Ch 10.5

The courtesans assigned to Wallus and his crew began to change.

At first, it was subtle.

Each night, they walked to the outer cabins without resistance, faces composed, backs straight. By morning, they returned the same way—no bruises, no visible wounds, no complaints filed. To the Pavilion's ledgers and schedules, nothing was amiss.

But something had fractured.

The girls started waking from sleep, gasping for air, their claws dug into their own sheets. Some flinched at sudden noises. Others broke into tears without warning, staring at nothing as if their minds had wandered somewhere far worse than memory.

One servant dropped a tray when a customer casually touched her shoulder, then spent several minutes apologizing through tears she could not explain.

Still, none of them spoke of it. Broken toys were not treated kindly here, and every girl knew that silence was safer than honesty.

Just a few days passed.

They withdrew.

Meals were taken alone, trays carried back to their rooms instead of shared tables. Doors stayed shut longer. Laughter vanished. Conversations died whenever someone approached. Even when a few forced themselves into the dining hall, they chose isolated corners, heads bowed, wings or tails tucked tight to their bodies.

And whenever Wallus's name was mentioned, the reactions were always the same.

Fear.

Not anger. Not outrage.

Fear.

Kazyak noticed first. Tevu followed soon after.

They cornered the girls one by one, voices low but insistent, demanding answers about Wallus and his men.

"Did Wallus do something?"

Silence.

"Did his men threaten you?"

More silence.

"Did they hurt you?"

One girl burst into tears. Another physically recoiled. A third fled down the hallway without a word.

Most simply shook their heads or stared blankly at the floor.
Not a single one gave them anything solid—no accusation, no story, no proof.

Frustration festered.

Because fear without a reason meant there was a reason. Someone was simply too terrified to say it aloud.

Kazyak began making inquiries of her own. Attendants. Servants. Customers. Even a few guards.

Every trail ended the same way. Dead.

Whatever had happened inside Wallus's cabins remained hidden.
And while Tevu and Kazyak pressed from one side, another set of eyes watched quietly from the other.

Sheila entered the dining hall late.

Her complexion was pale, almost ashen, and the feathers of her wings drooped close to her back. She moved like someone carrying a weight too heavy to set down. Without meeting anyone's gaze, she collected a tray and took a seat at the farthest corner of the room.

Lowering her head, she began eating mechanically.

"Hey, Sheila. Hope this seat isn't taken."

The voice was bright and warm.

Chloe appeared beside her, already settling into the chair with a smile that hadn't yet learned to fade.

Sheila froze for half a heartbeat before giving a faint nod. Her grip tightened around her spoon as she continued eating, shoulders hunched and wings drawn tightly against her back.

She said nothing.

For once, Chloe didn't push. She simply sat beside her, watching as concern gradually replaced her usual cheerfulness.

The dining hall buzzed with life around them. Cutlery clinked against plates. Servants laughed between bites. Conversations drifted from table to table.

Yet none of it seemed to reach Sheila.

The quiet gnawed at Chloe.

"The food's really good today, isn't it?" she asked lightly, gesturing toward her plate.

No answer came.

Sheila continued eating without looking up, expression flat and distant, as though Chloe wasn't sitting beside her at all.

The feeling stung more than outright rejection. It was like being treated as air.

Chloe's smile faltered.

"Sheila..." she said softly. "You've been acting strange lately. I can tell something's wrong. You don't have to go through it alone. I'm here. The other sisters are here too."

Still nothing.

Sheila stared at the half-eaten pork chop on her plate. Her fingers tightened around the utensil until her knuckles whitened.

Chloe swallowed.

"If it's work... or something somebody did... I can help. I really can. Just say the word."

Silence lingered between them.

Then Chloe added carefully, "If it's those church envoys bothering you, you don't have to be afraid. I can talk to them. I'm not great at it, but I won't let anyone bully you."

As she spoke, Chloe gently reached out.

Her fingers brushed Sheila's hand.

"No!"

The scream exploded through the dining hall.

Sheila slapped Chloe's hand away with enough force to send the tray tumbling. Plates crashed against the floor. Broth splashed across the stone. Pork and shattered ceramic scattered in every direction.

The hall fell silent.
Conversations died instantly. Every head turned toward them.

Sheila sat frozen, eyes wide and unfocused. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe.

The staring faces around her blurred together. The room seemed to shrink.
The stares closed in on her, becoming towering silhouettes. Laughter echoed where none existed.

Her vision tunneled.

Someone muttered from a nearby table. "What's her problem?"

Chloe immediately stood.
"I-I'm sorry," she blurted out, bowing her head toward the room.
"It's my fault. I startled her. I'll clean everything up."

But Sheila wasn't listening.

She looked at Chloe with glassy eyes, rimmed red from exhaustion and fear. Shame twisted across her face so intensely it hurt to watch.

"I... I'm sorry," she whispered.
Then she fled.

"Wait—Sheila!"
Chloe reached after her, but her fingers closed on empty air.

Within moments, Sheila had vanished down the corridor.

Only the broken plates and spilled food remained.

For several seconds, Chloe stood there staring after her. Then she slowly crouched and began gathering the shattered pieces. The other servants gradually returned to their meals, conversations resuming as though nothing unusual had happened.

As though Sheila hadn't just fallen apart in front of everyone.

Did I do something wrong? Did I push too hard?
The questions lingered in Chloe's mind as she picked up a cracked piece of porcelain.

A shadow fell across her.

Then another.

Startled, Chloe looked up.

The two orc beastwomen stood behind her, each carrying a mop. Their expressions were gentler than she was accustomed to seeing.

"Looks like you could use a hand," said the taller one.

"We've got you," added the plumper orc.

Something loosened in Chloe's chest.

A small smile appeared on her face. "Thank you. Really."

Together, the three cleaned the mess in quiet rhythm. They mopped away the spilled broth, gathered every broken shard, and erased the evidence of the outburst until the floor looked spotless once again.

Clean. Orderly. Deceptively calm.

The orcs never asked questions. They never pushed for answers.

Instead, they simply remained beside her, offering the kind of silent support that expected nothing in return.

Chloe understood the gesture and appreciated it more than words could express.

But the calm did not last.

The following morning, a scream echoed through the Pavilion.

A servant had discovered a body hanging by the neck.
It belonged to one of the courtesans assigned to Wallus and his men.

Within minutes, panic spread throughout the Tranquil Pavilion. Whispers raced through the corridors. Doors slammed open. Servants gathered in frightened clusters, exchanging fearful glances.

What had been hidden behind silence and fear could no longer remain buried.

Someone was dead.