Drifting through it was the clean, faintly herbal scent of the hotel’s provided shower gel.

Pandora stood in the shower with her eyes closed, letting the water run over her.

The past two weeks at the Rust Greenhouse Hotel had been attended to in every particular—meals, clothing, safety. No running. No fighting. No calculating survival margins.

She had, by any honest measure, been living a life of comfort that edged into genuine indulgence.

But today, that chapter was ending.

After this shower, the next time she’d be able to exist somewhere this soft, this completely without her guard up—she had no idea when that would be.

Then again, if things went the way she intended today...

Pandora opened her eyes slowly.

Through the haze of steam, her own blurred reflection looked back at her from the tile wall across from her.

That might actually be a good thing. For her specifically.

The steam rose and diffused, blurring the edges of everything. Her thoughts followed, loosening at the edges.

Half a month ago, she had killed Wilbur.

That fight had been brutal. Both she and Elsa had come out of it badly hurt.

But they both healed faster than was normal. Considerably faster.

The Witch bloodline carried a vitality that made ordinary injury durations irrelevant. What had looked like serious damage at the time had mended completely, without so much as a scar to show for it.

Beyond that...

Pandora turned her attention inward for a moment, feeling the deep, quiet strength that resided there.

That fight—the kind that wrung every last drop of latent potential from a person and didn’t apologize for it—had stirred something in the Witch bloodline.

The power had already been accumulating steadily at the Second Rank, building and building. That fight had pushed it forward another significant step.

She could feel the ceiling approaching.

It seemed like...

All she needed was a trigger. A single catalyst. And the breakthrough to the Third Rank would follow naturally.

Not that the Witch bloodline was something she worried about much. She still didn’t fully understand where it had come from, or why it worked the way it did. But its growth had never demanded special resources. It had always found its own way.

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This time would likely be no different. The breakthrough should come when it came, without requiring any particular preparation on her part.

What was not so smooth—not remotely in the same category—was her Wizard path.

That same fight had also pushed her spiritual power forward. It was the Wizard’s core, and it had been quietly stacking up under the Witch bloodline’s suppression for a long time. This growth spurt had actually been slightly larger than what the bloodline had gained.

But even so, the Third Rank threshold for a Wizard was still some distance away.

The most pressing issue, though—

Pandora pressed her fingers lightly against her own temple.

The biggest problem remained unsolved.

A Wizard’s meditation method.

Still.

This time, she was fairly confident she had a way forward.

“As long as I can get the meditation method today...”

The words were barely a whisper inside the shower, half-swallowed by the sound of falling water.

“...A period of focused cultivation after that, and I should be able to break through to the Third Rank.”

Quiet words. But the certainty in them was solid.

Shortly after, the water stopped.

Pandora wrapped a wide, soft white towel around herself and stepped out of the shower on bare feet, the warm mist still curling through the air around her.

She pushed open the bathroom door by a crack.

Her first look landed on the figure waiting not far outside—back turned toward the bathroom, standing with the kind of exact, upright posture that didn’t vary by a millimeter regardless of circumstance.

Aurora heard the movement and turned immediately.

Her expression was complicated in a way she wasn’t fully concealing. Her brows had drawn slightly together. Those eyes of hers—usually so steady—were carrying something clearly visible.

Worry.

“Ha, stop making that face.”

Pandora smiled, working a dry towel through her damp hair with her other hand.

“Nothing’s going to go wrong with this one.”

Aurora didn’t answer.

She stepped forward without a word and held out the neatly folded bundle of clothing she had been holding in both arms.

It was a new set. Completely new.

The colors were black and deep red, interwoven. The cut was clean and unfussy, but the details were finished with dark gold trim that caught the light in quiet, precise ways.

Aurora had spent Contribution Points on it. A custom commission, placed specifically for Pandora.

Better fabric than standard issue. More comfortable and breathable, but also more resilient—carrying a degree of physical protection without sacrificing freedom of movement.

“I told you not to bother...”

Pandora looked at the clearly expensive clothing and let out a small sigh.

But she looked at Aurora’s expression—fixed, unwilling to hear a refusal—and took it anyway.

“Fine.”

“Give me a minute.”

She took the clothes and retreated back into the inner room.

Aurora withdrew to the outer room on her own initiative and drew the bedroom door closed behind her, leaving the space to Pandora without being asked.

Pandora changed quickly.

The fabric felt exactly as good as it looked. Soft and flexible, fitting close without constricting. The kind of quality that took real craft to produce—she could tell immediately that Aurora had put genuine thought and real cost into this.

Once dressed, she moved to the full-length mirror set into the wardrobe door.

The girl reflected there was still slender. Still slight in build, with the kind of frame that came from a body not quite done growing.

But the black-and-red outfit, cut to her precisely, did something to that image. The lines of it traced her silhouette in a way that worked. The dark gold detailing caught the light with a restrained, low-key gleam, and the effect was something that her outwardly young face didn’t quite seem to warrant.

A face that looked approximately fourteen, carrying a quality of elegance and composure that belonged to someone considerably older.

It was, she had to admit, a little...strange.

In a not entirely unpleasant way.

“Ready.”

She made one final adjustment to her collar, turned, and walked toward the door.

“They've probably run out of patience by now.”

Aurora fell into step immediately, her pace even and settled—the movement of someone who had made a decision and was no longer second-guessing it.

The two of them walked in single file down the corridor, the thick carpet muffling their footsteps, until they reached the elevator bay.

The doors slid open without sound.

They stepped in. Pandora pressed the button marked “1.”

The elevator began its smooth descent.

The metal cabin was quiet. Just the faint mechanical hum of the cable system doing its work.

The floor numbers ticked down on the display.

28... 20... 10...

Until the number read “1.”

In the moment just before the doors slid open again—

Aurora spoke. Low, pressed close to silence, but completely clear.

“My Lady. Be careful.”

Pandora let out a quiet laugh and shook her head.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Don’t worry so much.”