Mezzo stood very still for a moment.

Too still.

For Mezzo, that was usually a bad sign.d

His hands hung at his sides, fingers flexing once, then twice, as if he wanted to grab hold of something and had nowhere safe to put the feeling. His ears were pinned low. His usual grin had vanished so completely it made him look like someone had turned the colour down on him.

“I’m such an idiot,” he muttered again.

Celeste opened her mouth to answer, but Mezzo was already moving.

He crossed the garden in long, sharp strides and headed for the gate.

Celeste’s stomach dropped. “Mezzo?”

He didn’t stop.

“Mezzo, wait.”

Still nothing.

Carys stepped forward. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” Mezzo said, voice rough.

“That narrows it down beautifully,” Carys replied. “Very cartographic of you.”

Celeste hurried after him. “The city is dangerous.”

“Aye.”

“That was not an invitation to agree and continue.”

Mezzo shoved the garden gate open.

Bonbon, who had been clinging silently to Celeste’s paw, immediately darted after them.

Carys lunged. “Bonbon, no—”

“Na!” Bonbon snapped, ducking under Carys’s arm with shocking determination.

“Bonbon!”

“Dw i’n dod!” Bonbon declared, hurrying after Celeste on her small panda legs.

Carys stared after her, horrified.

Lumina wiped her eyes with her sleeve and looked between them. “Should we… stop them?”

Carys watched Celeste chasing Mezzo, Bonbon chasing Celeste, and the gate swinging wide open into the ruined city beyond.

She sighed.

“I suppose breakfast can burn.”

Lumina blinked. “Is that allowed?”

“Apparently everything is allowed today.”

They followed.

Outside the Egg Tree’s protective branches, the city felt colder. The dome overhead shimmered faintly with candied light, turning the streets strange shades of pink and gold. Burnt-out cars sat half-sunk in hardened syrup. Posters for old festivals peeled from walls. Here and there, sugar crystals grew over shattered windows like frost.

Celeste caught up to Mezzo near a line of abandoned vehicles.

“What is your plan?” she asked, slightly breathless.

Mezzo kept walking.

“No clue.”

Celeste stared. “No clue?”

“Nope.”

“That is not a plan. That is the absence of one wearing shoes.”

He stopped then, just for a second, and looked back at her.

His face was miserable.

“I messed up.”

Celeste softened despite herself. “I know.”

“I mean properly. Not funny messed up. Not ‘Mezzo knocked over a shelf’ messed up. I hurt him.” His voice cracked around the word. “I hurt a kid.”

Celeste’s chest tightened. “You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t fix it.”

“No,” she admitted. “But going into the city isn’t necessary. You don’t even know what set it off.”

Mezzo looked away, jaw tight.

“I’ve been kicked out of pureblood apartments and gigs for less.”

Celeste went quiet.

Carys caught up behind them with Lumina, still holding one hand out in case Bonbon tried to bolt again.

“Mezzo,” Carys said carefully.

He shook his head.

“Not now.”

Then, under his breath, so low Celeste almost missed it, he muttered, “Ní neart go cur le chéile.”

Celeste blinked. “What does that mean?”

Mezzo’s ears flicked. For a moment, he looked embarrassed to have said it aloud.

“There’s no strength without unity.”

He swallowed, staring down the ruined street.

“And I just put a crack in it. So I’m fixing it.”

Celeste looked at him for a long moment.

Then Bonbon reached both paws up toward her.

“Ysgwyddau,” Bonbon demanded.

Celeste looked down. “Oh. Now?”

“Ysgwyddau.”

Carys folded her arms. “She has chosen transport.”

Celeste sighed, then lifted Bonbon onto her shoulders. Bonbon immediately gripped Celeste’s hair like reins.

“Ow—gentle, darling.”

“Ymlaen,” Bonbon said, pointing dramatically down the road.

Lumina sniffed, then managed a tiny smile. “She sounds like a tiny general.”

“She is a tiny general,” Carys said. “We are all merely staff.”

Mezzo’s mouth twitched.

Only barely.

But it was something.

They moved through the city carefully, sticking close to broken shopfronts and the shadows of collapsed awnings. Celeste kept one hand on Bonbon’s leg to steady her. Lumina walked close to Carys, humming under her breath.

It was a nervous hum.

A small, wobbly little tune trying to pretend it wasn’t scared.

They were passing a row of syrup-glazed cars when Mezzo suddenly held out one arm.

“Down.”

Celeste froze.

Ahead, voices echoed between the buildings.

Sharp voices.

Trained voices.

Mezzo crouched behind an overturned car. Celeste followed, carefully lifting Bonbon down and tucking her close. Carys and Lumina ducked beside them.

Around the corner, pureblood soldiers moved through the street in formation.

Their uniforms were dark and immaculate despite the ruin around them: fitted coats reinforced with polished armour plates, high collars, silver buttons, and visored helmets shaped like something out of an old war painting. Arcbracers glowed on their wrists. Their guns were long, elegant, and cruel-looking, all engraved metal and humming crystal barrels.

One of them raised a hand.

“Contact.”

A cluster of candy zombies lurched from the mouth of an alley.

Sugar Rushers.

Three of them.

Their cube-like bodies jittered violently, claws scraping against the road. Their twisted smiles stretched too wide as they charged.

The soldiers fired.

Blue-white shots cracked through the street.

The first Sugar Rusher exploded into glittering fragments.

The second was torn in half.

The third lost its head and kept running for three more steps before collapsing into a twitching pile of sugar.

Lumina flinched.

Bonbon pressed both paws over her mouth.

For a second, Celeste thought it was over.

Then the sugar on the road began to move.

The scattered pieces trembled. Syrup pulled inward. Broken limbs dragged themselves together, snapping back into place with horrible little clicks. The Sugar Rushers reformed piece by piece, their smiles returning first.

One soldier took a step back. “They’re rebuilding.”

“No core exposure,” another snapped. “Waste of ammunition.”

The lead soldier cursed under his breath. “Pull back. We are not equipped for this.”

“But the search grid—”

“Ends here. We report what we have.”

The soldiers began retreating, weapons still raised.

One of them glanced toward the mall entrance farther down the street. “The Matron of Sight will not like another empty sector.”

“Then you can explain it to her.”

“And her heir?”

The leader’s answer was clipped. “Her heir is not here either. We fall back before we lose more men to confectionery vermin.”

They moved out in formation, boots splashing through shallow syrup as they disappeared around the far corner.

No one moved until their footsteps faded.

Carys let out a slow breath. “Those people are combing the ruins.”

Celeste’s ears lowered. “For the Matron of Sight’s heir?”

“Sounds like it.” Carys glanced toward the path the soldiers had taken. “They’re looking for someone important.”

Mezzo stood, brushing dust from his knees. “Not our problem.”

Carys frowned. “They might help.”

Mezzo looked at her sharply. “No.”

“They had weapons. Armour. Organisation.”

“And laws.” His voice hardened. “They’ll help you. Pureblood girl, lost in a crisis? Sure. They’ll wrap you in a blanket and call you brave.”

Carys stiffened.

Mezzo continued, quieter but uglier somehow, “Hybrids? They’ll shoot us, then gaslight you into thinking they didn’t.”

The silence after that was brittle.

Carys’s expression changed.

Not offended now.

Concerned.

“Is that experience?”

Mezzo looked away too quickly.

Celeste noticed.

So did Carys.

So did Lumina, though she did not say anything.

Bonbon tugged at Celeste’s sleeve and whispered, “Perygl?”

Celeste crouched slightly and brushed a paw over Bonbon’s head. “Ydy. Ond byddwn ni’n ofalus.”

Bonbon frowned, clearly not satisfied, but she stayed close.

Mezzo cleared his throat and nodded toward the huge building ahead.

“Come on. Mall’s this way.”

The sign above the entrance was cracked, but still readable beneath the candy growths and soot.

St Dante’s Mall.

Once, it must have been grand. Maybe even beautiful.

Now the great glass doors were shattered inward, their frames crusted with sugar crystals. Banners hung from the upper levels, faded and torn, advertising old sales, fashion events, toy launches, and something called Princess Paw Parade Weekend. The tiled floor inside gleamed with sticky puddles of hardened syrup. Escalators stood frozen like metal tongues leading upward into shadow.

Lumina stopped humming.

Then started again, quieter.

Celeste glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

Lumina nodded too quickly. “Mm-hm.”

Carys placed a hand on her shoulder. “You do not have to pretend.”

Lumina swallowed. “I don’t like malls when they’re empty.”

Mezzo looked up into the dark atrium.

Somewhere deep inside, something clattered.

He forced a grin that did not quite reach his eyes.

“Well, lucky for you, knowing our week, it probably isn’t empty.”

Celeste looked at him.

“That was not comforting.”

“Aye,” he said, summoning Infernal Riff with a flicker of mana and a crackle of strings. “But it was honest.”

Bonbon pointed at the mall from Celeste’s side.

“Dim hoffi.”

Celeste nodded softly. “Me neither.”

They stepped inside anyway.

The air changed at once.

Cooler.

Staler.

Heavy with dust, burnt sugar, and the ghost of old perfume counters.

Above them, the dome-light filtered through the broken skylights, scattering pink reflections across shop windows and abandoned kiosks. A carousel sat dead in the centre of the lower floor, its painted bug-horses frozen mid-leap, their glass eyes staring.

Lumina’s humming wavered.

Mezzo gripped Infernal Riff tighter.

Celeste drew Starlight and Starbrite in a shimmer of soft gold.

Carys picked up a fallen metal signpost and held it like a staff.

Celeste glanced at her.

Carys lifted her chin. “What? I’m improvising.”

“It suits you.”

“It had better. I refuse to die unfashionably.”

Despite everything, Celeste smiled.

Then, somewhere above them, a tiny giggle echoed through the empty mall.

High.

Sweet.

Wrong.

Bonbon immediately hid behind Celeste’s leg.

Lumina stopped humming altogether.

Mezzo looked up.

“Well,” he said grimly, “there’s our morning sorted.”