Luke stayed perfectly still, every muscle drawn tight like a bowstring ready to snap. The air felt too heavy to breathe, and each heartbeat thudded in his ears like a war drum. His mind sketched a dozen escape routes. Jump through a window, spark a distraction, fight, run. But each scenario ended the same way, with him dead.

In front of him stood the embodiment of Bastion's danger. Erza Grimhart. Behind him, Eleanor was frozen, eyes wide, her body locked by terror. Erza stepped closer, wrapped in an aura that felt almost tangible. Her black hair fell across her shoulders like strips of shadow, and in her eyes glimmered a surgical coldness.

"I asked what you two are doing here." Her voice was low, deliberate, the sound of a blade sliding across ice.

The instant the words left her mouth, Luke's perception field collapsed. The sense that usually mapped every movement around him simply broke. Even standing right there, Erza became unreadable, her presence a swirling storm, attacking from all sides at once, front and back, above and below. His instincts screamed danger.

She advanced another step, slow and assessing, and the corridor seemed to shrink. The air grew thicker with each click of her heels against the stone floor.

"Especially you…" Her finger extended, slow and predatory, pointing straight at Lucy. "What is one of my maids doing here at this hour? You're supposed to be at night training, aren't you?"

Luke's heart iced over. Air turned to glass in his lungs. He scrambled for an excuse but knew it would be useless. Erza was too sharp, too intuitive, a predator who sniffed out lies before they formed.

Behind him, Eleanor drew in a steadying breath.

"I was…" Lucy began, voice measured. Erza's gaze sharpened, feline impatience radiating from her eyes, waiting for the rest. "Lady Erza, I was on my way to see someone… on a private matter."

Erza raised a brow. That single motion doubled the pressure in the corridor. Eleanor swallowed hard, and the sound echoed like a gunshot.

"What matter?" Erza stepped even closer until she was right beside Lucy.

Lucy kept her eyes down. "Ronan."

The name hung in the air. Inside, Luke's thoughts spun like a tornado. In every version of this scenario, he ended up exposed, dead, or worse.

"Ronan?" Erza echoed, studying her nails as if the detail were trivial. "Why would you want to see him?"

Lucy held the lie as though it were a well rehearsed truth. "It's about Christine. He asked me about her. I think their relationship is strained. I thought I'd use the training hour to talk to him privately."

Outwardly Lucy seemed calm, almost solemn; inwardly Luke could feel the tension crackling like lightning before a storm. Yet her voice didn't waver. No tremor, no stammer, each word landed exactly where it needed to.

Erza tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Ah, yes. I heard something about that. An idiot tangling himself up with one of my precious girls," she said, contempt lacing every syllable.

She exhaled, the sound like distant thunder. "Go on."

Without another word, she moved past them, her footsteps ringing like hammers striking an anvil until the sound faded into the dark.

Lucy and Eleanor didn't move at first. The tension was so thick it clung to their skin like a second layer of cloth. At last, they began to descend the stairs in silence. But the sense of danger refused to fade. Every step sounded like a brittle snap. Luke felt his perception field slowly knitting itself back together but still off kilter.

Then it came. A sharp metallic sound, high and thin, like a blade whispering across stone. Luke's instincts detonated in his chest.

"Stop!" Lucy's voice cracked louder than intended as she yanked Eleanor back.

A thin metallic thread shimmered across Eleanor's torso, almost invisible in the gloom. Then another. And another. One by one, the wires appeared, crisscrossing the air like a lethal web. Everywhere Luke looked, more of them materialized, razor fine, poised to slice flesh and bone with a single wrong move. He knew a trap when he saw one. This wasn't a simple deterrent. It was an execution waiting for the smallest mistake.

And there she was at the bottom of the stairwell, leaning casually against the wall as if she had been there all along. Erza Grimhart.

Luke's heart stopped for a beat. How?! He had seen her leave through the corridor above.

The narrow stairway closed in on them, the imagined scent of blood curling in the air.

Erza pushed off from the wall with a lazy, deliberate grace. The wires quivered as if alive, catching the torchlight like veins of liquid silver. Each line moved with a will of its own, a deadly ballet trapping Lucy and Eleanor in an invisible cocoon.

"You know… I don't recall your face among my maids." Her voice was soft, almost musical, but the threat underneath coiled like a snake ready to strike.

Cold sweat crept down Luke's neck. Every nerve in his body screamed run, but his face stayed neutral, eyes lowered. One wrong twitch and those wires would cut everything apart. Erza took a few steps closer. Each movement made the wires vibrate like the strings of some dark instrument.

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"Lady Erza," Lucy said, her tone low, respectful, but steady. "My face isn't worthy of your memory."

Luke caught the faint motion at the corner of Erza's lips, not a smile, but recognition of a dangerous game.

For an endless heartbeat Erza tilted her head, weighing Lucy's words. The tension pressed down until the air burned in their lungs. Luke felt his world narrow to pinpoints of sensation: the metallic tang of the wires, Eleanor trembling behind him, the drip drip of water somewhere far away.

"I should personally train you all more often," Erza murmured at last, touching her chin with one elegant finger. "I've left too much to the First Sisters. Perhaps it's time I visited the practice grounds again."

"It would be an honor, Lady Erza," Lucy replied, keeping the mask of deference perfectly in place.

Luke's heart lurched in erratic rhythms, pounding, pausing, then pounding again. Every micro expression on Erza's face triggered a different internal alarm. The wires began to slacken, one by one, sliding back into the walls like serpents retreating to their burrows. The sound was faint, but to Luke it was the fanfare of survival. Erza leaned in close, seizing Lucy's chin with fingers that were cool and unyielding. Her eyes were honed blades tracing every detail of the maid's face.

"This time," she whispered, so near Lucy could feel her breath, "I will never forget your face."

"What's your name?" Erza's eyes locked directly onto Lucy's.

"Lucy." The answer slipped out without hesitation, the first name that came to mind—and in that instant Luke knew he was walking a tightrope. One misstep and she would know.

Erza's finger trailed slowly from Lucy's chin to her lips, the touch too light to be innocent.

"Lipstick?" Her brow arched. "You know the rule. None of my maids are allowed makeup. And yet…"

Luke's mind spasmed. This woman is a machine. She notices everything.

"Sometimes… a woman just wants… to impress someone special," Lucy whispered. "Forgive me, Lady Erza."

Erza's eyes narrowed to slits. She held Lucy's chin, leaning in close enough that her voice became a blade against the ear.

"I smell something on you… 'Lucy'…"

Luke froze. He didn't know why, but his whole body reacted, a shiver slicing down his spine.

"S-smell?" Lucy stammered.

Erza drew back slightly, her eyes glinting with predatory light. "The scent of Assassination."

The wires dissolved around them, retreating like burned webs.

"As any of my maids should have," she added with a faint smile—though the expression wasn't human. It was the smile of a predator who knows it can crush its prey at will.

"Good night," Erza said at last, her tone like silk tearing. "You may go."

Lucy and Eleanor moved with hesitant, deliberate steps, each motion calculated. The corridor ahead stretched out forever, but every inch gained felt like a silent victory. Luke could feel Erza's gaze fixed on them even as they turned their backs. His instincts screamed that at any moment something could still happen.

The bend in the hallway loomed ahead. He clung to it the way a drowning man clings to the promise of air. If we reach the corner, we can run.

They were only a few steps from it. Luke's leg muscles were stone, cold sweat slipping down his back. The bend was freedom, distance, relief. One turn and he could vanish.

Then Erza's voice sliced through the corridor like a blade. "Wait."

The sound cracked the fragile thread of hope. Both of them froze. Luke felt a cold knife twist in his gut. His heart was hammering so fast it sounded like muffled explosions in his chest.

"Your face is a little familiar to me, Lucy."

The words hit like a dropped weight. Luke knew exactly what that meant: his face was plastered all over the Safe Zone on wanted posters. He went still. Beside him, Eleanor barely breathed.

Lucy turned slowly, keeping her head bowed and hands clasped in perfect submission. "It must be your imagination, Lady Erza. I'm not worthy of such notice."

Erza, a few meters back, touched her chin with thoughtful fingers. Her eyes narrowed, studying Lucy. "Perhaps… maybe that's all it is."

For a heartbeat Luke thought she would advance. But with that same lethal calm, Erza turned, climbed the stairs, and disappeared up the stairs, leaving only silence behind. Lucy and Eleanor stayed frozen, the oppressive silence wrapping around them. Only when the last trace of her presence vanished did Lucy dare to breathe. Without exchanging a word, they moved down the corridor. Every step was measured, slow, as if the walls themselves might close in at any moment.

***

They moved through the fortress in silence. The air hung heavy, each step sending muted echoes down distant corridors. Neither Lucy nor Eleanor had relaxed since the encounter, their bodies still thrummed with adrenaline.

When they finally reached their destination, the pressure eased a fraction. The place was empty. No guards, no traps. Just the rendezvous point.

"That woman…" Eleanor leaned against the wall, still breathless. "She's terrifying."

Luke scanned the hallways, every sense on alert. The quiet here was different, not Erza's suffocating silence, but the kind that felt like shelter.

"Looks like this is where we split," Lucy said, her voice sounding normal again for the first time.

Eleanor stepped closer, her eyes still wide. "So all I have to do is meet you at the agreed spot?"

"That's right." Lucy's tone was steady. "I'll get you safely to the second mechanism. From there, you'll see the truth for yourself."

She extended her hand. "Whatever happens, thank you for coming to rescue me, Luke."

He clasped it, feeling the warmth of another human being after so much tension. "You're only in this mess because you helped me."

Eleanor glanced down the corridor. "Good luck, Lucy." Then she turned and slipped away.

It was time for her to make her own way out. Luke knew that as a maid or a party guest, he would have to go back the way he came, risking being spotted. There was no other choice. When Eleanor disappeared into the corridor, he was alone again. The fortress seemed larger now, emptier, more dangerous.

He moved on, finally stopping at the janitor's storage door. Low, unremarkable, yet at that moment it was his passage to another life. He dissolved into mist, slid under the door, and solidified on the other side. Inside, he stripped off the maid's uniform, the fabric still carrying the scent of the hallways. Underneath was the party dress. A simple change, but one loaded with risk.

Luke exhaled, letting out some of the tension that had built up in his chest. Now came the hardest part: returning to the party unnoticed and hoping Eleanor made it out alive. Time was their enemy. One mistake, an unconscious guard discovered, someone checking Eleanor's room, would unravel everything.

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