Ophelia lay in her bed with her gaze focused on the ceiling. She still had over an hour until her alarm rang, but she could not fall asleep. And that was because today was the day. She had proposed that if Tom's father wanted to talk to her, they could speak on her terms and no other way.

She then had the cats leak some information to the businessman about the training place in the forest and when she would be there.

Q'Shar reassured her that he would show up in person. They gave him the perfect place to question her without any witnesses or even kidnapping required.

Finally, after half an hour more of fighting with her own thoughts, she got up from the bed and started preparing.

Sam had taught her always to check everything. Initially, she didn't understand the emphasis he put on it, but now she did. It was calming, reassuring even. She knew how many talismans she had, she knew the blade was sharp and ready to be drawn, and she knew where a dagger was hidden in her clothes.

Going through the motions made her feel ready.

Next was the plan. She went over it again. She came up with a story about some locals they met in the forest and how she egged Tom on to drink more. And how the alcohol was spiked, and they woke up after the party without Tom, and how everyone thought it was her fault.

She went over the story once again to be sure she could answer any question.

Finally came the last part. This one, Sam hadn't taught her because he never needed it. The part where she prepared herself mentally. Her teacher didn't care much about the prospect of taking life, but she still did, although not as strongly as she used to.

Myhur taught her to imagine the worst-case scenario and go through it step by step, so that if it happened, she wouldn't be caught off guard. And the worst case was that she would take life today, multiple lives even.

So she sat down and imagined it, stabbing and cutting. There was some revulsion inside her, but she did visualise the motions until she became desensitised to the vision.

Sighing, she got up and went to the car.

The drive went as usual, without any obvious tail, and she arrived deep in the forest uninterrupted. But today, Myhur wasn't waiting for her. He was hiding in the small hut on the property, as they had discussed.

It took another half an hour before she heard cars approaching.

Judging by the number, the cats were correct. Tom's father arrived with all his bodyguards, though she had the feeling they were here only to intimidate.

She tore an Armour talisman and felt the magic wrap around her.

Then, she adjusted the rapier in its scabbard and faced the direction of the forest road. Three cars came and parked in a U-shape. First, two men in suits got out of each vehicle on the side. One of them approached the one in the centre and opened the back door, revealing a middle-aged man.

He had dark hair with some grey showing at the sides. His face was relatively handsome, although the expression seemed cold and calculating. She could see similarities to Tom and felt her heart quicken as she realised she was standing in front of a man whose son she had sentenced to death.

Aside from the man, two more guys came out of the middle car. They were the same people who tried to get her to go with them the last time. The men looked around, checking for anyone else. Ophelia turned to the house, noticing that Myhur was no longer visible in the window.

One of the men went to check the house, and Tom's father then turned to her. His eyes scanned her form head to toe, stopping at the rapier for a second.

"So, who do you work for?" he asked without any introduction.

Ophelia furrowed her eyebrows. This question wasn't what she had prepared for.

"What?" she asked back.

"Who do you work for?" the man repeated.

"...I don't work for anyone?"

'Did he know already?' she thought. Was he in on the arcane?

Ophelia looked at him with raised eyebrows, then at the man who had gone to check the house. The goon came around the building and shook his head, to which Tom's father turned to her, surprise clearly written on his face.

"I almost didn't come, you know," he said, leaning on the car. "Just imagine it. One way or another, I needed to get some information out of someone. And for that, I needed to get them in a quiet place. And then I got some intel that this very person goes to a place deep in the forest every weekend. All by herself. With no one to help her. Far from any escape routes. Easy target." He paused for a second, letting his gaze linger on hers. "I mean, it sounds too good to be true, right? And yet here you are…" he finished.

It took Ophelia a second to catch on to the threat. It should have been obvious, but there was a slight problem—she realised. He was clearly trying to intimidate her, but Sam could tell jokes with a colder look in his eyes, so her mind was confused. The words were threatening, but she didn't think of the person who spoke them as threatening.

"And here I am. So ask your questions."

"Who. Do. You. Work for?"

"I don't work for anyone," Ophelia repeated, and then decided to try to steer the conversation. "I got your son drunk, so sure, I'm partially responsible—"

"Don't lie to me," the man cut her off.

'Did he find out about the magic?' she thought.

"Do you think I'm stupid, or did they not tell you anything? We are on the verge of a game-changing technology, and then someone kills my son just as we are about to finalise it." A mocking smile appeared on his lips. "I checked the lawyer representing you—one of the best in the business. Any payments related to your case disappear in a labyrinth of offshore accounts. Would you like to tell me how a girl from nowhere got those kinds of contacts? Do you think I can't tell a warning when I see it? Do you think I will let my competition threaten me?"

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He raised his hand, and the men started preparing—two moving to her sides, as one took out a gun with a silencer.

"If you want your pretty face intact, you will tell me who contacted you, how they paid you, and what exactly you did to my son. And once everything checks out, then maybe—just maybe—you will get to keep on living… relatively intact."

Ophelia froze, looking at him with her mouth half-open. She had prepared the story. She had prepared to take some of the blame to give the man relief…

"So this is what it's about? Not your son's death but a threat to you?" She smiled ironically. "You didn't even ask how he died," she added.

But the man ignored her comment entirely. All he did was stop leaning on the car and stand straighter in front of her.

"I'll ask one more time," he said as the guy with the silenced gun raised his weapon. "Who do—"

"I'll tell you," she interrupted. "You see… I met a village of pagan warlocks, and they asked for someone as a sacrifice. So, I pointed to your son because he was a massive, annoying, narcissistic piece of shit. And I see now that I should have named you, hoping they'd somehow drag you to that forest, because he clearly got his dogshit attitude after his father!" Ophelia spat at the man.

He was clearly taken aback, but then anger showed on his face.

"Suit yourself. Shoot her legs."

The one with the silencer pulled the trigger. The shot was much louder than she expected, but the small-calibre bullet simply crashed into the armour.

Before they could shake off their surprise, Ophelia drew her rapier in one smooth motion and closed the distance, slashing at the gunner's throat. There was a slight hesitation, but she already knew what would happen.

She wasn't surprised at the resistance that quickly gave way.

She wasn't surprised at the wet, sickening sound that followed.

And she wasn't surprised at the blood spurting from the man's throat.

She did visualise just that before she even came here.

They were all frozen in surprise as she rotated and, putting her leg forward, stabbed at the face of another one, puncturing his forehead.

Tom's father finally reacted, swearing as he tried to get back into his car. The driver was well-trained as he jumped for his seat, but Ophelia's instructions were clear. Don't let them leave if they'd seen magic, and they surely did.

Another two bullets slammed into the armour spell, this time around her chest.

Before the driver could close the doors, a black snake coiled underneath the car shot up and bit into his wrist. The man screamed as a black substance could be seen entering his veins. Ophelia jumped forward at the new gunman as the two opponents to the side finally drew their guns. Another two bullets slammed into the spell as it creaked.

Ophelia stabbed, producing a Cut talisman from her pocket.

She fired the spell as the man raised his hands.

But that was enough to stop his shot.

She jumped forward again and, with two quick attacks, took down the two remaining men as they fell to the floor.

The last one left was Tom's father.

"W-wait, I… I'm sorry, we can talk this out." he stammered from the back seat.

Ophelia hesitated, but then Sam's words came to her.

'If you need to kill, do it without hesitation. Hesitation will only prolong suffering, the victims' and yours. You can feel bad about it later.'

"Yooou can leave him to me," Myhur's voice came from behind her as the scared man froze in terror, seeing the strange creature.

It was the first time she would kill a man begging for life, with no threat to hers. The idea of turning around and leaving it to the mushroom was tempting, but she'd started it. It was her plan and her outcome. So she would finish it. Before Myhur could come closer, she stabbed forward, straight through the man's skull.

Many emotions assaulted her the moment she retracted the blade. Guilt, relief… and excitement.

Ophelia then turned to the mycanoid, as he looked at her with a slight smile.

"Yooou did well."

She wanted to respond, but then the smell of blood hit her. The thick iron scent assaulted her nose, and the world started spinning as she ran forward into the bushes to empty her stomach. She flinched as she felt the snake crawl up her leg. The creature's concern washed over her, helping calm her emotions.

After a few deep breaths, she finally wobbled to the side to sit down away from the scene where the smell wouldn't get to her.

"Iiit's different, to kill out of your own choice rather than necessity, isn't it?" Myhur said as he approached. "To kill a man begging for his life."

Ophelia absentmindedly hugged the snake, which coiled in her arms.

"I was hoping for a different outcome. But all I did was end up following Sam's plan, but with extra steps," she said, not turning to the mycanoid. "Unneeded steps."

"Yooou followed your own plan. This time it ended up Sam-ish. Sure. But what truly matters is you tried your own way and dealt with its consequences."

"I'm pretty sure Sam would say intentions didn't matter, just the outcome, and the outcome was… well, this."

"Saaam is many things, a madman and a genius among them, but that does not necessarily make him wise or his way the only correct one."

Ophelia turned to the mushroom, tilting her head slightly.

"Hiiis 'condition' gives him his own strange wisdom, but like a colorblind man gazing upon a painting, it also prevents him from experiencing many things that influence others. You can feel that about him, don't you? The slight fundamental difference."

Ophelia didn't have to ask what he was talking about. She knew very well. Those moments when he would teach her, usually something related to forbidden knowledge, and then lose himself in it, attempting to convey his visions only to choke on his own words. She could sometimes catch this strange look in his eyes, a very lonely one.

Myhur broke her out of her thoughts as he plopped himself down next to her.

"Diiid you ever hear the expression 'stop and smell the roses'?" he asked, to which Ophelia nodded her head. "Not many know, I don't think even Sam does, but this expression comes from my people."

She looked at the mycanoid in surprise.

"The original goes 'Stop and see if you'll smell Frostella.' I imagine someone who heard it didn't know what Frostella was and changed it to roses." Myhur chuckled to himself. "It's a flower that looks like the night sky. It's stunning, but the interesting part is that it only grows on the tombs of those of my people who met death after a life they were proud of. We once tried growing them, replicating them, but no matter what, the flower would only bloom on the graves of the proudest mycanoids. So we coined the saying so that when we aren't sure what to do, we can remind ourselves that it's not the wealth, or fame, or success that matters—it's 'how' we will meet Ghyllothar that does. Whether with our heads raised high or hanging low."

He paused for a second, letting the words hang in the air, until he finally turned to look at her. The moss on the mycanoid's face twisted into something akin to a calm smile.

"Iii do realise that my people's sayings about rotting in the ground aren't much help to you humans, but we do believe that no matter the outcome of your actions, your belief behind them seems to matter, at least to the ground in which you will rot. And that is a comforting thought when your good intentions end up in… Sam-ish solutions."

Ophelia listened to the booming voice of Myhur. She had to agree it was pleasant, though somewhat strange. So if she took a path that she could be proud of, no matter the outcome, there might be a lovely flower on her grave, if she were a mushroom person, that is.

Well, it was something… at least. And despite herself, she did smile slightly, not even aware as the thought of killing, not only in self-defence but as a need and part of her, silently settled somewhere in her mind.

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