The aftermath of the battle felt like waking up from a nightmare only to realize the house was still on fire.

Lucian, despite his victory, was in bad shape. Blood soaked the side of his uniform, and several deep cuts hadn't stopped bleeding.

Two medics rushed to him the moment he returned to the gate, pale and wide-eyed, as if seeing a fallen god. He didn't say a word, just handed over his sword and allowed himself to be half-dragged into the inner cathedrals—their most sacred and secure healing ground, reserved only for the critically injured and impossibly important. Which, of course, Lucian was both.

Selis watched as the great doors of the cathedral closed behind him with a heavy clang.

The guards outside snapped into position, armor gleaming, expressions unreadable. That was it. No news. No briefing. Just silence and orders.

And those orders came quickly.

The third wall had to be rebuilt. Immediately. No rest, no grieving, just pick up a shovel and pretend you weren't nearly eaten alive by a vampire thirty minutes ago.

The vampires didn't come back that night. Probably licking their wounds—or what remained of them. Their losses had been heavy.

Varien's death alone was enough to send shockwaves through the horde. It was the first time in days the humans had a real breather, and they weren't wasting it.

Selis, however, had other plans.

While most people were scrambling for bricks, hammering wood, and yelling about where the reinforcement metal sheets had gone (spoiler: melted by a vampire), Selis slipped away.

"You're not on the wall detail?" someone shouted after her.

"I'm on lunch!" she yelled back.

"It's midnight!"

"I'm on midnight lunch!"

She ducked into an alley before anyone could follow up.

The second layer of the capital—the middle-class district—was rarely open to soldiers like her.

It had actual roofs that didn't leak, food that didn't come in cans, and people who didn't scream in their sleep.

And after weeks of dirt, blood, and vampire stench, Selis wanted to see it just once. Maybe even steal a bath. Or at least breathe air that didn't smell like war and trauma.

Getting past the checkpoint wasn't easy. She had to hide under a supply cart, dodge two patrols, and convince a very judgmental cat not to meow while she tiptoed past the guards. ("I will buy you fish. Shut up.")

But she made it.

And when she stepped through the side gate into the second layer, her breath caught.

Lights. Real lights.

Paper lanterns swayed from rooftops, and warm light poured out of windows. It was like stepping into a different world—a world that didn't know death was knocking just outside the walls.

People here still wore coats. Some had scarves. There was even a man walking his dog. A dog. Selis couldn't remember the last time she saw one that wasn't used for sniffing corpses.

She laughed—an actual laugh. A little giddy, a little delirious.

She hadn't reached the inner cathedral—of course not. That was heavily guarded, and only high-ranking officials, nobles, or vampire-hunting elites were allowed through those pristine golden doors.

And no matter how dramatic she made her entrance, "exhausted low-rank foot soldier who may or may not have disobeyed six orders" didn't exactly qualify.

But she didn't care.

She stood in the second layer, looking around like she'd just found buried treasure.

It was, in its own weird way, a victory.

And for now, that was enough.

Selis was finally inside the second layer of the capital.

It had taken a near-death battle, three days of sleep-deprived combat, one world-class vampire fight, and an unsanctioned solo infiltration—but she was here.

The middle-class district, known for its orderly roads, warm bakeries, and citizens who didn't throw rotten vegetables at patrolling soldiers. She stood there, winded and half-dirty, in a neighborhood where everyone wore polished shoes and actual buttons.

But she didn't come here for scenery or fresh bread. She had a mission—and for once, it didn't involve screaming while holding a spear.

She was going to find out where Emerald Blood was being held.

Step 1: Blend In

Selis tried her best to look like a normal second-layer civilian. She found a poncho hanging on a clothesline and "borrowed" it. (She planned to return it. Someday. Maybe.) She even tied her hair into something resembling a side bun and covered it with a scarf.

But nothing would hide her haunted, "I've-seen-some-things" expression.

A friendly old lady selling cabbages squinted at her. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"I'm visiting my . . . aunt," Selis said quickly. "She's old. Smells like soup. Has a mole the size of a pebble."

The lady nodded sagely. "Ah, soup mole. I know her."

Selis blinked. Wait—what? Was that real?

Step 2: Information Gathering

Selis began her not-so-subtle investigation with the stealth and finesse of a half-starved squirrel. She approached anyone who looked remotely gossipy.

At the bakery: "Hey, so . . . got any buns? And also . . . know anything about a secret prison for vampires? Like a very high ranking vampires?"

At the flower shop: "Nice daisies. Got any petals that whisper government secrets?"

At the tavern: "Any chance you serve tea with rumors steeped in it?"

Most people either laughed, told her to get lost, or assumed she was some kind of underground news anchor wanting a big scoop.

One man gave her a thirty-minute lecture on bread fermentation, entirely unprompted.

Even when she thought she had a lead—some shady-looking guy whispering to another in an alley—she got too excited and yelled, "Aha!" only to find they were just swapping coupons for imported goat cheese.

Step 3: Desperation

By the third failed inquiry, Selis felt like she was back in that backwater village where she'd been stationed a month ago. The place with only two people who could read, three who believed chickens were holy, and one elder who thought Emerald Blood was a medical condition.

She remembered standing outside the well there, muttering:

"I'm going to uncover the truth. I will find where they are."

Then spending days chasing rumors about a vampire cult that turned out to be a mispronunciation of "vampire coat." (It was just a guy wearing a long trench coat. Not even a vampire.)

And now here she was—again.