A few streets away from the Investigation Bureau's office, a business had recently gone bankrupt, forcing its employees to abandon the building in a hurry. Now the structure stood empty, gathering dust in silence as it waited for an owner who might never come.
On the second floor, two youths sat atop a dust-covered table near a cracked window. From that vantage point, they had a clear view of the Bureau's holding wing, the section reserved for detainees deemed the lowest threat.
Iriel reached into the half-empty pastry box and picked up another muffin, brushing crumbs from her fingers as if this were a casual afternoon rather than a covert watch.
"Hmm… these are well worth the money," she murmured through a mouthful, sounding far too pleased for someone hiding inside an abandoned building.
Unlike before, she now wore a simple gown typical of housemaids. Her hair, the color of old ashes and cold iron, had been tied back with nothing more than a plain elastic band. The dress itself had clearly seen better days, hanging slightly loose on her frame as if it had belonged to someone broader.
Yet even at a glance, it was obvious she was anything but a maid.
Watching her stuff another muffin into her mouth, Aren scowled.
"What money are you even talking about? We stole those barely an hour ago. And what's with the clothes?"
Dusting crumbs from her hands, Iriel replied casually,
"It was the only spare Mary had. Why?"
Aren's gaze drifted unconsciously to her exposed arms, sculpted with defined muscle and marked by faint, pale scars that no maid should have carried.
"No reason."
As silence settled between them, footsteps echoed softly across the empty floorboards. A middle-aged man and a young woman approached from behind.
Dropping heavily onto a nearby sofa, Quentin asked with an exhausted sigh,
"What are you kids doing here?"
Iriel had only turned eighteen that year, yet she still carried the youthful sharpness of someone younger. Aren, by contrast, was only fourteen, his thin frame and restless eyes making him look even smaller beside the others.
Still staring out the window, Aren replied without turning,
"What do you think we're doing, Grandpa?"
Picking up a muffin for herself, Mary said in a breezy tone,
"Cut him some slack, Quentin. His brother was just arrested on false charges; what else is he supposed to do? At least he isn't sitting around waiting helplessly for him to come back."
Quentin looked ready to snap back, but after a brief pause, he swallowed the retort and chose a different subject.
"So," he said, rubbing his temples, "anything unusual happen while we were away?"
Iriel hopped off the table and turned toward them, her expression losing its earlier levity.
"They took two more. Raoul sometime last night, and Krepin was already there when we arrived this morning."
Quentin cursed under his breath. Seeing the frustration etched across his face, Mary moved toward the window to assess the situation herself.
"Relax," she said calmly. "They were bait. The faster the Bureau reacts, the better it is for us."
Iriel avoided meeting their eyes. It wasn't fear that made her look away, but the quiet guilt that had been festering inside her for days.
One thing had led to another until, before she fully realized it, she found herself working with the Revolutionary Front, or perhaps more accurately, working for them. Yet the truth remained unchanged: she was not one of them. No matter how carefully she blended in, her noble birth marked her as an outsider.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say she belonged to the very force that had inflicted the greatest damage upon them. Though the Front was largely composed of refugees and displaced citizens, many of its leaders had once ruled lands of their own.
Territories that now existed only as provinces of the Empire.
'What a pain…'
Mary turned toward Quentin, folding her arms as she spoke.
"Any idea how we're supposed to deal with the warden?"
Staring up at the cracked ceiling as if the answer were written there, Quentin replied,
"What's there to deal with? Haven't you heard the rumors?"
Mary raised a brow, silently urging him to continue.
"Word is, Sovran's heir is marching his troops toward this county."
Iriel's eyes widened before she could stop herself, her knuckles whitening as her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Only Aren, seated closest to her, caught the flash of horror that crossed her face.
'Damnation…'
To the others, Quentin's words might have sounded like nothing more than street gossip. But Iriel knew they were true.
And she knew exactly what that truth would bring down upon Venis.
Out of nowhere, Aren snapped, his voice sharp with frustration.
"Don't you have anything better to do than spreading rumors?"
Quentin shot back immediately,
"Hey! At least hear me out before you start running your mouth."
Aren opened his mouth to argue, but a single glance from Mary was enough to make him fall silent and step back.
Frowning deeply, Quentin continued, his tone turning more serious.
"It's not just a rumor. Why do you think the warden suddenly picked up the pace? It's like she's desperate to find something… or someone. Who else would be important enough for Sovran to send his own son, with his personal troops, no less?"
Mary replied quickly, disbelief creeping into her voice.
"Wait—you're saying Sovran kidnapped someone from Valcrest? Where did you even hear that?"
Quentin clicked his tongue in realization.
"Right, you've been stuck at the docks these past few days."
Pushing himself off the sofa, he wandered over to the table and grabbed a muffin as if the conversation meant nothing to him.
"Just yesterday, some brat named 'Elira' came to see the boss. No one knows how she found him, but she rattled him badly. The guys at the quarters said she was looking for someone."
Iriel found herself reflexively leaning forward at the mention of Elira. Just hearing her name sent a fragile warmth through her chest. But the longer she thought about Elira's arrival, the heavier that warmth became, weighed down by growing dread.
She couldn't stop thinking that countless innocent people would soon be swept into this storm because of her own carelessness. But drowning in self-loathing would change nothing, not if she truly intended to fix what she had set in motion.
Shaking the thoughts away, Iriel forced herself to focus on what Quentin was saying.
"With the warden moving around like this, Boss thinks she wants to secure that person first, before the city turns into a battlefield between Valcrest and Sovran. Even now, most of the officers are out on the streets. If we move at the right moment, we won't have to face a single officer, let alone the warden."
Quentin looked openly pleased with himself. Mary gave a slow, sarcastic clap before asking,
"And what happens if things don't go exactly as you expect?"
Shrugging as if it were the most obvious solution, he replied,
"Then we'll use Iriel as bait and run for our lives. Flawless plan, if you ask me."
Mary chuckled softly and turned toward Iriel, studying her expression.
"What do you say?"
A sharp grin spread across Iriel's face.
"When do we start?"