Standing on the boardwalk outside of the hotel, the men were still tense when Mae suggested they leave Sera with her and go bring the truck to the Depot for gas.

"Go stretch your legs," she told them, her tone airy, the kind that left no room for argument. "The depot is literally across the street. I’ll take her, and you can meet us there once you get that thing you drive."

Zubair opened his mouth to argue, but the look Mae gave him quickly cut off his words.

"It’s only across the street," she said, pointing with her parasol toward the building she was talking about. "Besides, the Sheriff doesn’t like engines running longer than they should."

Zubair didn’t argue, though his jaw worked. Lachlan muttered something under his breath about old towns and bad vibes. Sera only smiled faintly, tapping the truck once as she passed. "Fuel, then food. Meet us after."

Luci padded beside her, silent and steady. The sunlight above them stayed the same — neither bright nor dim, only fixed, as if the sky itself refused to move forward.

The air inside the Depot was cooler than the street but carried the same dry weight, as if the heat had settled into the walls and decided to stay.

Wooden shelves stood in neat rows, the glass jars on them sealed tight against a century that hadn’t moved on.

Sera pushed the door open far enough for Luci to pad through before it shut behind them. The bell above the frame gave a single chime that seemed to linger longer than it should.

A man stood behind the counter, his sleeves rolled to the elbow as he weighed dried beans on a brass scale. He looked up only long enough to nod politely before returning to his task.

Every motion was precise—scoop, level, pour, measure, repeat.

Mae drifted forward like she’d done this a hundred times before, the soft click of her closed parasol tip marking every step.

"Come on, love," she said, brushing her gloved fingers against Sera’s sleeve. "We’ll get what we can before your boys drag you off into the wilderness and the great beyond."

Sera didn’t argue.

It was easier to let Mae steer her through the aisles, past jars and tins lined up so precisely that even the dust seemed polite. Not that there was dust.

Luci padded close, his nose to the floor and his tail swaying once in a while as if approving of the quiet.

"Flour first," Mae said, pausing before a row of sacks stacked taller than her shoulder. "Then coffee, then soap. Unless you’d like something frivolous?"

"Frivolous?" Sera echoed, cocking her head to the side. If she was by herself, she would have flicked her wrist and taken everything... but that didn’t seem... polite.

Mae’s smile flickered mischievously. "Chocolate, darling. Or candles that pretend to smell like fruit."

Sera raised an eyebrow. "Chocolate’s practical. It soothes the savage beast."

The creature inside of her perked up at the word chocolate, and it was all Sera could do to not drop everything and pick up every last bar of chocolate.

Mae laughed softly and reached for a sack of flour, testing the weight before sliding it into the crook of her arm. "That’s the spirit."

She turned her head toward the counter. "Mr. Talley, how’s your stock holding?"

The clerk didn’t look up from his scale. "Same as yesterday. Same as last month."

"Consistency," Mae said approvingly. "It’s both fantastic and boring at the same time."

Sera moved alongside her, picking up what she needed without much thought.

The shelves offered more than she expected — coffee tins sealed tight, jars of sugar, dried beans, even matches bundled in paper.

All of it clean.

All of it waiting to be taken.

She didn’t feel watched, exactly, but there was something about the air — thick, settled, the kind that didn’t belong to the fluttery movement of Mae.

When she glanced up, she realized why the space felt so bare.

There was only one thing on the walls.

Above the door hung a single portrait in a narrow gilt frame.

The woman in it looked down at them through pale eyes, her expression level and calm.

Not cruel. Not kind. Just—present.

Sera frowned, shifting her basket higher on her hip. "Who’s she?"

Mae, who’d been debating between two different kinds of soap, turned her head and followed the line of Sera’s gaze. "Oh." She smiled. "I forget that you aren’t from here."

Sera gave a dry little huff. "That’s obvious."

"That’s the Queen," Mae said simply, as though naming a street. "Every place in town has her picture somewhere. It’s just what you do."

Sera looked again. "Queen of what?"

Mae blinked at her, then grinned. "Of Perdition, of course." She moved toward the counter, setting her things down. "She went north ages ago—thirty years, maybe more, to an assembly in Country N. Took her consorts and guards and half the gossip with her. Not a single one of them came back."

Mr. Talley weighed out sugar, calm as ever. "She won’t, either."

Mae gave him a quick, almost teasing look. "You don’t know that."

"I do. And lucky us are stuck here waiting for her to return. Not that she will."

"Don’t spoil a good legend," Mae said lightly before turning to Sera, "They called her the Lost Queen after that. People still toast her birthdays, though nobody’s sure which day was really hers. The town keeps the habit. Habit’s comforting."

Sera dropped a tin of coffee onto the counter beside the rest. "Sounds like she left for a reason."

Mae’s eyes softened, her tone too. "She left the way most people do—believing she’d come back before the milk soured."

"She didn’t," Mr. Talley grunted, never looking up from his measurements.

Mae ignored him and started counting candles. "You’ll like these. Cherry and almond. One will make your whole house smell like you’re baking something civilized."

Luci brushed past Sera’s leg, nose twitching at the counter where a small tin of jerky sat open.

The clerk slid one piece off the top and offered it without a word. Luci accepted it gently, tail wagging once before settling back down.

Mae smiled at the sight. "He’s got better manners than half the men I’ve met."