Her body felt as if it had been twisted through the wringer. With every second that the adrenaline of the fight faded, the throbbing of her wounds became stronger. The elevator rattled, and the dark red of her blood-soaked her clothes. With a moan of pain, Scarlett groped for her leg and grimaced when she saw the bruised boots.

The beast had bent a support rod, and the poorly repaired wheels had now also stopped working. The gliders stood still and did not move anymore. Her leather boots were torn at the calves and gaped apart. Blood ran through her soles, and Scarlett pulled a small silver knife out of the dagger sheath on her other boot to cut a strip of her cloak. The pain burned like fire in the wound as she made a makeshift bandage with the torn-off rags.

Scarlett pulled the pressure injector out of the medi-kit from a leather bag on her belt. Her hands trembled as she removed a small glass vial from its holder, broke the head on the slender neck and poured the transparent contents into the loading chamber. After taking a deep breath, she pressed the injector onto her thigh and pressed the button, which shot the needle into her flesh with a whirring sound. It took a few seconds, but then the agonising pain finally subsided – along with the bleeding and the throbbing in the wound.

Only now she had time and strength to pull herself up on the railing. The elevator emerged from the fog at a dizzying height, and immediately, the air became thinner but lighter. In the distance, Mount Grimm rose out of the white haze as if it ruled over a sea of fog.

At that moment, the platform above her finally came into view. The station towered just above the layer of fog, and the shingled roof stood out against all the grey like the cap of a leprechaun. But what made Scarlett's heart beat faster was the light behind the arched windows – thank the gods, the station was occupied! She wanted to cry with happiness. Of course, she was too proud to do that, so she straightened up and hastily plucked at her clothes to make herself somewhat presentable.

The elevator swayed as it finally locked, and the huge spindles stopped turning. However, the thick iron doors that led to the station did not open, and even when Scarlett pulled on the door rings, they remained locked. Irritated, the young woman's forehead furrowed, and then she hit the door three times. She had seen the light, so the station must be occupied, even if it seemed to be in a bad state of repair. A scratching sound came from the wooden box next to the door; then a tinny voice sounded from the copper speaker: "Identification code!"

Scarlett blinked. She had completely forgotten the strict protocols in her excitement.

"SL-R.A.L.3002," she replied, wishing more than anything to get to the other side of that door. To be safe and with - well, more or less - solid ground under her feet.

"Password!" the voice demanded now.

"Bread and wine," she replied, and there was silence.

Suddenly, Scarlett had doubts. Did anyone here in the tower even know the current password?

There was a dull, metallic crashing sound behind the door as heavy locking bolts were pushed to the side and yanked open. It slammed loudly against the wall behind it, and a man forced himself into the doorframe. A pistol clicked, followed by another and another, and the flashing barrel of a revolver was pointed directly at her face.

"Stay where you are! Don't move!" he bellowed harshly, and Scarlett froze. Her pulse quickened immediately.

What the hell...?

"Hands up!" a command sounded from behind, and Scarlett slowly raised her arms as she was being ordered.

Then, a man stepped into the light at the door. Blond hair framed a face with a leather eye patch covering the left eye. There was visible tension in the harsh features of the young man, who was probably only a few years older than her. Yet his hands were perfectly still around his weapon, and his finger remained on the trigger.

Scarlett did not doubt that he would shoot her if she made a wrong move. His gaze swept around to check the tiny elevator in every corner. Almost as if one of the devils could suddenly jump out from behind her back.

While he held the revolver over her head and then along the sides of the elevator, the two barrels remained pointed at her from behind.

That wasn't according to protocol. What was going on here?

"What is this about?" Scarlett finally asked as the flame of anger flared up in her. What was the reason for these men treating her like an enemy?

"All clear," the man next to her shouted instead of answering, and his eyes glided over the newcomer. He lowered his weapon and put it back into the worn leather holster. "No offence, SL," he said, raising his hand briefly. There was a click behind him at a signal as the weapons were lowered and then secured again. "It's just a security measure. Recently, Iron Wolves tried to enter the station. They used a Redcoat as a cover. We had to be sure, "explained the other Redcoats, now raising his hand. The look in his brown eyes softened, and even a smile flitted across his previously iron features.

"I'm Sykes. Over there is Thornton and Hugh... and the poor devil sleeping on the cot over there is Rourke," he introduced himself and the other Redcoats, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Come in quickly; it's cold and dangerous out here."

Scarlett didn't need to be asked twice. She hurriedly hobbled into the beanstalk.

On the platform, only a few lights flickered in the lanterns. The station looked run-down; many devices seemed broken, and some furnishings looked worn. Several chairs had been broken and chopped up into firewood to heat the iron stove that kept the vine warm. There were rumpled blankets on the cots. But all of this was better than being out in the forest with the devils. Scarlett was relieved, and a great burden seemed to fall from her shoulders like a rock.

"Good heavens. I thought I wouldn't make it to safety." Scarlett sank onto one of the few remaining chairs and breathed a sigh of relief. She stretched out her leg, and now the others also seemed to notice her condition.

Eyes fixed on the blood that seeped through the bandages and shreds of the cloak, darkening the fabric.

"You're wounded!" Sykes realised and turned hastily. "Come on, get bandages!" he instructed the others.

One of them reminded Scarlett, a little of a rat because he had big ears and long front teeth. His hair was so ash blonde that it almost looked grey in the dim light. The other one wore clothes that seemed too big for his skinny body. He had rolled up his sleeves, but one kept slipping as he fetched the bandages. He hesitated for a moment and met Sykes' gaze.

"We don't have much bandaging material left," the lanky guy murmured, but Sykes took the things from his hand with a sharp look. "We'll surely have something left for our comrade, Hugh," he said harshly and handed the iron box to Scarlett. "Here. Take care of your wounds. Hugh will get you something to drink." He gave his companion another harsh look as he said this. The man pursed his lips but then turned away to sink onto one of the sleeping benches.

"Forgive the behaviour of the others. Our nerves are on edge. Some of the rebels have invaded here. Two of ours were killed, and... we had to throw them down."

Scarlett shuddered at the thought that the bodies would never be found. The devils would leave only bones behind, and the poor, brave Redcoats would be nothing more than food for the forest.

"Headquarters was worried because the signals stopped coming," she began, but Sykes interrupted her.

"The bastards destroyed the transmitter, " Sykes nodded toward a table on which only the destroyed remains of the radio box could be seen. The corpus was shattered and dented, gears broken, and metal splintered. It looked as if someone had repeatedly hit it violently.

"Why are you still here? Wouldn't going to one of the other vines be safer?"

Sykes smiled wryly and shook his head. "Unfortunately, our boots were also damaged in the fight," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his fingers. "We wanted to wait here for help. Ideally, someone more familiar with all the technical stuff..." he confessed, folding his arms across his chest. "But we didn't expect such charming company," he winked.

Scarlett felt her cheeks tingle, and her ears heat up.

Was he flirting with her?

Well... Sykes wasn't bad-looking, and she could have been pleased about that. After all, not many Redcoats had been nice to her so far.

But why did she have a sinking feeling in her stomach?