Vesper's market district is unlike anything I've seen on Aerox.
Where other settlements had humans cowering in corners or chained to posts, here they walk freely. They haggle with merchants, carry goods, even *laugh* as they conduct business.
It's surreal.
"They're not slaves," Melinda murmurs. "They're... citizens?"
"Free laborers," Ghatak corrects. "Paid for their work. It's more efficient than slavery in a trade hub—humans who can earn money spend money, which enriches the city."
"Pragmatic," I say.
We move through the market systematically, stopping at stalls that sell herbs, medicines, and healing supplies. If Bia visits Vesper, she'd need resources for her healing work.
"Excuse me," I say to an elderly human woman selling dried herbs. "I'm looking for someone—a healer. Silver hair, platinum eyes. She may have passed through recently?"
The woman shakes her head. "Sorry, dear. Haven't seen anyone like that. And I know most of the healers in Vesper—we trade supplies regularly."
"Perhaps she didn't advertise herself as a healer," Melinda suggests. "Just a traveler?"
"Silver hair and platinum eyes?" The woman frowns. "That's distinctive. I'd remember."
We thank her and move on.
The next three merchants give us the same answer. No one matching Bia's description. No mysterious healers. No strangers with unusual features.
"The harbor," Ghatak says. "If she travels by ship, there would be records."
We make our way to the docks, where the harbormaster keeps meticulous logs of every vessel that enters or leaves Vesper's waters.
"I'm looking for a passenger," I tell the clerk, a sired vampire with ink-stained fingers. "Silver-haired woman, traveling alone. Would have arrived within the last few months."
He consults his records, flipping through pages with practiced efficiency.
"No one matching that description," he says finally. "And I log every passenger personally. It's required by city law."
"Could she have arrived by land?"
"Then she'd have come through the gates, and the guards log all entries." He gestures to a thick ledger. "You're welcome to check, but I can tell you—no silver-haired woman has entered Vesper in the last six months."
*Six months.*
Victoria said Bia visits regularly. That she comes to Vesper for supplies, for information, for the resources a major city provides.
But there's no record of her.
"Thank you," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
Outside, Melinda voices what we're all thinking. "She's not here."
"Or she was never here," Ghatak adds.
"Victoria's information was wrong," I say flatly.
"Or incomplete," Melinda suggests. "Maybe Bia *planned* to come to Vesper but changed her route?"
"Or maybe Victoria was mistaken about Bia's patterns entirely," Ghatak says.
I feel frustration building in my chest—hot and sharp and *wrong*. We've spent six weeks traveling, harvesting villages, building momentum toward this moment.
And there's *nothing*.
"We check the healing houses," I say. "The temples. Anywhere someone with Bia's compulsions might go."
---
Three hours later, we've exhausted every lead.
The healing houses have no record of a silver-haired healer. The temples haven't seen anyone matching her description. The guard posts have no reports of unusual activity or mysterious strangers.
It's as though Bia never existed.
We rent a room at a respectable inn—not the finest, but comfortable and private. Once inside, I let the frustration show.
"Nothing," I say, pacing. "Six weeks of travel, thirteen villages destroyed, three thousand people harvested—and we're no closer to finding her than we were in Thronkaville."
"Victoria's intelligence was flawed," Ghatak says, leaning against the wall. "It happens. Information gets distorted, rumors become facts, patterns are misread."
"Or Victoria lied," Melinda suggests quietly.
I stop pacing. "Why would she lie?"
"I don't know. But consider—she's a sired vampire who travels extensively. She has connections, resources, information networks. What if sending us to Vesper served some purpose we don't understand?"
"A distraction," Ghatak says thoughtfully. "While we're here, we're not somewhere else."
"Or a test," I add. "To see what we'd do. How we'd react."
Melinda nods. "Either way, we're at a dead end. Bia isn't here, and no one knows anything about her."
I sink into a chair, feeling the weight of six weeks crashing down on me.
We've been so *certain*. So focused. Following the trail from Thronkaville to Spiral Grove to the villages we destroyed along the way. Building momentum, gathering resources, expanding our civilization.
And now?
*Nothing.*
"What about Arsenal's other children?" Melinda asks. "The thirty-five still missing. Could they lead us to Bia?"
"We don't know where they are," I say. "Arsenal can't sense them. They're either too far away or hidden behind wards."
"The eggs in Spiral Grove," Ghatak suggests. "Thirteen were hatching. If we return, they may have fully emerged by now. Dragon children might remember their mother, even if they've never met her."
"Instinct," I murmur. "The familiar bond."
"It's a possibility," he says.
I close my eyes, thinking through our options.
We could return to Spiral Grove. Check on the hatching eggs, see if the dragon children can provide any insight.
We could track down Victoria and demand better information—or answers about why she sent us here.
We could expand our search radius, checking other coastal cities, following different rumors.
Or we could accept that Bia is *gone*. That she's deliberately avoiding detection, that her wandering patterns are too erratic to predict, that finding her may be impossible.
*No.*
The thought rises fierce and immediate.
*I didn't come this far to give up.*
"We regroup," I say, opening my eyes. "We've been hunting for six weeks straight. Maybe we need to change tactics."
"How?" Melinda asks.
"Bia has a biological compulsion to lay eggs and protect them," I say slowly. "We've found clutches in Spiral Grove, the eastern plateaus, Shadow Grove. What if instead of chasing her, we *wait* for her?"
"At one of the egg sites," Ghatak says, understanding dawning. "She'll return eventually to check on them."
"Exactly. We pick the most active site—probably Spiral Grove, since those eggs are hatching—and we *wait*."
"That could take weeks," Melinda points out. "Months, even."
"Then we wait," I say. "We've built a civilization. We have resources, people, infrastructure. We can afford to be patient."
Ghatak moves behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "You're frustrated."
"I'm *angry*," I correct. "We were so close. Or I thought we were."
"Dead ends happen," he says. "Even to predators."
"I don't like them."
"No one does." His hands knead the tension from my shoulders. "But we adapt. We change tactics. We find another way."
Melinda stands, stretching. "So we leave Vesper?"
"Tomorrow," I say. "Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we return to Spiral Grove and set up surveillance. If Bia comes to check on those hatching eggs, we'll be there."
"And if she doesn't?" Melinda asks.
I meet her violet eyes, letting her see the determination in mine.
"Then we wait longer. Because I *will* find my sister. No matter how long it takes."
---
Night falls over Vesper, and I stand at the window, looking out at the city lights.
Somewhere out there, Bia is wandering. Lost and alone, driven by instincts she doesn't understand, building civilizations she doesn't remember creating.
*I'm coming,* I think. *Even if I have to wait at every egg clutch on this planet.*
*Even if it takes years.*
*I will find you.*
Behind me, Ghatak and Melinda settle into the room's large bed. The bond between us hums with shared frustration and determination.
We're predators who've hit an obstacle.
But predators don't give up.
They adapt.
They wait.
They *hunt*.
And eventually, they always catch their prey.
*Always.*
I turn from the window and join my mates, letting their warmth surround me.
Tomorrow, we change tactics.
Tomorrow, we return to Spiral Grove.
Tomorrow, we begin the waiting game.
*But tonight?*
Tonight, we rest.
Because even predators need to regroup before the next hunt begins.