Chapter 75: Cleaning House

Sera stared at him for a long moment, the fury in her eyes warring with something else. Something that might have been respect, or possibly just exhaustion.

"You’re not what I expected," she said finally.

"Neither are you."

A ghost of a smile crossed her face, there and gone so quickly he might have imagined it. "I should go. There’s a lot to prepare before tomorrow, and I can’t be seen in the Mortal World for too long."

"How are you getting back?"

"Portal." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small crystal, similar to the communication stone he’d used earlier. "Emergency return. One use only. I’ve been saving it for something important."

We keep saying that about everything.

She walked toward the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. "The forty Sirens you rescued. Can you get them home?"

"I have contacts. It’ll take a few days, but they’ll be safe."

"Good." She opened the door, then looked back at him over her shoulder. "Whatever happens tomorrow, you should know something. I was wrong about you."

"Wrong how?"

"When we first met, I thought you were just another monster wearing a person’s face. Using your powers to get whatever you wanted, regardless of who got hurt." Her voice softened, losing some of its edge. "I still think you’re dangerous. I still think you’re making choices that most people would be horrified by. But you’re not just taking anymore. You’re starting to protect things too."

She didn’t wait for a response. The crystal in her hand flared with blue light, and between one heartbeat and the next, she was gone.

Nacho stood alone in his room, staring at the spot where she’d been standing. His mind was racing through everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, trying to make sense of the chaos he’d stumbled into.

Trafficking rings. Political conspiracies. A Grand General fighting to save her people from enemies both inside and out. And somewhere in the middle of it all, a former debt collector with tentacle powers, trying to figure out what he actually wanted from this new life.

Power isn’t just about what you can take. It’s about what you’re willing to protect.

He thought about Mira’s face when he’d promised to find her family. About the relief in Sera’s eyes when he’d handed over the evidence. About Lizbeth’s awkward hug in the doorway of her inn, given freely to someone she barely knew.

Maybe the answer was simpler than he’d thought.

He pulled on a fresh set of clothes and headed downstairs. There was work to be done.

The Velvet House was quiet when he entered the common room, most of the girls still sleeping off the previous night’s exertions. Madame Corsica was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear movement in the kitchen, the clink of dishes and the sizzle of something being cooked.

He followed the sound and found Rosalind standing at the stove, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was wearing a simple dress that had seen better days, and her face bore the particular expression of someone who’d just woken up and wasn’t happy about it.

"Morning," she said without turning around. "Or afternoon. Whatever."

"Afternoon, technically." He leaned against the doorframe, watching her work. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got run over by a herd of horses and then trampled again for good measure." She flipped something in the pan, her movements slow but competent. "That massage last night was intense. I can barely remember what happened after you started."

"That’s normal. The technique can be overwhelming at first."

"Overwhelming." She laughed, the sound rough with lingering exhaustion. "That’s one word for it. I woke up this morning feeling better than I have in years. Like someone reached inside me and fixed all the broken parts."

That’s the Charm effect talking, Nacho thought, but didn’t say. The pleasure overwrites the trauma, at least temporarily. Whether that’s actually healing or just another form of manipulation is a question I don’t want to examine too closely.

"I’m glad it helped," he said instead.

"Helped is an understatement." She turned to look at him, her hazel eyes clear and focused despite her claims of exhaustion. "The other girls have been talking. They want sessions too. All of them."

"I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now."

"Why not?" Her brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong with what you’re doing? Some kind of side effect I should know about?"

Just the minor detail that I’m stealing your Talents while I do it.

"It’s complicated. There are things happening in the city that I need to deal with first. Once that’s settled, I’ll think about expanding the practice."

Rosalind studied his face for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. "You’re not just a masseuse, are you? The way you move, the way you talk, the way Madame Corsica looks at you when she thinks nobody’s watching. You’re something else entirely."

"Does that bother you?"

"Should it?"

"I don’t know." He pushed off from the doorframe and walked toward the door. "Ask me again in a few days. I might have an answer by then."

He left her standing in the kitchen, her questions hanging in the air behind him like smoke from a fire that refused to die.

The afternoon sun beat down on Valdris as Nacho made his way through the crowded streets, his destination fixed firmly in his mind. The Drowning Rat was located in the heart of the Low District, a sprawling establishment that served as the Rat King’s unofficial headquarters. If anyone knew how to move forty Sirens out of the city without attracting attention, it would be him.

The building looked the same as always, its weathered facade blending seamlessly with the other ramshackle structures around it. But Nacho’s Apex Senses picked up differences that wouldn’t be visible to normal eyes. More guards than usual, positioned at key chokepoints. A tension in the air that spoke of recent upheaval. The faint smell of blood, old but not quite faded.

Someone’s been cleaning house.