Morning settled over Euclid beneath a blanket of snow, the streets muted and pale, the cold softened by the quiet rhythm of a city waking slowly. Footprints marked the paths between buildings, already filling in again as flakes continued to fall, light and steady.

Trafalgar walked at an unhurried pace, Mayla at his side, Aubrelle just a step behind them. Aubrelle wore her hood once more, the bandage secured over her eyes, her cane tapping softly against the stone as she moved. Above them, Pipin circled lazily, his silhouette cutting through the falling snow before drifting back into place overhead.

They were heading toward the Gate building, the one that linked Euclid to Velkaris.

Today was quiet. Not a school day. Tomorrow would be different. Trafalgar would have to return to the academy, permitted absence or not. Too much time had already been lost. He would need to catch up, and the thought surfaced naturally that Bartholomew would likely be the one to bridge that gap. Reliable. Thorough. Exactly what he needed.

The streets were calm, but they were not empty.

Eyes followed them as they passed. Some curious, some respectful, some openly admiring. Trafalgar was Euclid's lord now. He returned greetings as they came, brief nods, the occasional word, never stopping for long. It came naturally, almost effortlessly.

Aubrelle noticed it even without seeing it directly. The way voices shifted when he passed. The way the air seemed to move around him. She stayed quiet, guarded, her presence small beside the other two.

For a while, no one spoke.

Then Trafalgar glanced sideways at Mayla, the question that had been sitting at the back of his mind finally surfacing.

"Mayla," he said, casual, "what did you talk about yesterday?"

The question landed softly, but Aubrelle stiffened immediately.

She stopped short for half a step before recovering, surprise flashing through her. She had assumed Mayla would have told him already. That whatever they had spoken about would no longer be between just the two of them.

She turned her head slightly toward Trafalgar.

"You don't know?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Trafalgar looked at her, then back at Mayla, faint amusement touching his expression.

"No," he said. "She hasn't told me anything at all."

He shrugged lightly as they continued walking.

"I have a general idea of what I think it might be," he added. "But I'm not completely sure I'm right."

That was all.

Aubrelle fell silent again.

Her thoughts tangled immediately.

Does he know?

Does he already understand what this is about?

Or does he think Mayla spoke to her about something else entirely?

Her grip tightened slightly on the cane as she walked, her pace steady but her mind anything but. Pipin drifted lower for a moment, sensing the shift, then rose again, keeping watch from above.

Mayla's lips curved upward, the smile slow and unmistakably mischievous.

"A secret of ladies," she said lightly. "I can't tell you."

Trafalgar glanced at her, one brow lifting just a fraction.

"Oh?" he replied. "I see."

There was no irritation in his voice. If anything, he sounded amused.

"Then I'll wait," he said calmly.

Mayla nodded, clearly satisfied.

"Not for long," she added.

They continued walking, Trafalgar's gaze shifting forward again toward the Gate building ahead, his attention already drifting back to schedules, routes, and what awaited him beyond Euclid.

Behind him, Mayla slowed half a step.

Carefully, making sure Trafalgar wasn't looking, she moved one arm behind her back and lifted her hand, giving a small, deliberate thumbs-up.

Aubrelle saw it instantly.

The gesture was subtle, almost playful, but its meaning was clear. Her breath caught for just a moment. Above them, Pipin circled lower, his red eyes catching the movement easily before he fluttered upward again.

She knows.

The realization settled in her chest, warm and terrifying all at once.

Mayla wasn't angry. She wasn't threatened. She wasn't pretending not to notice. She knew exactly what Aubrelle was struggling with, and instead of closing ranks, she had opened the door.

Permission.

Aubrelle's fear didn't vanish, but it changed shape. It loosened, reshaping itself into something sharper, more focused. Hesitation remained, but beneath it, resolve began to form.

Her steps didn't falter, her cane still tapping softly against the stone, but her heart beat faster now. The Gate building drew nearer with every step, and with it, the sense that whatever came next could no longer be delayed forever.

Above them, Pipin let out a quiet chirp and continued flying, as if silently urging her forward.

The Gate building rose ahead of them, its stone arches traced with faintly glowing runes, steady and unchanged despite the snow gathering along its edges. Guards nodded as they approached, recognition immediate. There was no delay. No questions.

Routine took over.

They stepped onto the gate. The sensation was brief but unmistakable, a momentary weightlessness, the world narrowing to a single breath before expanding again.

Then they were there.

The Gate Hub of Velkaris opened around them in a burst of sound and motion. Wide halls stretched in every direction, layered with platforms, stairways, and intersecting flows of people. Aubrelle kept her hood pulled low, the bandage secure beneath it. Rumors traveled fast, and the Ritefield battle had not gone unnoticed. Even here, even now, whispers followed her name. She could feel it in the way some gazes lingered a fraction longer than they should have.

She stayed close, quiet, her presence small against the enormity of the city.

Despite everything she had done, everything she had seen, she was still gentle by nature. Kind. Fragile in ways that had nothing to do with strength.

They exited the Gate Hub together, and the noise multiplied instantly.

Velkaris spilled outward in every direction, alive and relentless. Thousands of people moved at once, every race imaginable woven into the same chaotic flow. Some ran, coats flaring behind them, afraid of missing trains. Others lined up in long, restless queues before Gates leading to distant cities. Voices overlapped in a dozen languages. Vendors shouted. Conductors called schedules. Metal wheels screamed faintly on distant rails.

The train station sat directly outside the Hub, massive and exposed, its platforms stacked and crisscrossed like veins feeding the heart of the city.

Velkaris did not wait for anyone.

Mayla slowed to a stop near the edge of the crowd. She turned to Trafalgar, her expression softening as the moment came naturally, without ceremony.

"I'll see you later," she said, rising onto her toes to kiss him lightly. "You have to go back to the academy. When you have time, we'll meet."

Trafalgar nodded, returning the kiss without hesitation.

"I will," he said. "Be careful."

Mayla smiled, then shifted her gaze just enough to catch Aubrelle's hooded profile. She lifted one hand in a small wave and added a quick, playful wink in her direction.

Aubrelle noticed.

Trafalgar did not.

With that, Mayla stepped back into the flow of people, her figure disappearing into the moving crowd with practiced ease.

For a brief moment, the noise seemed to swell.

Then it was just the two of them.

Trafalgar adjusted the strap of his bag and turned toward the station platforms. "Come on," he said. "The train should be arriving soon."

Aubrelle nodded, her grip tightening slightly around her cane as they moved forward together, swallowed once more by the endless motion of Velkaris, the city that never slowed, even as something fragile and unspoken continued to build quietly between them.

The crowd carried them toward the station platforms, voices and footsteps blending into a constant hum. Trafalgar moved with quiet purpose, navigating the flow without hesitation. Aubrelle followed just behind him, her cane tapping softly against the stone, her steps measured.

They climbed the stairs leading up to the platform, the noise shifting as the open air met steel and rails. Trains rested along the tracks, some already preparing to depart, others still empty and waiting. Trafalgar stopped near a bench set slightly apart from the main flow and took a seat.

Aubrelle sat beside him.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Warm air flowed through the open structure of the station roof, carrying the constant noise of the city below. Metal creaked softly as trains shifted along the rails. Aubrelle stared ahead, her posture straight, hands folded around the handle of her cane.

Her thoughts raced.

Should she say it now?

Was this the right moment?

Her chest felt tight, each breath coming a little too shallow. Mayla's wink replayed in her mind, lingering like a quiet nudge at her back, not pushing her forward, but reminding her that she was not alone.

And yet, doubt lingered.

What if she ruined the balance that existed now? What if speaking changed something she wasn't ready to lose?

Pipin fluttered down from above, landing gently at eye level in front of her. His red eyes fixed on her face, unblinking. Through him, she saw herself as she was in that moment. Hood drawn low. Shoulders tense. An expression caught between fear and resolve.

It was enough.

Aubrelle inhaled slowly and lifted her hands toward the edge of her hood.

She gathered her courage.

The sound of the train arriving drowned everything else out.

Metal screamed softly against metal as the engine pulled in, wind rushing across the platform. The sudden movement broke the moment apart. Trafalgar stood up, having risen a few seconds earlier without her noticing, already adjusting his bag.

Aubrelle froze, her hands falling back to her lap.

"Shall we go?" Trafalgar asked, turning toward her.

She nodded quickly and rose to her feet.

They boarded the first wagon, the one reserved for wealthy and influential families. Inside, the space was quieter, more refined. Rows of seats stood mostly empty, the carriage far from full.

Trafalgar glanced around briefly.

"Not many people today," he remarked. "Where would you like to sit?"

Not many people.

The thought echoed in Aubrelle's mind, sharp and clear.

Perfect.

Better than saying it out there. Better than rushing the words in the open. Better than anywhere else.

She followed him deeper into the carriage without speaking, her heart beating faster with every step.

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