The neutral ground Thorne chose was an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district, the kind of place where screams wouldn't carry and blood could be hosed away come morning. Zara stood at the edge of the makeshift arena, watching demons erect barriers of black iron while others chalked intricate symbols into the concrete floor. The air hummed with barely contained violence.

"Having second thoughts?" Cael appeared beside her, silent as smoke. In the harsh fluorescent light, his perfect features looked carved from marble, but she caught the tension in his jaw.

"About a dozen of them," she admitted. "But they all lead to the same conclusion. This is the only way."

"You could still walk away." His voice was carefully neutral. "Find somewhere far from New Orleans. Start over."

Zara turned to face him fully. "Without Marcus? Without the bar that's been in my family for three generations? You think I could live with that?"

"I think you could live, period. Which is more than I can say for staying."

Something in his tone made her study his face more carefully. "Why are you doing this, Cael? Really? And don't give me some line about contracts or honour. You could have found another way to get what you want from me."

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his usual smooth confidence was nowhere to be found. "Because the current system is broken. Thorne and his kind rule through fear and brutality, while the fae treat everyone else as disposable pawns. People like your family get caught in the crossfire, their lives destroyed to settle debts they never agreed to pay."

"So this is about justice?" There was something else in his expression, something that made her pulse quicken despite the circumstances.

"This is about you." The words came out raw, unguarded. "At first, it was just curiosity. You're the only person I've met who's immune to my influence, and that intrigued me. But then I watched you fight for your brother, sacrifice everything for family who'd already let you down. I watched you pour drinks for creatures that could tear you apart without breaking a sweat, all because you gave your word." He stepped closer, and she caught the scent of expensive cologne and something darker underneath. "You're extraordinary, Zara Thibodaux. And I'll be damned if I let them destroy you."

The admission hung in the air between them, charged with possibilities she didn't dare examine too closely. Not here. Not now.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she said, but her voice came out breathier than intended.

"It's not flattery." His hand moved as if to touch her face, then dropped to his side. "When this is over..."

"When this is over, we'll see who's still alive to have that conversation."

A harsh laugh echoed across the warehouse. "How touching. The incubus has found his heart."

Thorne emerged from the shadows, his massive form wrapped in a coat that looked like it cost more than most people's cars. Behind him came his entourage: lesser demons, a few djinn, and something that might have been human once but definitely wasn't anymore.

"Lord Blackwood." Cael's mask of polite indifference slid back into place. "Prompt as always."

"I'm eager to settle this matter and return to more pressing business." Thorne's red eyes fixed on Zara. "Though I admit I'm curious to see what the little bartender thinks she can accomplish. Your champion is skilled, I'll grant you, but he's still just an incubus. Pretty face, modest power, flashy tricks. Hardly a match for true demonic strength."

"We'll see," Zara replied, proud that her voice stayed steady.

Thorne gestured to one of his companions, a creature that stood nearly eight feet tall with skin like molten rock. "Belphegor here has been looking forward to stretching his legs. He hasn't had a proper fight in decades."

The demon stepped into the chalked circle, flexing claws that could shred steel. The temperature in the warehouse rose ten degrees just from his presence.

"The rules are simple," Thorne announced to the gathered crowd. "Trial by combat. First to yield, die, or leave the circle loses. No weapons save those granted by supernatural nature. No interference from outside parties." His smile was all teeth. "Let's begin."

Cael started toward the circle, but Zara caught his arm. "Be careful. Please."

"I fully intend to." He covered her hand with his, the touch sending warmth up her arm. "Keep your eyes open. Thorne's too confident. Something's not right."

Before she could ask what he meant, he was striding into the arena. The moment his feet crossed the chalk line, the air crackled with power. Belphegor let out a roar that shook dust from the rafters and charged.

What followed wasn't the elegant supernatural combat Zara had expected from movies and books. It was brutal, primal, and absolutely terrifying. Belphegor fought like a force of nature, all raw power and devastating strength. His claws left gouges in the concrete where Cael had been standing milliseconds before. When he breathed, flames hot enough to melt metal poured from his mouth.

But Cael was something else entirely. He moved like liquid shadow, like smoke given form. Every time Belphegor's massive fists swung through the space where he'd been, Cael was somewhere else, striking with surgical precision at joints and pressure points that made even a demon stumble.

"Impressive," said a voice like winter wind. "Though ultimately futile."

Zara spun around to find Duchess Morrigan standing behind her, materialised from nothing. The fae noble looked exactly as she had in Cael's office, beautiful and terrible and older than civilisation.

"What are you doing here?" Zara demanded, though she already suspected she knew.

"Claiming what is rightfully mine." Morrigan's pale eyes were fixed on the combat circle. "Did you truly think I would allow Thorne to settle this matter without my input? Your family's contract is far too valuable to leave in his hands."

Around the warehouse, shadows began to move. Fae warriors stepped from darkness that shouldn't have been deep enough to hide them, their alien beauty marred by weapons that gleamed with unnatural light.

"This is neutral ground," Thorne snarled, but he was already backing away from Morrigan, his own followers forming defensive positions. "The old laws..."

"The old laws are exactly what give me the right to be here." Morrigan's voice carried the authority of centuries. "A contract dispute involving both our kinds? That makes this matter fall under joint jurisdiction. Surely you remember the Accords of 1847?"

In the circle, both Cael and Belphegor had frozen mid-combat, sensing the shift in the room's dynamic. Cael's gaze found Zara across the chaos, and she saw her own realisation reflected in his eyes. This had been planned. Not by him, not by her, but by powers that made their personal stakes seem insignificant.

"You want a trial by combat?" Morrigan raised one elegant hand, and the warehouse filled with the sound of drawing steel. "Then let's have one that matters. Winner takes the contract, the bar, and everything that comes with it."

"You can't do this," Zara shouted over the rising tension. "I'm a neutral party. I serve all supernatural clients equally."

"Neutrality is a luxury, child. And your luxury has just expired."

The first blow was struck by one of Thorne's demons, too young and too eager to wait for orders. His blade caught the fluorescent light as it swept toward a fae warrior's throat. The warrior moved like quicksilver, turning the killing stroke into a shallow cut, and replied with a thrust that punched through demonic hide like paper.

Then the warehouse exploded into violence.

It was nothing like the controlled combat between Cael and Belphegor. This was war in miniature, a preview of the conflict that had been building between the supernatural factions for decades. Demons wielding shadows like weapons clashed with fae whose every movement was deadly grace. The air filled with the sound of steel on claw, with inhuman screams and the crackle of competing magics.

Zara found herself pressed against the wall, trying to stay out of the way of combatants who could tear her apart without noticing. A demon stumbled past her, clutching a wound that leaked something too dark to be blood. A fae warrior danced by in pursuit, her blade singing through the air in patterns too complex for mortal eyes to follow.

"Zara!" Cael's voice cut through the chaos. He was fighting his way toward her, no longer confined to the circle now that all pretence of formal combat had been abandoned. Belphegor followed, apparently deciding that the incubus was still his designated target regardless of the circumstances.

She pressed herself flatter against the wall as they passed, Cael moving with inhuman grace while the massive demon left cracks in the concrete with every step. But there were too many bodies between them, too much chaos. She watched Cael disappear into the melee, watched him engage three opponents at once, and realised with crystal clarity that no one was going to rescue her from this situation.

She was going to have to rescue herself.

The thought should have been terrifying. Instead, it was almost liberating. For weeks she'd been reactive, responding to threats and demands and supernatural politics beyond her control. But this, this was her choice.

Zara pushed off from the wall and began moving through the battlefield, using every bit of knowledge she'd gained from years of serving dangerous clientele. She knew which species had blind spots, which relied on scent over sight, which could be distracted by sudden movements. She made herself small, invisible, insignificant.

She made her way toward the centre of the warehouse, where Thorne and Morrigan faced each other across a circle of violence. Neither had drawn weapons yet, but power radiated from both of them in waves that made the air itself seem thick and oppressive.

"This changes nothing," Thorne was saying. "The contract is mine by right of conquest."

"Conquest requires victory," Morrigan replied. "Something you have yet to achieve."

"Then let's settle it properly." Thorne shed his expensive coat, revealing arms covered in ritual scars that gleamed with their own dark light. "You and me. No champions, no intermediaries."

"Acceptable." Morrigan's form began to shift, her elegant business attire dissolving into something that looked like it was woven from moonlight and winter frost. "Though I should warn you, I haven't had a proper fight in decades. I'm rather looking forward to this."

They moved toward each other with the inevitability of colliding stars, and Zara realised she was about to witness something that would reshape the supernatural landscape of New Orleans forever.

She also realised she was the only person in the room who didn't want either of them to win.

The revelation hit her like a physical blow. Everyone else here was choosing sides, aligning themselves with one faction or another. But she genuinely didn't care who held her contract as long as her family was safe. Thorne might be brutal, but he honoured his agreements. Morrigan might be cold, but she was reliable in her own way. Either would probably treat her fairly as long as she provided what they wanted.

But neither would stop the war that was clearly coming. Neither would protect the innocent people who would get caught in the crossfire. Neither cared about anything beyond their own power and ancient grudges.

She thought about Evangeline's journal, about the careful neutrality her grandmother had maintained for decades. About the supernatural clients who came to the bar not just for drinks, but for a place where they could exist without choosing sides, without the weight of faction politics and inherited conflicts.

She thought about Marcus, probably sitting in his cell right now, unaware that his soul was being fought over by forces that considered him less than human.

And she made a decision that would have horrified her grandmother and probably get her killed, but felt more right than anything she'd done in months.

"Stop." Her voice was barely audible over the sounds of combat, but something in it made both ancient powers pause. "Just... stop. All of you."

The warehouse grew quieter as fighters sensed the shift in their leaders' attention. Not silent, but the frantic energy of moments before began to ebb.

"Child," Morrigan said with dangerous softness, "you are interrupting matters far beyond your comprehension."

"No, I'm not." Zara stepped forward, into the space between them. "I understand perfectly. You want my contract because it gives you access to neutral ground, a place where you can gather information and conduct business without your enemies knowing. You want the bar because it's been a fixture in this city's supernatural community for generations, and controlling it means controlling a significant piece of local politics."

"Clever girl," Thorne rumbled. "And your point is?"

"My point is that neither of you actually wants to run a bar. You want to own it, control it, use it. But you don't want the day-to-day responsibility of maintaining the neutrality that makes it valuable in the first place."

She looked around the warehouse, at demons and fae alike watching her with expressions ranging from curiosity to barely contained hostility. "And all of you seem to forget that the contract you're fighting over isn't just a piece of paper. It's a living agreement that requires active participation from both parties. You can't just take it. It has to be accepted."

"The debt..." Morrigan began.

"The debt was Marcus's, not mine. And according to the terms Evangeline negotiated, family debts can be settled through service, not just ownership." Zara pulled the copied contract pages from her jacket, grateful she'd thought to bring them. "I propose a new arrangement."

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut. Then Thorne laughed, a sound like grinding stone. "You want to negotiate? Here? Now?"

"I want to prevent a war that will destroy everything my family built." She gestured toward the frozen combatants. "Look around you. This is just the beginning, isn't it? This warehouse, this fight, it's going to spread through the city. Through the supernatural community. And when it's over, win or lose, the bar will be gone. The neutral ground will be gone. Everyone will have lost something they can't replace."

"And you think you can prevent that?" Morrigan's tone was skeptical, but she hadn't resumed attacking Thorne.

"I think I can offer you something better than ownership. I can offer you guaranteed access without the responsibility, reliable service without the politics, and most importantly, a neutral ground that actually stays neutral because the person running it has no stake in your conflicts."

Cael appeared at her shoulder, breathing hard and sporting a cut along his cheek that made her want to reach out and touch it. "Zara, what are you doing?"

"Something stupid," she admitted. "But hopefully also something right."

The warehouse held its collective breath, waiting to see if two ancient powers would accept a bartender's desperate gambit or resume the fight that would reshape New Orleans forever.