I milled around the city for a while, numb and more than a little defeated. My legs carried me forward without thought, aimless, directionless. The world around me blurred into a meaningless haze of cobbled streets, merchant stalls, and passing strangers. I barely registered the chatter of the crowds, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby bakery, or the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer striking metal.

  It was all just noise. Background filler in a world that had already cast me aside.

  At some point, my wandering brought me back to the Guild TLF.

  "Ah." The sound escaped me in a whisper as I finally took in my surroundings.

  The familiar sight of the lodging facility loomed before me. The sight of it should have comforted me—this was supposed to be home, at least for now. Instead, all I felt was an empty, gnawing exhaustion.

  "Bed sounds nice." The thought was dull, sluggish, barely forming in my mind.

  If I could just sleep the worthless time away, maybe everything would turn out alright in the end.

  Knowing it wouldn't be that easy I pushed myself forward. My limbs felt heavy, but I managed to reach my door. With practiced ease, I reached into my bag, fishing out my key and slipping it into the lock.

  It didn’t turn.

  I blinked.

  A dissatisfied breath left me as I twisted it harder, jiggling it slightly. Nothing.

  Frowning, I pulled the key out, squeezed it between my fingers and cleaned it in case it had any dirt, then tried again. The key stubbornly refused to turn.

  "What the hell?" I muttered under my breath, as I pressed my palm against the door for balance and twisted the key with more force.

  Nothing.

  I inhaled sharply, my throat tightening as I yanked the key out and shoved it back in, trying again. This time, I put my full weight into it, twisting, pushing—forcing—but the lock remained unmoving, unyielding.

  I cursed so loudly it echoed around the hallway. Taking out my anger on the door did nothing but leave my hands bruised.

  I did my best to straighten myself out, forcing my shoulders back as I sucked in a slow, deep breath. Calm down. Don’t fall apart here. I exhaled carefully, willing my hands to stop shaking.

  "No problem," I spat out, though the words tasted bitter, a flimsy attempt at composure. "I just need to talk to Lester freaking Brim. How great." The reminder did little to ease the sour weight in my stomach.

  As I turned on my heel I reminded myself that he wasn’t that bad. Making my way to his office I kept going over the facts. He had never done anything outright inappropriate, never said anything that crossed a line. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t wrong.

  It was the way he looked at me. A look that lingered for too long, deliberate scrutiny that made my skin prickle with discomfort.

  I swallowed back the unease curling in my gut, just get this over with.

  Lester’s office was unsettlingly tidy—everything placed with the kind of rigid care that spoke of a man who valued control above comfort. At least he practiced what he preached, keeping the space neat and excessively clean.

  Or more likely, he paid someone else to do it for him.

  Lester Brim looked up from his desk, a napkin still clutched uselessly in one hand. He didn’t even try to hide the half-eaten meat pie resting on a stained wooden plate beside him. His beady, pale-blue eyes latched onto me like a clamp, unblinking and expectant—as if I were the next item on his menu.

  As if I were the next thing on the menu.

  I tried to muster a polite smile, but it was wasted.

  Because Lester Brim was smiling too.

  Not the kind of smile you gave out of courtesy or familiarity. No—his was slow and deliberate, spreading across his greasy face with unsettling ease.

  There was a glint in his eye—Like he was savoring a private joke.

  A greasy smear of oil trailed from the corner of his mouth, cutting through the stubble of his sagging jowls and blending with the remnants of whatever sauce had splattered down the front of his uniform. He looked like a man who had long since abandoned dignity but still expected to be treated with it.

  "Little Miss Fehér," he drawled, voice thick with amusement. "Whatever brings you here today?"

  I felt bile rise in my throat, but kept my expression still.

  "I need to talk to you about my room."

  Lester tilted his head slightly at my words, his smile sharpening at the edges.

  "What do you mean," he asked slowly, drawing out each word with mock confusion, "you need to talk to me about your room?"

  The way he said it—calm, almost curious—immediately put me on edge. There was no real question in his tone.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "I mean my key doesn't work," I replied. "I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t turn."

  Lester blinked. Then—so casually it made me sick—he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his rotund stomach.

  "Your party paid us a visit a few days ago. They recouped the deposit—and the previous month’s rent. Claimed you used their funds to pay for it. You’ve been officially evicted, Miss Fehér. Be thankful that neither I nor your party chose to press charges."

  My stomach plummeted into a pit of dread and betrayal.

  "That’s preposterous," I protested, though my voice came out weaker than I liked. "That was my coin. They have no right to revoke it."

  His expression didn’t change—unmoved by my distress.

  "They had all the necessary documentation. Everything was in order."

  "What documents?" I snapped, panic creeping up my throat like cold vines. "They couldn’t possibly have—"

  And then I saw it.

  The flicker in his eyes.

  That gleam.

  He was lying.

  There were no papers.

  There didn’t need to be.

  I hadn’t been evicted because of regulations.

  The room had been seized.

  Because they wanted it to be.

  My former friends—my party—had gone out of their way to make sure I had nothing. Even after claiming they wanted nothing more to do with me, they still lingered like shadows, twisting the knife from afar.

  Did they really hate me that much?

  I balled my hands into tight fists. "That's unfair. I paid for it with my own money. That room belonged to me. I have the contract—"

  His interruption came with a slow, smug purr.

  "Oh, I'm sure you do," he said, voice thick with sarcasm.

  And then it hit me.

  The contract was in the room.

  I could break in. I could get it.

  But that would be all they needed—an excuse to justify my eviction and fully eject me from the Guild.

  A trap. A sinister plan, carefully laid.

  My breath hitched in my throat.

  "That’s theft," I whispered, though it sounded frail even to my own ears. "The Guild—"

  "They won’t lift a finger," Lester cut in, smooth as oil. His grin widened with self-satisfaction. "Not after what’s been reported. Not with you on probation."

  He chuckled to himself, shaking his head like it was all a joke only he understood.

  "Not to mention," he added, smug, "I’ve been in good standing since before you were out of your first diapers. You’re already branded, darling."

  I swallowed hard against the lump rising in my throat.

  "I didn’t do anything wrong," I said.

  Not to him. Not to the Guild.

  I said it aloud—but more to myself than to Lester.

  Because this?

  This was too much.

  He rose from his seat slowly, the chair groaning beneath him like it resented the weight. “Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing,” he murmured, stepping around the desk.

  I flinched as he came closer.

  “You were the little prize of your party, weren’t you?” he said. “Their sweet little pet. Good for keeping beds warm, I’d guess.”

  “That’s not True” I snapped, voice trembling. “I’m a healer—”

  He laughed, short and sharp. “What exactly did you heal? A party like that—what use were you, really?”

  His words hit like stones, echoing the self-doubt I had wrestled with for far too long.

  Ever since they reached Tier IV, one by one… while I remained at Tier II.

  Stagnant.

  Falling behind.

  Useless.

  But still… this? This was too cruel.

  He noticed my silence, and his smile twisted into something cruel—predatory. He straightened to his full height, towering over me, and his words dripped with venom.

  The echoes of their voices rang in my ears—familiar, brutal.

  First my party.

  Then the Guild.

  And now this of a man.

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. The pain grounded me, tethered me to the moment.

  But their words still lingered—ghosts that whispered doubt, that made me question everything about myself.

  I clenched my jaw, fists tight at my sides.

  I am a healer

  The agreement. The payment records. The proof. was in that room.

  Thanks to the Adventurer Accord, legal disputes didn’t fall solely under Guild jurisdiction—they extended to the city’s authority. And the city didn’t bow to the Guild. Even Crimson Horizon, for all its power and prestige, couldn't override official civil policy without raising eyebrows.

  If they were truly resorting to underhanded tactics... it wouldn’t take much to stir whispers. Whispers of another Adventurers' Guild Rebellion.

  The documents were safe—hidden in the wall beside my coin pouch. I doubted anyone else would have gone to such lengths to protect their belongings. Then again, didn’t have to worry about their own party taking anything they wanted just because

  I was so wrapped in my thoughts, so consumed by strategy and bitter regret, I didn’t notice how close he’d crept—until his pudgy finger jabbed into my chest, yanking me back into the present.

  His finger moved with slow, calculated precision.

  It slipped beneath the edge of the tight binding I wore across my chest—tugging, just enough, to loosen the tension that held me in.

  The fabric shifted slightly. Not enough to expose, but enough to make me feel it.

  My breath hitched—not from fear, but from rage.

  The pressure around my ribs eased, and with it came the sharp awareness of why I’d bound myself so tightly in the first place.

  The word echoed like a slap across my memory.

  Jorge’s voice, soft and unbothered, flickered through my mind—casually cruel, just stating a fact.

  That was the moment I saw red.

  I slapped his hand away, the force of it cracking through the room like a whip.

  My palm stung—I’d hit him far too hard.

  But even that wasn’t enough.

  He only blinked, stunned by the fact I dared to fight back.

  Ha.

  That’s what you get for believing those bastards.

  “I’m not that kind of woman,” I hissed, my voice shaking with fury.

  Lester rubbed his hand, the surprise on his face melting into something far worse—amusement.

  "You keep telling yourself that," he said, turning casually back toward his desk. "But no room means no shelter. No Guild support. No help. And you…”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder, eyes gleaming.

  “You’re not going to last long out there."

  “Ha!” I spat. “I’m still a member of the Church. Don’t think for a second this’ll end well for you.”

  With those words, I tore myself from the room.

  That’s right—the Church.

  I hadn’t left on the best of terms. I had walked away... less than gracefully. The Church had taught me so much—Learning to heal, listen, and be part of something greater made me feel like I finally belonged and mattered.

  Not the wish of a child with no where else to go.

  They saw promise in me. I was on the path to becoming a Revered Mother—not anytime soon, of course. Fifteen, maybe twenty years down the line. But the fact remained: They had hopes for me.

  had hopes for me.

  Then Jorge came.

  He kept his promise. The one he made when we were young.

  He told me he needed me. That he couldn’t do it without me.

  And that melted my heart, because even after all that time… I still loved him.

  I followed him—not just because of the promise we made, but because I believed in him.

  And maybe, if I helped him reach his dream, he’d finally look at me the way I always looked at him.

  As I walked away from that dreadful office, tears welled in my eyes—Isn’t it funny, after all of this… I still wanted him to achieve his dream.

  Alivia isn’t just being shunned by people—she’s being erased from systems. The Guild, her party, her home… even her own reflection.

  keep standing.

  spark of resistance. A slap. A step back. A breath drawn through fury.