The night was sharp as a blade drawn too long.

Mist pooled low over Guria's cracked fields, curling at the ankles like it wanted to drag something down. The crystal pulsed faintly, casting its eerie pale glow across the stones. The world was quiet-but not peaceful.

Dantes stood at the edge of the barrier, one hand braced against the ward-stone, the other curled tightly near his chest. The crystal light reflected in his eyes, too bright against the shadow carved into his features.

Behind him-a presence.

Alberta stepped into the circle of light.

She didn't speak at first. Just watched him.

He didn't turn.

"You knew her," she finally said.

Her voice trembled-not with fear, but with weight. With truth she hadn't yet named.

"Mercedes. My mother."

Dantes exhaled-slow and bitter. The scar on his chest pulsed like a second heartbeat.

"Lots of people know that name," he muttered. "Priestess, martyr, ghost. Take your pick."

"That's not what I mean." Alberta stepped closer. "You looked at me like you recognized me."

He gave a short laugh, but it didn't touch his eyes.

"You think I have the time or energy to go around soul-searching in random border villages?"

"You said her name like it burned you," Alberta said, more certain now. "You called me by it. And after the Wane attacked, you looked at me like I wasn't a stranger."

He finally turned-slowly, like the motion cost him something.

His eyes were tired. Haunted.

But his voice? Still sharp.

"You want answers, girl?" he said. "Here's one-sometimes ghosts wear the faces of the living. And grief makes fools out of all of us."

Alberta's breath hitched.

"Please," she said softly. "If you knew her... if you know anything about her-help me. You don't have to tell me everything. Just don't lie."

Her words cracked against the silence like falling stones.

Dantes looked at her for a long moment-long enough to see the truth in her eyes.

And then, just like that-he pulled away.

"You really think I'm the answer you're looking for?" He smirked. "Then you've been asking the wrong questions."

Without another word, he turned and walked into the dark, boots cutting through fog, leaving nothing behind but cold air and the echo of refusal.

Alberta stood alone in the pale crystal light.

But she didn't cry. She didn't call after him.

She clenched her fists, her jaw set.

"You know her," she whispered. "And I don't care how far you run-I will find the truth."