The wind was still, save for the sound of soft laughter. A low, velvety chuckle that carried across the empty field.

“So it was you after all,” Envi murmured, amusement curling at the edge of his words. “I had a feeling…”

He stood over Licorice, red eyes gleaming with quiet delight. His smile was refined—sinister, but graceful.

Licorice lay sprawled on the ground, breath ragged, blood tracing dark lines down his pale cheek. So much for revenge. For years, he’d dreamed of this—of seeing Envi fall, of avenging the countless humiliations. But all that careful planning had led only here: a lonely battlefield far from the castle, and defeat carved into the grass beneath him.

Envi had come alone, knowing perfectly well who had sent that “anonymous” note. Of course he had. Envi always knew.

“Hmm,” Envi sighed, almost disappointed, as he approached. “I must admit, I expected something… more refined.”

His polished shoes stopped beside Licorice’s ribs. Then came the sound of pressure—a deliberate grind of heel against chest. Licorice’s breath hitched. The grass shuddered.

“Breathe slower,” Envi advised, voice deceptively kind. “It hurts less that way. …Though, you don’t deserve such advice, do you?”

The heel pressed harder, forcing a wet sound from Licorice’s throat. Envi’s expression didn’t change. He looked down at him like a craftsman assessing a broken tool.