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Except… she had already doubled her dose that morning, desperate to stay awake one more night after two nights without sleep.

That meant she’d also doubled her calming potion to keep her hands from trembling.

It was reckless.

Upon pushing herself up, the world tilted violently, and Peri conceded that perhaps, just this once, she needed a full night’s sleep. Even with the adrenaline potion pulsing through her, there was a limit to how long her body could go without sleep.

Crawling into bed, she barely managed to pull the covers over herself before exhaustion dragged her under.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

Oleander Brightmore

Tranquility washed over Oleander as he stepped into the highest sitting room in Brightmore Manor. Hemlock had suggested only one of them bring Laurel the tea, to avoid overwhelming her, and Oleander had eagerly volunteered.

He needed to do something, anything, for his mother, after feeling so helpless in the face of Wisteria’s departure.

Outside, the storm that had begun when he’d been ejected from the Arcane Vault continued its slow, soft rhythm, raindrops ticking against the windows. The room was cosy, almost serene, the walls made entirely of glass so the grey, cloudy sky seemed to embrace them. Some of the windows were left open, letting in the crisp scent of rain. Laurel sat, a book resting in her lap, unaware that Oleander had entered her private world.

“Hello, Mother,” he said gently, settling on the opposite side of the sofa.

Laurel turned to look at him, wary but resolute. “I guess it’s time, then.”

“I heard you like to drink tea while you’re reading.” Oleander placed the delicate teacup and saucer in front of her on the ornate wooden table. Outside, the rain intensified and distant thunder rumbled. Laurel stared at the tea, her eyes glassy—nervous.

Oleander hesitated, then moved closer, the soft scent of jasmine perfume wrapping around him like a jagged comfort. It reminded him of a time when his mother had been his fiercest protector—devoted and unyielding—before she became... strange. Untethered.

He took the teacup and carefully placed it into his mother’s shaky hands. Her voice quivered as she whispered, “Drinking this will change everything.”

Oleander sighed softly. “If Wisteria can leap onto a hellcat and bargain with water spirits to become a fucking tree, then you can drink a cup of tea.”

Laurel’s eyes darted around the room, unfocused, as if she could see things he couldn’t. Then, with a brisk nod, she lifted the teacup to her lips and swallowed the entire contents in one long, steady gulp.

The change was immediate. Power that had long been suppressed surged back into her, a force that ripped through the room. Laurel hurled the teacup away, and it crashed against the window with a sharp, shattering collision. Her breathing grew ragged, and then—her head tilted back, and she howled.

It wasn’t a scream. It was a roar—a primal, soul-deep cry that seemed to shake the very air around them. As though she had reached into the deepest Circle of Hell itself, pulling every ounce of rage from that realm into her body and unleashing it.

The windows shattered one by one under the force of her fury. When her voice broke and she could scream no more, Laurel raised her hands to the sky pulling the storm toward her. The drizzle turned to a deluge, rain so thick you could barely see into it hit the ground. Lightning illuminated her face, her anger, her power.

Rain soaked them both, cold and unrelenting, yet somehow, it felt like the world’s raw truth. Laurel turned to him, voice guttural and broken. “They tried to take my daughter.”

Thunder crashed around them, a tangible echo to her emotions long buried. Oleander hadn’t even realised he was crying until his throat tightened so that he couldn’t speak. He nodded, shakily—a silent answer to every question he saw flickering across his mother’s face.

“Wisteria,” Laurel hissed. The word was both a question and an accusation. Her long navy hair, soaked with rain, began to float around her like a dark halo—a spirit of vengeance. “They put that awful Devil in you, and I could not stop it. He tormented your brother for years, and—” Her words crackled in the air, sizzling like the storm surrounding them.

She turned to him, power swirling in the air around her, raw and uncontrollable. “Oleander,” she laid a hand on his cheek. Her touch was electric, power unlike anything he had ever felt surging through him. He felt the weight of her sorrow, her grief, her anger; and for a moment they simply stared at each other.

Oleander could only nod in stunned silence.

Laurel kissed his forehead, her voice raw, “Listen carefully. I was not always who I am now. Once, I was only your mother. When I heard they were going to begin sacrificing demonesses connected to the Grand Dukes,” Lightning flashed violently around them, reflecting the long-simmering fury in her eyes, “I found a way to fight. A sacrifice I could make, to protect my children—if I could.”

She stepped away from him, gathering her thoughts. “I fled to Slang’s temple and prayed for their help. They named me the Spirit of Vengeance, but warned me my life would be consumed by misery and pain until I came into my full power.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Vengeance must be seared into you, after all.”

Oleander could barely comprehend the weight of her words, the sacrifice she had made. The tears on his cheeks felt like a mirror of her pain.

“Oh, don’t fret, Oleander,” Laurel continued. “I’m not fully gone, just... mostly.” She pulled a large opal from her pocket, holding it out to him. “This is a protection stone. Can you take it to Wisteria’s tree?”

Oleander nodded warily. “How?”