Sin Rouge was quiet, but not empty.
Most of the freshly strengthened recruits had gone back to their corners of the Lust Ring, back to cheap rooms and cheap lives that were now a little less fragile.
A handful remained, collapsed on couches or leaning against walls, trying to process what their bodies had become.
I could still feel them.
Each one was a faint pull at the edge of the Third Ring small ripples of exhaustion, relief, confusion. They were no longer just faces. They were threads in a web slowly rooting itself into me.
Quill paced across the floor, boots echoing on the wood. He watched the doors, the windows, the shadows searching for weaknesses only he could see.
"You're doing that thing again," he said, still scanning the room.
What thing?
"Staring into nowhere," he muttered. "Except it's not nowhere. Your eyes… drift."
I'm feeling them.
He stopped.
"…the ones you strengthened?"
Yes.
"Creepy," Donnie called from behind the bar, rearranging bottles we barely owned.
Useful, I corrected.
Quill approached and stopped in front of me.
"How much can you feel?"
Not locations, I said. Not thoughts. Just state. Calm, panic, rage… stability.
"So an emotional radar."
Something like that.
He sighed. "Terrifying. But useful."
He looked around the club again, then back at me.
"Alright," he said. "You've given these demons strength. Real strength. That means we can't improvise anymore."
I agree.
"We need rules," he said. "Structure. A plan. Before someone important notices."
Then we draw the lines ourselves, I said. Before the Goetia draw them for us.
That made Donnie freeze mid-step.
Quill's expression hardened.
"Exactly."
I moved to the table at the center of the floor, wiping it clean with my sleeve, and placed my hand on it.
From this point forward, I said, Sin Rouge is not just a bar.
Donnie raised his hand.
"Is it a cult now?"
No.
"A gang?"
No.
Quill narrowed his eyes.
"Then what are we?"
A system, I said. Something that can outlive us if it needs to.
Donnie squinted.
"That sounds like a very organized gang."
Quill ignored him.
"What kind of system?"
One that stays quiet, I said. We don't take territory. We don't draw attention. We grow where the Goetia aren't looking.
Quill smirked.
"Like mold."
Like roots, I corrected.
He nodded.
"Fine. Let's talk roots."
Liza moved closer.
Dreg followed.
A few other familiar faces hovered nearby.
Not just survivors anymore.
The first layer of something bigger.
"We start with three questions," I said.
Quill tilted his head.
"Only three?"
For now.
One: who is 'ours'?
Two: what do we give?
Three: what do we expect?
Donnie raised his hand again.
"Do 'ours' get free drinks?"
"No," Quill and I said at the same time.
She lowered her hand.
First, I continued, who is 'ours'? Not everyone who walks in. Only those who commit.
Liza frowned.
"Commit to what?"
"To not betraying us," Dreg said. "That's usually a good start."
And more, I added.
Commit to rules. To not using what we give them to make the Ring worse.
Quill nodded.
"So no sadists, no chaos freaks, no wannabe nobles."
Exactly.
"And who decides who's in?"
I do, I said. But I'll listen to all of you.
That surprised him. He didn't comment—but I saw it.
Second, I said, what do we give?
"Strength?" Lira asked.
Yes. But also structure. Protection. Direction.
Quill snorted.
"So… everything the Goetia don't care to provide."
Exactly.
Outer recruits, I said, get basic training and safety. Inner recruits get training, safety, responsibility, and strength they must never speak of.
"And the third?" Quill asked.
What we expect:
No betrayal.
No stupidity.
No dragging us into avoidable bloodshed.
Lira whispered, "Is that even possible? In Hell?"
The Third Ring pulsed.
It has to be, I said. Or this is pointless.
Quill studied me for a long moment.
Fine, he said. Tomorrow we build the structure. Tonight we settled the philosophy.
Donnie looked relieved.
"Philosophy is easier than math."
Quill kicked her ankle lightly.
"Not for you."
I let my senses drift.
My people those who'd already gone felt like distant sparks.
Not controlled.
But connected.
"This is only the beginning," Alastor whispered inside my head.
I looked at my mismatched group my strange, unpolished, loyal core.
We didn't look like an organization yet.
But we would.
Very soon.