Everything in the kitchen remained exactly as they had left it—the lamps cast the same dim glow, the candles flickered lazily, and the wooden dining table sat untouched, its surface still bearing faint scratches. Dishes, chairs, silverware—nothing was out of place.
They had memorized every detail, deliberately committing them to mind. Any shift, no matter how minor, could reveal where the terrorist had gone and what he had wanted.
But 'he' was a little smarter than them.
Leor stepped inside again, fingers brushing against the rough sandpaper on the counter. He picked it up, running it against his palm. The sensation, harsh yet familiar, oddly grounded him.
"What banquet were you talking about?" Johan's voice broke through his thoughts. A pause. Then, "I mean, who's coming?"
"Just my brother and sister. Be polite, be friendly. We might have to bring up the terrorist situation with them too."
He had considered keeping it from them. No point in worrying them for nothing. The police were already setting up a perimeter, evacuating the block. They could have had a small banquet at the church instead…
Johan hummed, then nodded. "Alright. So what's the banquet for?"
His childlike curiosity almost made Leor's mouth twitch in amusement, but he kept his expression still.
"My sister got into Thornfield Academy. We're celebrating."
"Oh. Congratulations…" Johan's voice carried a thoughtful weight, something about the news lingering in his mind.
Leor let the moment pass and pointed to two small bamboo baskets—one filled with onions, the other with potatoes. "Don't just stand there. Help me with the cooking."
Johan's gaze flicked toward the baskets, hesitation flashing across his face. Leor ignored it.
"Alright…" Johan reached for the potatoes.
Leor snatched them up before he could touch them. "You're on onions. Cut them very finely—my sister likes the taste but hates chewing chunks."
Johan's face twisted in protest, but he said nothing.
Two hours passed. The clock in the living room struck six.
Leor sat comfortably in his chair, flipping a page of For Once by Taylor, savoring the words. The knife had moved swiftly in his hands earlier—potatoes diced in half an hour, neat and precise.
Johan, on the other hand, stood hunched over the counter, hands trembling, eyes red and watery. Thinly sliced onions surrounded him like the remnants of a battle. Small cuts marred his fingers.
A knock came at the door.
"Leor, I got the Burvill beer at a good price! Smells amazing—you'll love it!"
James.
Leor placed the book aside and strode to the main door, fishing the key from its spot on the right cabinet. One turn, one click—the door swung open.
James stood there, grinning, a workbag slung over one shoulder. At twenty-four, he looked older in a good way—sharp jawline, firm features, brown hair streaked with a few strands of black. His light green eyes brightened the moment he saw Leor.
He was tall—nearly six and a half feet, standing just above the doorframe. His outfit had the effortless elegance of someone who dressed well without trying.
A white linen shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his pale, muscular chest. A black waistcoat, unbuttoned, paired with fitted trousers. Over it all, a long brownish-black wool coat draped down to his knees, its six buttons left open. The coat was loose, but everything else hugged his frame, outlining a build that could almost rival Johan's.
The moment he saw Leor, he dropped his bag and threw a heavy arm around his shoulders, pulling him in.
"Yeah, yeah, let's try it before eating! Did you bring the wine too?" Leor asked, matching his enthusiasm.
"Of course! It's for Clara—how could I forget what she likes?" James pulled a glass bottle from his bag, the deep red tint of the glass catching the light. Jacob's.
Leor frowned. "Wait. You bought this? Isn't that, like, four or five gold pounds a bottle?"
James averted his eyes. "I… had some savings."
Leor raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."
"Just leave it at that," James muttered.
Leor smirked. "Your money, your problem. But Clara is probably going to decapitate you."
James's expression twisted into something close to horror. "What do we do?" He looked at Leor like he held the answers to the universe.
Leor sighed. "I know where the empty wine bottles are. We'll pour it into those and hide this one."
Relief washed over James's face. "Oh, my good brother."
Leor shot him a warning glance, but James lunged forward, pulling him into another hug anyway.
Then, Leor sniffed.
His grip tightened. "Wait. You drank without your good brother?"
The faint scent of alcohol lingered on James—strong but not overwhelming. The kind that settled in when someone had been drinking while walking. A bad habit.
Leor gave him a flat look.
James hesitated, then laughed nervously. "…Haha."
"What about Clara? Weren't you two coming home together?"
"Yeah, she told me to head back without her. She wanted to buy some mutton and other groceries we might need today. You cooked?"
"Nah, I was waiting for Clara. She likes cooking. I just help out to lighten her workload sometimes. Nowhere near as good as her, though."
They stepped inside together, warmth from the living room wrapping around them.
Johan was already there, standing with his back straight, his face unreadable.
"This is a friend from the academy, Johan Von Adlerhof. He's new in town, so I invited him to join us for the banquet," Leor said, turning to James.
Huh?
James's face tensed. His eyes narrowed to the limit, and a faint sheen of sweat appeared on his palms.
"Nice to meet you," Johan said calmly, extending a hand for a handshake.
James flinched—like he was dodging a bullet.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
"Huh? Johan, as he said. I am a noble from the Aurelian Empire…"
James flicked his gaze toward Leor before locking eyes with Johan, scrutinizing him as if staring through his skull. A long, tense moment passed before he finally stepped forward and shook Johan's hand—his grip tightening, as if trying to crush it.
Johan's brow twitched slightly, but he held his ground, his expression unmoved.
"James… What's wrong? Are you alright?" Leor asked hesitantly.
His reaction—it was just like Vane's. Did he see something too?
But no matter how Leor looked at it, Johan seemed normal. He spoke, moved, and acted like anyone else. Maybe a little weird, but still.
He had his doubts before, but something told him he could trust Johan.
At least a little.
James exhaled sharply. "Nothing's wrong… Let's just move on."