The tavern doors slammed open.
Felix staggered in first, half-carrying Yula across his back. She was limp but breathing, her sword arm dangling and singed at the cuff.
Dima rushed forward from behind the bar. "There—get her by the fire."
"Already on it," Felix grunted, adjusting his grip.
He brought her to the long couch beside the hearth and eased her down, a little less carefully than he probably should've, but still solid. "She's heavier than she looks."
Nadia was already beside him, tossing her apron aside and yanking the blankets down over Yula's legs. Her fingers checked the girl's jaw, then her wrist, then the scorch marks on her sleeve.
"She's alive," she said, though her voice didn't sound convinced.
She exhaled, and her eyes shimmered, as she brushed a lock of hair from Yula's face.
Across the room, another set of footsteps pounded behind the bar.
"Ilya!"
Anna sprinted toward the door, her slippers nearly slipping on the wood. She caught sight of him just as he stepped through the frame.
She didn't slow down.
Arms wrapped tight around his waist. Her face buried in his coat.
"I—I heard it—the bells—and the shots—I thought—" Her words tangled, too fast, eyes wide with leftover fear.
Ilya didn't respond.
He just set one hand gently on her back, then the other on her head, pulling her in close without a word.
Her voice cracked when she tried to breathe. "I thought you weren't coming back…"
"I did," he said finally. His voice was quiet. Almost unsure.
The warmth of the hearth dulled the edge of the silence.
The boy leaned against the wall near the stairs, arms crossed, a cut on his cheek already half crusted over. His cloak was tattered. Boots scorched. He looked like he'd barely walked out of a war.
But he grinned like it was a game.
"Well, I suppose it's time for me to take my leave," he said, finally breaking the silence. "I gotta say, for someone who doesn't talk much, you're weirdly good at fighting."
Ilya glanced at him, frowning faintly.
"I mean it," the boy said, pushing off the wall with a shrug. "That shot was inhuman. You don't get that by luck."
Ilya didn't answer.
The boy tilted his head, studying him. "Do you even know how impressive that was?"
Still nothing.
The boy blinked. "Wait. You do remember me, right?"
"I don't even know your name," Ilya muttered, his voice rough from smoke.
The boy froze.
"W–well," he gasped. "Introducing yourself in the middle of battle's kinda weird, don't you think?"
"Fair enough," Ilya replied dryly.
The boy continued. But before he could say anything, a voice cut across the room.
"Didn't expect the Morozovs out here."
Lilya leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze locked on the boy with narrowed eyes.
The air shifted, just slightly.
"Shouldn't you be tucked up in the capital?" she asked, tone edged with frost. "Snug behind your family walls? Polishing letters and kissing rings?"
The boy didn't flinch. He just smiled, sharper now.
"Figured I'd get some fresh air," he said. "The court's so stuffy this time of year."
Lilya stepped further into the room. "So they finally sent someone up north. And here I thought you'd all gotten allergic to danger."
That made Ilya blink.
He looked at the boy again, really looked this time.
The grin didn't go away. If anything, it deepened.
"I wasn't sent," the boy said, mock-casual. "I was bored."
"Bored?" Lilya repeated. "So you crashed a Demon Year outbreak like it was a festival?"
"Well, I was promised good food."
Lilya scoffed, folding her arms again. "You're reckless."
He winked. "You're loud."
The boy turned back to Ilya, wiping a soot-smudge from under one eye with the back of his wrist.
The tension from Lilya's jab hadn't fazed him, not really. He'd worn it like an old coat. Ilya still hadn't said anything. Just watched. Measured.
The boy tilted his head, and then offered a hand.
"Name's Felix," he said, casual as if they'd just bumped into each other at a bakery instead of killing monsters in the street.
Ilya stared at him for a second longer.
Then took the hand.
"...Ilya."
Just Ilya.
Felix leaned back from the handshake, still smiling like he hadn't just helped kill a Maul that morning.
"Alright," he said, giving one firm shake and letting go. "Let me know next time you feel like shooting monsters. We make a decent team."
Lilya muttered something in the background that sounded like "We'll see about that."
Felix ignored her.
Instead, Felix gave Ilya a wink, pushed off the wall, and strolled casually toward the tavern door.
No farewell.
No dramatic speech.
He just lifted a hand mid-step, without turning around. "Try not to die while I'm gone."
The door creaked open.
A gust of frost bit into the room.
And then he was gone, vanished into the Crystalis smoke like the chaos had just been a walk through the park.
Ilya stood still for a second longer, staring at the door.
Not confused.
Not suspicious.
Just… curious.
***
The study was silent but for the slow ticking of the brass clock above the mantle.
Golden morning light pooled through lance-shaped windows veiled in sheer white silk, catching the edges of a tea tray left untouched on a nearby table.
The girl in the high-backed chair didn't move. She sat with one leg crossed neatly over the other, gloved fingers turning the final page of the report.
WINGS OF NIVALIS HALTS DEMON INCURSION — LILYANA KRILANOVA HAILED AS HERO
She didn't smile. Didn't frown, either.
Her eyes scanned the article twice. Then a third time. Slowly.
At last, she lowered the paper to her lap.
"…Too clean," she muttered.
A servant entered, quietly. "Do you need anything, my lady?"
The servant hesitated only a breath, then bowed again and retreated.
Alone, she leaned forward and picked up a silver letter opener from the desk beside her, flipping it through her fingers idly.
Lilyana Krilanova had fired the final shot. Lilyana had arrived just in time. Lilyana had saved the civilians. Lilyana. Lilyana. Lilyana.
It was too clean.
Too convenient.
There was always more than one name.
She tapped the blade gently against her knee.
"…But who was the other?"
Outside, wind rolled past the window, stirring the long white curtains like wings in flight.
She stared through them, unblinking.
Her eyes narrowed, not with doubt, but with certainty.