Ch 10.4

On the surface, the Tranquil Pavilion continued to glitter as it always had. Customers flowed in steadily, laughter and music spilling into the streets, lanterns glowing warm against polished stone. To an outsider, nothing seemed amiss.

But inside, the strain was beginning to show.

The courtesans were stretched thin. With Wallus and his men demanding more girls at their constant beck and call, shifts ran longer, rest grew scarce, and the balance of the house faltered. The Pavilion was still standing—but it was starting to creak.

The girls assigned to Wallus’s group changed first.

They returned quieter than before. Their smiles were practiced, brittle. Some flinched at raised voices. Others stared into nothing long after their duties ended, hands clenched tightly in their sleeves. No bruises were shown. No complaints were filed. Not a single one stepped forward.

But someone noticed.

The door to the office slammed open.

“Aisha!”

Kazyak stormed in, brows knotted tight, claws flexing at her sides. The fire in her eyes was unmistakable.

Aisha paused mid-stroke, quill hovering above the ledger. Slowly, she looked up.
“What is it now, Kazyak?”

Kazyak crossed the room in long strides and slammed her palm onto the desk. Ink sloshed, the quill rattling as the table shook beneath the impact.

“Those church bastards are up to something,” she growled.

Aisha’s tail flicked once, sharp and restrained. She glanced sideways at Kazyak.
“And what did they do this time?” she asked coolly. “I hope you’re not bringing me guesses.”

Kazyak’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t have proof,” she admitted. “But the girls serving them—look at them. They’ve a dead look in their eyes. Shaken. Like something’s eating them alive.”

Aisha’s expression hardened.
“Did any of them come to you?” she asked. “Did they say they were harmed?”

Kazyak hesitated. Her voice dropped, frustration bleeding through.
“No. But I know that look. I’ve seen it before. My instincts aren’t wrong.”

Aisha lowered her gaze and resumed writing, the scratch of quill against parchment sounding louder in the silence.
“That’s not enough,” she said. “Without proof, we do nothing.”

Kazyak stared at her, disbelief burning in her eyes.
“You’re just going to let it go?”

“Until Lady Mesphine or Madam Onteko returns,” Aisha replied, her tone firm despite the tension in her shoulders. “Yes. We cannot afford another incident and jeopardise the reputation of the guild and make the church’s enemy.”

Kazyak’s claws curled into her palms. For a moment, it looked like she might argue further—but then she scoffed sharply, turned on her heel, and stormed out, the door slamming hard behind her.

The sound echoed longer than it should have.

Aisha finally set the quill down. She leaned back in her chair and pressed her fingers briefly to her brow, eyes closing.

“…I’m really not cut out for this,” she murmured into the empty room.

Outside the office, Kazyak’s boots echoed sharply down the corridor. She barely made it three steps before someone was waiting for her.

Tevu stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching her approach as if she’d been expecting this exact outcome.

“So,” Tevu said evenly, meeting her gaze, “she didn’t listen.”

Kazyak snapped her head toward her, irritation flaring hot.
“Forget her. I’m done playing nice. I’ll just barge in there and beat the truth out of those bastards.”

Tevu moved instantly, gripping Kazyak’s shoulder and halting her mid-stride. Her hand was heavy—solid as stone.
“Stop,” she said. “That would be reckless. You want to get thrown out? Or worse, give them exactly what they want?”

Kazyak snarled, shrugging against her grip.
“Then what the hell do you want me to do?! Sit around and wait while our sisters get chewed up?”

Tevu didn’t raise her voice. She leaned in slightly, eyes hard and focused.
“We ask the girls first. Quietly. One by one. We listen. We collect proof.” Her jaw tightened. “And once we have it, then we serve those church dogs with claws and stone alike.”

Kazyak froze, surprised despite herself. She searched Tevu’s face, then slowly exhaled through her nose.

“…Fine,” she muttered at last, nodding once. “So what’s the plan?”

Chloe descended into the septic chamber once more with her two orc sisters, fully wrapped in protective gear, rakes and brushes in hand. The air was thick and foul as always, but the three of them moved with practised ease, spreading out to their usual sections and resuming the grim work without complaint.

“I’ve finished this side,” one of the taller orc women called out, scraping the last residue from the stone channel.

The other orc paused, then tilted her head. “Hey… look at her.”

Both of them turned.

Chloe was still scrubbing the same patch of stone, her movements slow and absent, eyes unfocused as her brush dragged back and forth through the murky water.

Why was Sheila acting like that?
The question gnawed at her again. Chloe replayed the moment in her mind—the sudden flinch, the swatted hand, the hurried retreat into the corridor’s shadows.

Did I say something wrong? Did I upset her somehow?

“Chloe!” one of the orc sisters called, sharper this time. “What’s wrong? You’re spacing out.”

Chloe startled and looked up, blinking before forcing a small laugh.
“Oh—nothing. I was just thinking about something. I’ll get back to work.”

The orc woman frowned, then sighed softly. “If something’s bothering you, say it. We’ll help.”

She leaned on her rake, tone gentler. “It might not look like it, but we orcs live longer than humans. Don’t be shy about asking advice.”

Chloe hesitated, chewing her lip, then nodded slowly.
“…I have a friend.”

She told them about Sheila—how they had met at the fountain square, how Chloe and Ben had stepped in when things turned ugly, how Sheila had been the first person to show her kindness inside the Pavilion. Then she explained how Sheila had acted last night, withdrawn and shaken, like a bird with clipped wings.

The three of them climbed out of the septic chamber together, rinsing their tools before heading toward the baths.

“That is strange,” the taller orc woman admitted. “You’re sure you didn’t say anything rude?”

“I… I don’t think so,” Chloe said quietly, doubt creeping into her voice.

“Oh, please,” the other orc scoffed, waving it off. “Our Chloe wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose. Something else is eating at that girl.”

She thought for a moment, then added, “Maybe she’s being bullied. It happens. If a higher-ranked courtesan thinks someone’s stealing clients, things can get ugly.”

Chloe’s head snapped up. “Bullied?”

“Now that you mention it,” the taller orc said slowly, “I have a friend acting strange too. She’s been withdrawn, almost traumatised, ever since her duties changed.”

“What changed?” Chloe asked at once.

“She was reassigned to serve the guests staying in the garden cabins,” the orc replied, her voice souring. “The church envoy. They’ve been freeloading there since the summit in Despora started. Everyone treats them like kings.”

She clicked her tongue. “I hate those jerks.”

Chloe froze.
“…The church envoy?” she repeated.

“Well, that’s what I heard,” the orc said with a shrug. “We’re told to stay away from that area. No idea what really goes on there.”

Chloe lowered her gaze, unease settling in her chest.
“The church envoy, that can’t be…” she said slowly, more to herself than them. “I don’t think they would—”

Her words trailed off.
“…I should talk to Sheila,” Chloe said at last, resolve quietly forming. “I’ll ask her myself.”

The orc women exchanged a look, then nodded.

“Good idea,” one of them said. “Come on. Let’s clean up.”

Together, they headed for the baths as usual, steam already drifting through the corridors. But Chloe’s thoughts were no longer on soap or rest—only on a frightened harpy girl and a sinking feeling that something far darker was hiding behind polite smiles and closed doors.