Heron and I went back to Lemuel’s studio, deep in the slums of level one. We skillfully broke in, without anyone seeing us. We found the secret switch in his library and gained access to his archives. We barely said a word to each other as we rummaged through the old papers, scrolls, and leather-bound books, looking for anything of use regarding the Imen, the Maras, the daemons, and the asteroid belt.

The Imen’s lore was fascinating, I realized as I flipped through the yellowed pages. They were an ancient civilization, with at least fifteen thousand years of existence on this planet. And yet, the ones living in Azure Heights had been reduced to mindless pawns, their memories wiped and their history tucked away in hidden compartments of old walls.

Their mythology was quite interesting, as they worshiped six main deities—the three suns and the three moons. The first and main sun was Kol, the big star around which all seven planets of this system orbited. Kol was the god of light and life. Drul and Khai were, as per the Mara legends, twins of great importance, and the two smaller stars that orbited the sun. From afar, and when the sky was covered in a thin sheet of clouds, it looked as though Neraka had three suns. On any other day, however, the light they shone together was so bright that it looked as though only one large sun stood in the sky. According to the Imen, however, Drul and Khai were the sons of Kol—each entrusted with the power of wind and nature—and not the warriors they were in Mara culture.

The three moons, named Pell, Xus, and Llaim, were the three goddesses. They reigned over the night, and played a crucial role in the wellbeing of this world. However, when brought together, these three goddesses wreaked havoc and “made everything float when they were perfectly aligned with each other”. That was a reference to the peculiar phenomenon that Rewa had mentioned when we first arrived on Neraka, in which the three moons were aligned in the sky, in a perfect line, and disrupted Neraka’s gravity to the point where anything that wasn’t rooted to the ground was lifted, and drifted away until the moons broke rank.

“There’s some stuff here about the western tribes,” Heron muttered as he browsed through a series of papers. I looked up at him from the chair I had settled into.

“Well, don’t keep me on the edge of my seat here.”

“Check this out,” he said, then read out loud. “‘Our people were faced with a choice when the Mara nation prevailed over Azure Heights. We could stay, or we could go. The few of us loyal to the Mara Lords chose to live here, with them. The others, thousands of them, chose a so-called freedom beyond the Valley of Screams, where they settled in the Plains and forests that unraveled miles away, to the west of the gorges.’”

Several seconds went by as I processed the information.

“That’s nothing new.” I shrugged.

“True, but the next part definitely is,” Heron replied, and continued reading out loud. “‘The Westerners left us behind, blaming the Maras for their role in the slumber before death, the illness that had taken over our people, claiming those with over four decades in this world. They believed that the Mara nation was to blame. We never took them seriously, and feared that the slumber before death was sent to us by Pell, Xus, and Llaim, for our choice to stay behind. Nevertheless, we couldn’t bring ourselves to leave, even when the disease claimed our parents and friends.’”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning into the back of my chair, and exhaled.

“Okay, that is new,” I replied. “It sounds as though they were quite the masochists, in a way. I mean, if they thought that their gods were punishing them for staying here, why didn’t they leave with the others?”

“Well, knowing the Maras, when the Imen say that they couldn’t bring themselves to leave, to me it sounds as though the Maras… convinced them to stay, if you catch my drift.” Heron smirked.

“So let me get this straight. The Imen had the freedom to leave Azure Heights thousands of years ago, but were mind-bent into staying?”

“Most likely. Discreetly. I think that the Maras didn’t want all of their servants to leave, so they convinced a few to stick around, despite the weird disease that kept killing them after their forties.” Heron scratched the back of his neck, turning the page. “I mean, this is the stuff of legends, old stories… These people feared the moons, basically, and blamed them for the disease. So I’m not sure how much of this is accurate, but the fact that the Imen from the west suspected the Maras of inflicting ‘slumber before death’ does ring an alarm bell.”

“But how would they do that? I mean, we haven’t really looked into the symptoms of this disease.” I frowned, trying to find the connection between the Eritopian vampires and the illness. “Do we even know how it manifests? Could it be that, maybe, they’re draining their blood? Could blood loss lead to an early death?”

“It’s possible, but I haven’t seen any bite marks on the Imen, although we both know that they could very well be drinking their blood from other, less visible body parts.”

“I think we need to look into this a little more before we jump to any conclusions. All we have to go on, right now, is an ancient manuscript from some Iman from thousands of years ago,” I concluded, while my head buzzed with a variety of possible scenarios—none of which were in favor of the Maras.

It seemed as though no matter where we went, or who we asked, or what we read, the story of Azure Heights didn’t depict the Maras as the picture-perfect Eritopian vampires they’d initially seemed. This flimsy façade, with beautiful fashion and stunning decor, was exactly that… a façade.

I couldn’t help but wonder how much Caspian knew. Unfortunately, he was still out with Harper, so I couldn’t exactly just walk up to him and ask. Nevertheless, I did look forward to seeing him again. He was our only way of peeking beyond the curtain, of seeing into the real Azure Heights, the real Maras.

“Whatever this disease is, it’s crippling the Imen population. From what I can read here, no one knows what causes the illness, but everyone agrees that it is exclusive to those living in the city. While there are a few elders still, the city’s Imen population is dwindling, and most of them don’t make it past the age of forty. There’s nothing else here about the western tribes,” Heron added, “and I get the—”

A thud outside startled us, and we both put our books aside and went over to the window. An Iman had collapsed on the cobblestone in front of the building. His skin was pale, there were dark circles around his eyes, and beads of sweat covered his face. Other Imen gathered around him in a panic.

Heron and I left the studio, then raced down the stairs and outside, to check on the sick Iman. Heron politely pushed the people away, making room for me to kneel down and check the Iman’s vitals. I found his pulse, but it was weak and uneven. His heartbeat was slow, and he was running a temperature.

“Does anybody know what happened?” I asked, looking around at the concerned Imen. They all shook their heads and shrugged.

“He just fell,” one of them said.

“It’s the slumber before death for sure,” another chimed in from the back. The others nodded in agreement.

“Has he been sick for long?” I inquired, touching the Iman’s face.

“Out of the way,” a Correction Officer barked as he pushed the crowd away. He was joined by two others, and all three scowled at us, as if they didn’t think we were supposed to be here. It irked me, and I had a feeling that they were here for the Iman. However, I wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, while the Imen moved back, visibly fearful of the Maras with blue insignia on their arms. The first Correction Officer raised an eyebrow at me.

“I could ask you the same thing, milady,” he retorted, then looked down at the Iman. “He needs help. We’re taking him to the infirmary.”

“I’ve got this,” I replied, nervous about letting the Maras take the Iman away. After everything I had just read, I had a hard time trusting these Correction Officers, or anyone else in the city.

“You don’t, because you don’t even know what this is,” the Correction Officer shot back.

“She said she’s got it,” Heron interjected, stepping forward and standing next to me in a protective stance. While I found his gesture endearing, I didn’t want him, or us, for that matter, to get in any trouble. All we had were suspicions and nothing else. As much as I hated it, I had to let them take the Iman away.

“It’s okay, Heron,” I said, then stood and put my hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “He’s right, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sure the Iman is better off in the care of nurses, upstairs at the infirmary. We can just go check on him later, if anything.”

I glowered at the Correction Officer, then moved back, allowing him and his colleagues to lift the Iman off the ground and carry him up to the second level. We watched quietly as they disappeared above, unable to shake the wariness off.

“He isn’t the first, nor the last, to just fall like that,” one of the Imen said.

Heron and I turned around to face the thinning crowd, as those most wary of the Correction Officers were already walking away. I focused on the young Iman who had just spoken. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and was wearing a waiter’s uniform.

“Did you see him collapse?” I asked.

“I only heard the thud.” He shook his head. “Then I turned around, and I saw him lying on the ground.”

“Do you know him?” Heron replied.

“No, sir, but he had just come out of the perfume store,” the young Iman said, pointing at the building next to Lemuel’s studio. It was a small building with a white façade, dark brown trim around the windows, and flowerpots cluttered by the entrance. Stylized perfume bottles were drawn on a wooden board just above the door, along with the shop’s name: Marion Scents. “I only caught a glimpse of him, as I was on my way to work, before I heard him collapse.”

A beautiful, well-dressed Mara stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame. He crossed his arms and quietly watched us. His long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back, and his white shirt was rich with dainty ruffles, contrasting the straight lines of his black waistcoat. There were very few Mara businesses that I knew of in these parts of the city—and his was one of them, catering mostly to the Imen.

Heron and I nodded at the Iman, then walked over to the Mara, as the rest of the crowd dispersed. The Mara straightened his back as we reached him. The frown on his face told me that he wasn’t fond of speaking to strangers, especially strangers from another world.

“What did you see?” Heron asked him, while I inched a little closer so I could catch a whiff of his scent—his natural scent, to be precise.

“Not much,” the Mara replied, his gaze dark and full of secrets he didn’t wish to share. He reeked of distrust, among other things. The upside in my ability to sniff out various chemical changes in any living creature was that I had learned to interpret them as emotional reactions, and my accuracy was nearly flawless. “He was just looking around. I think he wanted to buy a perfume for someone, but he didn’t. He just walked out and collapsed.”

“Was there anyone else inside the store?” I took a step forward, leaving only a few inches between us, and I caught a subtle, lemony note in his sweat. He moved back, uncomfortable with my proximity.

“I don’t remember.” The Mara shrugged, narrowing his eyes at me. “Are you implying something?”

“What could she be implying?” Heron replied, his jade gaze firm and cold. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and I could feel the tension in the air. One sudden move, and I had a feeling that the Mara would end up against the wall, with Heron’s blade at his throat.

The Mara gave us a weak smile, then shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“Nothing, my lord,” he muttered. “I’m just saying, he didn’t show any signs of being sick. He was just looking at perfumes, then walked out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to inside.”

He didn’t give us a chance to reply. He just turned around and retreated inside his store. We could have gone in, but he definitely wasn’t going to tell us more, and we had nothing on him, other than my scent-based assessments.

Heron and I looked at each other for a few moments, before he took a deep breath and walked over to where the Iman had collapsed. I followed, quietly, watching as he gazed around. He was thinking about something, judging by the way his eyes darted from one spot to another.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked him, my voice low.

“I think he’s lying,” he murmured.

“I can tell you for a fact that he was lying,” I said. “His scent was sharp, almost acidic with deceit. Something did happen inside, but I don’t think we’ll get anything out of this guy, even with force.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. But it probably does have something to do with his condition. I am starting to think that maybe all the lore we’ve been reading yields more truth than fiction.” I sighed. “Maybe the Maras have something to do with this… slumber before death. Maybe they are responsible.”

“You’re right, though, that we won’t get anything out of the Mara,” Heron replied, running a hand through his short black hair. “But we could ask the Iman.”

“Yeah, let’s go check on him at the infirmary later tonight.” I nodded. “It’s best if we let the nurses look after him, for now, and catch him alone if we want to efficiently interrogate him. I doubt he would tell us anything with others around. Then again, they could mind-bend him into silence, but it’s still worth a shot.”

“That sounds like a plan. Let’s get back inside.” He walked back into the building housing Lemuel’s studio. I followed, although I couldn’t stop thinking about the scene we had just witnessed.

The Maras had seen us there, so chances were that they wouldn’t try anything against the Iman they had just taken to the infirmary. After all, I did specify that we would go see him later. They knew we’d be coming.

In the meantime, however, we had more research to do. A part of me was anxious about being alone in the same room with Heron again. We hadn’t talked about last night. And we’d exchanged barely a handful of words in the morning, after he’d left my room.

I knew I had to talk to him about it, about us—if there even was an us. While we were out in the open, I could breathe a little easier, but whenever we were together between four walls, the air condensed, applying a painful pressure on my chest.

He had distanced himself so quickly this morning, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. He’d been the one to climb into bed with me, to take me in his arms and hold me tight, his hot breath tickling my ear. He’d been the one to pull me closer when I wanted to move, his touch setting me on fire. And yet, as soon as I had turned to face him, and… maybe kiss him… he darted away, the door closing behind him before I could even realize what had just happened.

I had a feeling that the longer I put off talking to him, the more uncomfortable I would feel. Most importantly, his scent was still toying with my senses, sparking thoughts I’d never had before, about anyone. I shook my head. We walked into the studio, and I locked the door behind us.

But my courage was ragged—in pieces, even, after last night. I’d already said everything I needed to say, but Heron hadn’t heard it. I’d figured it would be easier the second time around. But I was wrong… It was twice as hard.