The street was almost empty when the two left "The Laughing Dolphin." The sea breeze blew strongly, carrying with it the salty smell of waves crashing against the rocks below. The lanterns swayed on the iron posts, casting long shadows on the wet cobblestones.

Bellatrix adjusted her hood, her gaze always watchful, assessing every face that crossed their path. Samira, on the other hand, seemed far too relaxed—walking with her hands behind her head and a lazy smile on her face, as if they were simply out for a stroll.

"Honor, work, and truth," she scoffed, repeating Garron's words. "Sounds like the motto of someone who's never really gotten their hands dirty."

Bellatrix didn't answer immediately. They climbed a small slope that led to a stone bridge, from where they could see the entire harbor. Ships came and went under the moonlight; the reflection of the white sails shimmered on the dark waters.

"Don't underestimate them," Bellatrix finally said. "The tavern keeper seemed to respect that man. And genuine respect is harder to buy than gold."

Samira snorted. "Respect is just fear by another name. Everyone respects the strongest."

Bellatrix glanced sideways. "You speak as if you were always the strongest."

"I am," Samira replied without hesitation, a smile of pure defiance curving her lips.

They crossed the bridge and took the main street, now almost deserted. The stone houses had windows with yellowish glass, and behind them the shadows of families dining moved like warm figures. Up above, dominating the landscape, rose the fortress of the Veil Company—solid, imposing, surrounded by simple but well-guarded walls.

"So this is the heart of Thirval," said Samira. "Beautiful... for a place that considers itself virtuous." Bellatrix paused for a moment, observing the banner fluttering atop the gate: the blade intertwined with the feather, illuminated by the moon.

"They don't think they're virtuous," she said. "They think they're right. And that's far more dangerous."

"Oh, great," Samira murmured. "Another group of world saviors. And we're here to decide whether they deserve to live or not."

"We didn't come to kill anyone," Bellatrix retorted dryly. "We came to observe."

Samira turned to her, the golden gleam in her eyes flashing for a moment under the shadow of her hood. "You always say that… but in the end, it's the same. The only difference is when."

Bellatrix looked at her steadily, refusing to be provoked. "Strax asked us to analyze. Not to raze the city."

"And what if the analysis is bad?"

"Then you will restrain yourself. Because the last thing we need is to draw attention before we know who is friend and who is an obstacle."

Samira rolled her eyes and raised her hands, surrendering to the logic. "Okay, okay, Ice Queen. You're in charge."

Bellatrix continued walking, without smiling, but the corners of her mouth betrayed a hint of satisfaction.

Further up, the street divided into two. One led directly to the main gate of the fortress; the other skirted the walls and continued to the night markets, where the sounds of hammers and laughter of blacksmiths working late could still be heard. The heat from the forges illuminated the air, creating swirls of orange light and smoke.

Samira stopped, watching the sparks dancing in the air. "Do you smell that?"

Bellatrix turned her face. "What?"

"The smell. Hot iron, sweat, smoke… That's the smell of people who work until they bleed. Maybe old Garron wasn't lying." Bellatrix observed the activity at the side gates—porters carrying crates of ore, apprentices cleaning blades, even some women sharpening spears under the supervision of a master blacksmith. The order was evident. No shouts of abuse, no looks of despair. Just weariness and focus.

"They seem disciplined," she said.

"Or well-trained," Samira replied. "It depends on who's holding the whip."

"And you think this Erik is the type who needs a whip?"

Samira thought for a moment. "Maybe not. But nobody builds an empire with just good intentions. If he's smart, he's already understood that hungry people work better when they believe in something."

Bellatrix looked again at the symbol on the banner. "Strength and wisdom."

"Do you think he's foolish?"

"No. I think he has principles. And principles are good… until the day the world forces you to break them."

Samira smiled. "Ah, now that sounds more like someone I understand."

They continued up the street until Bellatrix raised her hand, stopping abruptly. Two patrols crossed their path, armed with spears and wearing the Company's emblem. They passed without paying attention, but the two remained in the shadows, observing.

"They're not ordinary soldiers," Bellatrix murmured. "Look at the way they move—precise, without ostentation. That's veteran training."

"And does that worry you?"

"No. It intrigues me."

When the group moved away, Bellatrix resumed walking. Samira followed, playing with a gold coin between her fingers.

"So, the plan is the same?" she asked. "Tomorrow we go in as mercenaries and request an audience?"

"Yes," Bellatrix replied. "But first, I want to confirm who the officers are. A man like Erik doesn't lead alone."

"You mean, spy."

"I prefer to call it precaution."

"Oh, of course. Old Bellatrix and her euphemisms." Samira spun the coin and tossed it in the air, catching it again. "Okay. But if it goes wrong, I promise not to set anything on fire."

"Promising isn't the same as fulfilling."

Samira smiled again, but didn't answer.

When they reached the top of the street, they stopped before the large stone staircase that led to the main gate. Two guards were on sentry duty. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, noticed the two approaching and struck the tip of his spear on the ground.

"The fortress closes at sunset. Business only in the morning," he said, his voice firm but polite.

Bellatrix made a respectful gesture. "Understood. We just wanted to confirm the way. The road here is confusing for those coming from outside."

The guard nodded, a little more relaxed. "Follow the quay and always go up the street of the forges. The gate will be open tomorrow."

"Thank you," she replied.

As they walked back down to the city, Samira leaned in and whispered: "Look, we got some good information without breaking anything. You should be proud of me."

"A miracle," Bellatrix replied dryly.

"Hey, a miracle would be if I could go a whole day without annoying you."

"Then don't even try."

Samira let out a short, genuine laugh. "You should laugh more, you know?"

"I laugh enough." Down below, the sound of waves crashing against the pier's pillars echoed like a distant drum. The two walked down the alley to the inn, where the lamplight cast a yellowish glow on the windows.

Before entering, Samira looked one last time up the hill. The Veil Fortress seemed to breathe light—strong, stable, unwavering.

"Bellatrix…" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"If this Erik is really everything they say… do you think Strax will want him as an ally or an obstacle?"

Bellatrix was silent for a few seconds, watching the flags fluttering against the dark sky.

"It depends," she finally replied. "On which side of the truth he decides to stand."

And then she entered the inn, leaving Samira alone in the street for a moment—the sea wind blowing in her face. But soon, she followed her.

The inn was silent when the two went up to their rooms. The upper floor creaked under the weight of their steps, and the smell of old wood mingled with that of salt and smoke from the sea. Bellatrix went in first, closing the door behind them. Samira threw her cloak onto the bed and stretched like a lazy cat, letting out a tired sigh.

"Finally a roof over our heads. Even if it smells of fish."

"Better than sleeping in the open air," replied Bellatrix, taking off her boots and sitting in the chair by the window. From there, she could see the entire city sloping down to the harbor—the lights twinkling like fireflies, the reflection of the moonlight on the sea, and, high above, the Veil Fortress, firm as a stone lighthouse.

Samira threw herself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Are you still thinking about that?"

Bellatrix didn't answer. Her gaze remained fixed on that fortress, on the points of light that marked the courtyards and the silhouettes moving on top of the walls. "Do you really think they're innocent?" Samira insisted. "Honest, upright, hardworking… nobody's like that all the time."

"I didn't say they were innocent," Bellatrix replied, without taking her eyes off the window. "But they don't seem corrupt either. The way the guards acted, the way the city depends on them… everything indicates structure. Order."

"And that pleases you?"

"No. It worries me."

Samira turned to the side, resting her head on her arm. "Because an organized man is more dangerous than a villain?"

"Because an organized man with ideals is impossible to control."

Samira chuckled softly. "Ah, so the problem is that Strax won't be able to bend him so easily."

Bellatrix turned her face away. "Strax doesn't bend. He destroys or conquers. And if this Erik is really who they say he is, perhaps neither option will be simple."

Silence hung in the air for a few moments, broken only by the distant sound of the sea.

"You talk as if you know him," Samira said.

"I know the type."

Samira sat up, her gaze curious. "The type who believes in honor and truth?"

"The type who believes they can change the world without getting their hands dirty." Bellatrix sighed. "Those are the ones who bleed the most—and make others bleed along with them."

Samira rested her chin on her knee, watching her. "You speak with such certainty… as if you've seen it happen before."

Bellatrix looked away, her expression closed. "I have."

Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and Samira realized that was enough. She didn't press the matter.

Instead, she stood up, went to the window, and leaned against the wall next to Bellatrix. They both stood there, watching the city for a moment.

The night wind swayed the thin curtains, bringing the sound of the waves and the distant aroma of hot metal.

"Let's wait. Cristine and Yennifer should arrive soon." Samira said.

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