Ding.
A soft chi broke the silence of the elevator car.
The tal doors slid apart, revealing a quiet corridor laid with thick, dark carpet.
The lighting here wasn’t harsh. It was carefully designed diffuse lighting, casting a gentle glow across a series of abstract paintings mounted along the walls.
Aurora carried Pandora down the corridor, her footsteps swallowed whole by carpet soft enough to devour sound, until she stopped before Room 2802 at the far end.
She didn’t have a free hand for a key.
She gave her wrist a small shake instead.
The Palmfiend that had been nestled obediently in her sleeve poked its head out and lined its single eye up with the hidden sensor beneath the lock.
Click.
The electronic lock disengaged.
The door swung open. Aurora turned sideways, carried Pandora inside, and nudged the door shut behind her with her back.
The suite was spacious.
Not ostentatious. The décor wasn’t the nouveau riche style of gold and glitter, but sothing more considered—a blend of old-world elegance and clean modern practicality.
Soft cream-colored wool carpet underfoot. Furniture with clean lines and quality materials. And most striking of all: a floor-to-ceiling window that occupied nearly an entire wall.
“Mm. Take to the window.”
Pandora said it quietly.
Aurora obliged without a word, carrying her over to the window and pulling the heavy curtains aside.
Outside, dusk had arrived.
The thick cloud cover that had blanketed the Dead City through the day had mostly dispersed. The last light of the setting sun poured through the gaps like liquid gold, draping the dead city in a thin, luminous veil.
The Rust Greenhouse Hotel was positioned at a relative high point. From this height, from this angle, the view was extraordinary.
Pandora’s clear eyes moved slowly over the world below, from near to far.
She could clearly see a corner of Eden’s residential cluster.
The open area packed with mismatched chairs was the “Noah’s Ark Cinema,” the place that ran movie screenings by generator at night. Even now, so early residents had co out to claim seats. She couldn’t make out their expressions from here, but she could feel the familiar texture of everyday life in Eden.
Not far from it, under the vast transparent do, Eve’s Secret Garden blood with vivid green. Against the gray-yellow decay of the Dead City around it, it looked like a piece of jade—quiet and serene.
She shifted her gaze to the other side. Further out.
The complete opposite of the peaceful scene on this side.
Heavy shadow hung over that direction, radiating a dull unease even at dusk.
The Snake Pit.
It was still early. That area hadn’t fully co alive yet. But Pandora could almost sll it already—the mingled scent of desire and rot and violence.
Light and shadow.
Life and death.
Order and chaos.
At this hour, frad by this enormous window, the contrast was sharp. Almost poetic.
Surrounded by the quiet, comfortable—honestly, luxurious—room, the tension Pandora had been carrying through the entire day finally, truly, released.
The Amber Mixture was working steadily inside her. Combined with the ceaseless vitality of the Witch’s bloodline, it was quietly repairing her damaged body.
It felt warm. Gentle. Like spring rain soaking into dry earth, flowing slowly through her limbs.
But that comfort was quickly interrupted by a different sensation entirely.
The blood that had dried on her during the fight. The old sweat, long since turned stale. The clothes clinging to her skin, sticky and reeking of iron.
All of it was chipping away at the rare peace of this mont.
“Is there a bathroom?”
“Of course.”
“And clothes?” Pandora looked down at the filthy, partially torn outfit she was wearing and furrowed her brow slightly.
Aurora blinked, then caught on imdiately. “If My Lady requires it, I can call for a room attendant. The hotel has a professional laundry service on standby. They’re very efficient—washing and drying won’t take long at all. By the ti My Lady has finished bathing, it should be ready.”
Oh? That fast.
Pandora didn’t overthink it. She gave a small nod.
She carefully extracted herself from Aurora’s hold, her feet touching the floor.
Aurora instinctively moved to steady her, one hand already reaching toward her arm.
“Don’t worry. I've recovered a little.”
Pandora waved her off. The words carried a slight edge of stubbornness, and her body swayed slightly from the exertion.
But if she could manage on her own, she preferred to. Even when it ca to her loyal knight.
She drew a slow breath, found her balance, and walked step by careful step toward the bathroom.
..................
Inside the bathroom.
Pandora felt along the wall until she found the switch for the warm light.
Soft amber light filled the space instantly, chasing the cold from the mirrored surfaces.
She peeled off the dirty clothes and passed them through the gap in the door.
Then she padded barefoot to the large mirror.
The girl looking back at her was slight. Her skin was pale—almost translucent, with the faint blue traces of veins visible beneath.
“Haven’t really changed, have I?”
Pandora studied her own reflection. A flicker of puzzlent crossed her eyes.
Sohow, compared to ten months ago, her body seed to have barely grown. She still looked fourteen. No taller. No more mature.
“Is it the Witch’s bloodline...”
Like certain forbidden presences in old fairy tales, ti seed to have simply... stopped on her.
Pandora shook her head lightly and stopped trying to untangle it.
Her gaze dropped to the injuries on her body.
Thanks to the bizarre near-regenerative effect of the Sloughing Decoction, the surface of her skin showed almost no obvious damage. The lacerations and puncture wounds that should have been grueso were reduced to faint, fresh pink marks.
But she knew better than anyone what it looked like on the inside.
The Third-Rank Sloughing Decoction had been violent. Her organs were shaken. Her bones were slightly misaligned. All of it throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.
Still, compared to the total collapse she had been in imdiately after the fight—the extre weakness, the constant threat of fainting—she was significantly better now.
“The Witch’s bloodline vitality...”
Pandora felt the faint but tenacious fla of life burning inside her. She exhaled quietly.
“Terrifyingly strong, honestly.”
The shower hissed to life as she turned it on.
Warm water, wreathed in white mist, cascaded down from above—slightly hotter than comfortable.
The heat crashed against her skin, and Pandora shivered involuntarily.
A hot shower after a fight wasn’t as indulgent as soaking in a bath. But it wasn’t far off, either.
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