In the soft haze of dawn, as the first pale light filtered through the curtains, Mira stirred from her slumber. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking away the grogginess that clung to her like a stubborn mist. For a few fleeting seconds, she lay still, her mind sluggishly piecing together her surroundings. Then, with a gentle turn of her head, she gazed at Amelia, who was still fast asleep beside her, her chest rising and falling in the quiet rhythm of dreams.
The events of the previous night flooded back to Mira's mind. She had spent hours, well into the early morning, trying to convince Amelia to return home with her. Despite her persistent pleas, Amelia had remained unmoved, her resolve as unyielding as stone. Mira couldn't fathom it—what kind of enchantment had that human noble cast over her friend? What sweet words or promises had woven such a spell that Amelia, usually so pragmatic, refused to listen to reason? Mira's arguments had fallen on deaf ears, and the frustration of it all still simmered in her chest.
"Oh…" Mira let out a heavy sigh, her breath a soft puff in the quiet room. Her eyes lingered on Amelia's sleeping face, the delicate features softened by the morning light. A pang of helplessness tugged at her heart. She wanted to shake Amelia, to demand answers, but the sight of her friend's peaceful expression held her back. There was something almost ethereal about Amelia in this moment, and Mira couldn't help but feel a mix of exasperation and affection.
Despite her frustration, Mira couldn't deny the comfort of the moment. "This bed, though…" She murmured to herself, her fingers brushing against the plush, velvety quilt that enveloped her. The softness was a luxury she hadn't known in weeks, and it cradled her body in a way that made her reluctant to leave its embrace. "It's so cozy, it's almost criminal to get up."
For weeks, Mira had been roughing it—sleeping under the stars in the wilderness or in the creaky, lumpy beds of roadside inns. Those nights had been restless, her sleep plagued by the constant awareness of danger or discomfort. But last night? Last night had been different. Nestled in this warm, inviting bed, she had slept more soundly than she had in ages. If only she could convince Amelia to come home, she thought, her sleep might have been even sweeter—perhaps blissfully perfect.
A soft, almost childlike whimper broke the silence. "Mmm~" Amelia stirred, her nose crinkling as she let out a delicate, sleepy sound. Her emerald eyes fluttered open, slow and languid, only to meet Mira's intense stare. For a moment, the two women locked eyes, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Neither spoke, and the silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity—though it was likely only a minute or two.
Without a word, Amelia's expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. She sat up abruptly, the covers falling away, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Moving with a quiet grace, she crossed the room to the wardrobe, her movements deliberate as she began to change into her day clothes, preparing for breakfast and her journey to school.
Mira watched, her irritation bubbling to the surface. Amelia's cold dismissal stung, and she felt her lips purse into a pout, her teeth itching to snap at something—anything—to vent her frustration. With a huff, she threw off the covers and scrambled out of bed, her bare feet padding across the cool floor as she hurried to Amelia's side. Her eyes widened as she took in the wardrobe's contents: seven or eight outfits, neatly hung, ranging from breezy spring dresses to thick, fur-lined winter cloaks. Each piece was crafted from fine, luxurious fabrics, their quality evident even to Mira's untrained eye.
"These… all these clothes are yours?" Mira asked, her voice tinged with disbelief as she reached out to touch a silken blouse, its texture smooth against her fingertips. The garments were exquisite, far finer than anything she owned.
Amelia gave a curt nod, her tone flat. "Yes." The clothes, she explained briefly, had been custom-made for her, arranged by Nicole and designed, apparently, by Lord Lucas himself. The mention of his name sent a flicker of irritation through Mira, though she couldn't quite place why.
Mira raised an eyebrow, her mind racing. "Seems like you're living quite the pampered life here…" Her voice carried a hint of envy as she thought of her own meager possessions back in Stone Mountain. Her "wardrobe" consisted of exactly two outfits, one of which she was currently wearing, its fabric worn thin from constant use.
Amelia ignored her, focusing instead on dressing. She slipped into her outfit with practiced ease, her fingers deftly wrapping a chain whip around her wrist—a weapon Mira recognized instantly. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine. Amelia's movements were precise, almost mechanical, a reminder that her skills as an assassin hadn't dulled despite her comfortable life here.
'She's hiding something,' Mira thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched Amelia stride out of the room without a backward glance. The way Amelia handled that chain whip, with the confidence of a seasoned killer, told Mira that her friend hadn't abandoned her training. There was more to this than Amelia was letting on, and Mira was determined to get to the bottom of it. She suspected the answers lay with the city lord, Lucas. Amelia had to come home—Mira's own punishment for failing to bring her back loomed over her like a dark cloud.
Mira hurried after Amelia, her footsteps quick and determined. By the time she caught up, they had reached the dining hall, where the faint, tantalizing aroma of food wafted through the air. Mira's stomach growled, and she felt a flush of embarrassment as her mouth watered uncontrollably.
"Amelia, how did you sleep last night?" Nicole's voice was warm as she arranged the tableware, her movements graceful and precise. She glanced up with a soft smile. "Just a moment, we'll eat once the Master returns."
Amelia shot a pointed look at Mira. "Not great. Noisy." Her tone was clipped, a clear jab at Mira's relentless nagging the night before.
Nicole raised an eyebrow, following Amelia's gaze to Mira, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Miss Mira, good morning," She said kindly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"Uh… morning," Mira replied, hesitating before stepping into the room. Her hand instinctively brushed against the bandage on her neck, a wound Nicole had tended to the previous night. The dining hall was filled with beastmen—Annie, Helen, Ayesha, and Hazel—all of whom turned curious eyes on Mira. Her dark, tattered wings drew particular attention, their unusual appearance sparking envy in the beastgirls' gazes.
"Come, sit," Nicole said softly, returning to her task of arranging the tableware. "We'll start soon."
Mira nodded, settling into a chair beside Amelia, though her posture was stiff, her discomfort evident. Her eyes fell on the pristine white plates before her, each adorned with delicate blue floral patterns. They were beautiful, almost like works of art, yet here they were mere tableware. The others in the room barely noticed the plates, their attention fixed instead on the food Nicole was preparing.
"What's for breakfast, Nicole?" Ayesha asked, leaning forward eagerly, her hands braced against the table.
"Sandwiches today," Nicole replied with a light chuckle. "A new breakfast treat."
Annie's brown eyes sparkled with excitement. "New food? Oh, this is going to be good!" She leaned forward, mirroring Ayesha's enthusiasm as Nicole began distributing sandwiches.
"Yes," Nicole said, placing a towering stack of ten sandwiches on Annie's plate. "Take more if you're still hungry."
The fox-eared girl nodded eagerly, her tail swishing behind her.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the hall. "What's cooking today?" Lucas's voice was warm, carrying a hint of playfulness as he stepped into the dining room, followed by Elisa, Mina, and Freya.
"Good morning, Master!" The beastgirls and Nicole chorused, their voices bright and respectful.
"Morning," Lucas replied, his gaze briefly flickering to Mira and Amelia before he took his seat at the head of the table.
"Sandwiches today, Master," Nicole said, her tone soft and deferential.
"Sandwiches, huh? It's been a while," Lucas said with a nostalgic smile, settling into his chair.
Mira couldn't hold back any longer. She shot to her feet, her voice sharp and resolute. "Lord Lucas, what does Amelia owe you? What will it take for you to let her go? I'm willing to repay her debts—whatever they are."
Lucas's lips curved into a faint, amused smile. "Sit down," He said calmly, his tone carrying an effortless authority. "You're serious about repaying Amelia's debts?"
"Absolutely," Mira said, her voice unwavering, though her heart pounded in her chest.
"No," Amelia snapped, her green eyes flashing with anger as she glared at Mira. "You don't get to decide that."
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Mira shot back, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as she leaned forward. "Don't you want to go back and see Big Sister? Don't you miss her?"
"Mind your own business," Amelia said coldly, her voice like ice. She had her reasons for staying—reasons Mira couldn't understand. Amelia wasn't just being stubborn; she had a purpose. Lucas had done so much for her, asking for nothing in return, and she felt a debt she couldn't ignore. More than that, he had already called her his daughter. In her heart, she was already half his, bound by loyalty and something deeper she wasn't ready to name.
And then there was the hot air balloon project. Amelia dreamed of using it to transport food from Sedona City to Stone Mountain, a way to trade with Big Sister and ensure their people never went hungry again. She couldn't leave—not yet. Not until she had wings of her own, metaphorical or otherwise, to carry her ambitions.
"You… Amelia, you're going to regret this," Mira said, her voice trembling with frustration as she sank back into her chair.
Lucas's gaze shifted to Mira, his expression unreadable. "Why are you so insistent on taking Amelia back?" He asked, his tone calm but probing.
Mira hesitated, then blurted out the first excuse that came to mind. "Because only by Big Sister's side can she learn real assassination techniques."
Lucas raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching. "And how much have you learned?"
Mira puffed out her chest, trying to mask her insecurity. "Four levels of skill," She said proudly, though her confidence faltered under his scrutiny.
Lucas chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "You're not exactly a master assassin yourself, are you?"
Mira's cheeks flushed, but she had no retort. The truth stung more than she cared to admit.
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