On a normal day, the mansion's kitchen was a place where cleanliness and order reigned supreme.
Today, however, the heart of the house pulsed with a level of disarray that, while manageable, created a constant pressure in Reiko's chest.
As she stepped inside, she paused for a moment to assess the situation. Overturned glasses, empty bottles, and leftover food were scattered across the stone countertops.
She began mentally noting priorities: Clean the kitchen, check the silver inventory, wake the support staff.
Her mind had already switched into list mode, categorizing tasks by urgency.
Reiko moved toward the central table, efficiently pushing aside several crystal glasses that still held a sticky residue.
Her movements were precise, almost automatic.
She prepared a functional breakfast: a piece of rustic bread, a few slices of cold meat, and a chunk of aged cheese.
She poured herself a glass of cold milk and sat on a tall chair, chewing with methodical slowness that masked the whirlwind of doubts growing inside her.
I would much rather be back at the inn with Alice right now, Reiko thought, feeling a sharp pang of nostalgia.
There, the world was predictable.
Alice woke early, breakfast was ready, and there were no unknown variables threatening her stability.
Here, in Dahlia's mansion, Reiko felt as though she were walking a tightrope. She appreciated the marchioness's gold, of course—it was that very gold that funded her independence.
But the price of that gold was managing not only the nobility's libertinism, but also their whims, and keeping the mansion staff under control.
The anxiety about the work ahead—making the mansion presentable before noon—was real, but familiar.
It was the kind of anxiety she could tame with a good list and enough authority. What truly made her pulse race was the lack of information.
Where is she? she asked herself for what felt like the thousandth time, leaving her bread half-eaten on the plate.
She had scanned every face in the main hall, every body sprawled in the corridors, every corner of the kitchen. Nothing. Mara wasn't in the common areas.
And that was precisely what worried her most. If Mara wasn't sleeping on the floor like the others, then she was probably in one of the private rooms.
A chill ran down Reiko's spine. What if, when she finally found her, her profile no longer showed six abilities—but ten? Or twenty?
Reiko hurried through the rest of her breakfast without savoring it. Her body needed fuel, but her mind needed answers.
Bell was out searching for Dahlia, which gave Reiko just enough time to retrieve her notebook.
That notebook was her anchor, her way of imposing order on chaos.
And yet, even as she thought about columns of pending tasks, her eyes kept unconsciously searching for any clue to Mara's whereabouts.
She stood up, brushed the crumbs off the table with a sharp gesture, and left the kitchen. The walk back to her room was an exercise in patience.
She had to dodge women beginning to wake with pained groans and step over piles of clothing blocking the passage.
Every second that passed without seeing Mara raised her level of alertness.
The logistical anxiety about noon mixed with a growing paranoia about what Mara might be doing at that very moment.
Is she with Alice? Reiko wondered, clenching her fists.
At last, she stopped in front of her bedroom door and paused for a second, catching her breath. The hallway here was quiet—a small oasis of calm.
I'll just go in, grab the notebook, and come back out to organize the staff. Then I'll look for her until I find her, she promised herself.
Once again, Reiko tried to assemble the list she would soon write down in her notebook.
She snapped out of her brief trance and opened the door.
But the moment she saw what was inside the room, she froze.
There, sprawled across the bed, completely naked and sleeping peacefully… was Mara