Gideon was at the window, looking out. His silver hair, perfectly coiffed, caught the dim light and appeared almost silver-tipped. The stained coat, which he perennially wore, had seen brighter days. He could well afford a new one, or even an entire wardrobe, with his wealth, but still, he wore this coat—a reminder of something.

  I never did ask him why, but I knew there was a past. The only thing that ever bothered me was that he never seemed to clean it, though it never had a bad smell.

  ~ ~ ~

  "What was I saying then?"

  His dark brown eyes went right through my small lie. They had that about them—unreadable, calculating, observing more than they showed.

  There was no shine to them, none of that natural gloss most eyes carried. At a glance, you’d think he was going blind, that the light had stopped catching in them altogether. But look closer, and you’d see—they weren’t cloudy, not stained or paling with age. Just flat, like old varnish worn smooth, as if light skimmed over them but never truly stuck.

  "Something something Mrs. Tofann."

  "Mrs. Fontaine," he corrected. "She wants us to investigate her husband's unusual nighttime activities in the Old Quarter."

  "Great, I hate these cases," I muttered under my breath.

  His lips curled into an almost imperceptible, mischievous smile. It would have made him look younger, almost boyish, if not for the ever-present analytical gaze he hid behind it. His face was sharp-featured but refined, the kind of good looks that settled rather than stood out. Like you’d only realize he was handsome after looking at him for a while.

  "She's paying us 100 crowns for this. You'll receive 20% as usual."

  I paused, giving my head time to process.

  "Twenty crowns to catch a cheating bastard?" I grinned, my mood shifting. "In fact, those are my favorite types of cases. That poor woman deserves justice!"

  Gideon's grin widened, though it still did not quite reach his eyes.

  "I knew that might give you a change of heart. This one, in theory at least, should be simple. Just tail Mr. Fontaine, see where he goes, and if he meets any women."

  I reclined, watching as he adjusted his glasses with the same deliberate calm he applied to everything. They came to rest on the bridge of his nose, lending him an air of scholarly detachment—as if all of this, the world and its unpleasant details, was just another puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

  "What if he meets men?" I joked, attempting to break the tension—something I was good at. No one liked my company for funerals.

  Gideon, as always, barely smiled. His fingers drummed gently against the windowsill before he turned back to me, expressionless.

  "Then you'll need to see it through to the end."

  ~ ~ ~

  I sighed, feigning exasperation. "Suddenly, those twenty crowns don’t seem so appealing. Do I get a health premium?"

  Ignoring my jest, Gideon handed me a small notebook and a pencil. "There’s a sketch of him inside. Just deliver me a report when you get back."

  Inside the notebook was a detailed, if hastily drawn, image of Mr. Fontaine—middle-aged, average build, dark hair threaded with grey, and a mustache that looked like it belonged in a different century. I had to admit, he wasn’t unattractive.

  "What a poor sense of fashion, though," I remarked, closing the notebook.

  This was only my third case. The first had been rather intriguing—we were hired to investigate who was stealing money from the city’s sewer budget. As it turned out, there was no thief. The real culprit was the accountant, but not because he was a crook. The poor guy had forged his degree in math and was terrible at accounting. Who would’ve thought?

  The second was a routine police commission. The case was mostly solved; they just wanted Gideon’s expertise. The twist? Of the three initial suspects, two were in cahoots. I guess it wasn't an actual twist.

  ~ ~ ~

  We stepped outside into the cold night air. Fog clung to the streets, wrapping the city in a damp, clammy embrace. Eldenport was a city of contrasts—a place where progress had collided with decay, leaving both winners and losers in its wake. Merchants lined the streets, the sewer system was a mess, fights broke out constantly, and people from all walks of life were scrambling for any opportunity. The air reeked of desperation.

  But the rich part of the city? That was almost like another world—well-kept, clean, and quiet.

  As we approached the Old Quarter, I couldn’t help but mutter to myself.

  "Ha, this place… great. I hate it."

  There was a part of me that felt like this was home, and another part that screamed at me to get out as fast as I could. It’s strange—I couldn’t explain why, but this place always made my skin crawl.

  Gideon stopped at the muddy entrance to the Old Quarter. "Alright, Kieran. You're on your own from here."

  I nodded, wrinkling my nose at the stench and the oppressive atmosphere. "Right. I’ll be fine, I suppose."

  Gideon gave me a casual nod. "Just observe and report." He turned to leave but then hesitated, as if something important had just crossed his mind.

  "And don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. And remember…"

  "To run if my intuition tells me so, I know," I finished for him. He was always repeating that like a mantra. I couldn’t picture the scholarly Gideon running from anything, so he must be damn good at avoiding trouble in the first place.

  "By the way, what kind of lover would a rich man find in the Old Quarter?"

  "I don’t know. Usually, they end up scammed, kidnapped, or dead."

  "Don’t jinx it," I muttered, but I couldn’t deny that it made sense.

  Even though this was only my third official case, the job was a vast improvement over my previous ones. It paid well, and the hours were flexible. It beat being a night security guard or a lamplighter. This was the best job I’d had in years.

  Gideon watched as I set off alone. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but I brushed it aside.

  Twenty crowns was too tempting to pass up.

  This was just a routine job, nothing more.

  "But really, with his money, he could find lovers in better places..."

  The Old Quarter had a way of unsettling me, yet there was something oddly familiar about it. The crumbling buildings and narrow alleys were a stark contrast to the orderly streets where the wealthy, Gideon included, resided.

  I found a decent spot to watch, a small open-air bar with a view of the main thoroughfare leading into the Old Quarter. Almost everyone who ventured into this part of town passed through here, as the rest of the entrances were shady alleys and muddy streets in the ever-raining Eldenport.

  I settled into a corner, half-hidden by shadows, with a clear view of the street.

  As I sat there, the cold air nipping at my skin, I watched the comings and goings of the night.

  The bar was noisy, with only a few rowdy patrons nursing their drinks, accompanied by women in heavy makeup and stronger perfume. One of the women approached me, her dress a bit too revealing. I could guess what she was about to offer.

  "Hello, sir... Would you like some drinking company?" she asked, leaning in close. I thought I might be lucky—she was the best-looking of the bunch. Or maybe it was just because I was wearing one of Gideon’s expensive black coats. It was borrowed; I couldn’t afford one like it just yet.

  "Not tonight, thank you," I replied politely. "I’m waiting for a friend."

  She gave me a knowing smile and moved on, leaving me to my stalking job. I caught the briefest flash of a scowl as she walked away, but what could I say? I'm a romantic. Besides, I was especially looking forward to those soon-to-be-mine twenty crowns.

  ~ ~ ~

  After a while, I noticed a man moving in the shadows, trying to lean to the left side of the lane as he looked around nervously—Mr. Fontaine. He moved quite quickly, taking a left turn down a narrow alley.

  The thing about following people is that it's quite difficult, especially when the person is vigilant. They tend to be on the lookout for anyone tailing them, particularly if they're up to no good. I had to keep a very safe distance to avoid drawing any attention, which nearly caused me to lose him a couple of times.

  The dark alleys twisted and turned, the cobblestones slick with moisture and the occasional patch of mud, making it challenging and noisy to stay on his trail.

  Mr. Fontaine finally stopped at an old, dilapidated warehouse—the kind that gives you a bad feeling just by looking at it. He glanced around nervously before slipping inside.

  I hesitated for a moment, my instincts telling me to turn back, but I pushed forward. After all, there might be a woman—or man—inside, and he might just have a fetish for creepy places. I kept moving along the shadows as I slipped through the partially open door after him.

  Note to self: always close the door when doing shady stuff.

  Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit by a few stray beams of moonlight seeping through broken windows. I could barely see Mr. Fontaine. The air was thick with the smell of damp wood and something else—something metallic and acrid, like old blood.

  Mr. Fontaine moved deeper into the warehouse, his footsteps echoing eerily in the vast, empty space. I kept my distance, trusting my knack for going unnoticed and being socially invisible. People had a way of overlooking me, but I’d always chalked it up to having a forgettable face or an unassuming presence. It was, after all, a handy quirk, especially for this kind of job.

  Fontaine reached under his coat and pulled out a small, weathered box.

  Even from where I stood, I could tell from his body language—he hated touching it. Like it was alive. His fingers hovered over the lid nervously for a few seconds, almost as if he didn’t want to open it.

  What’s in there, Mr. Fontaine? A deadly disease? A cursed trinket? Or just a box full of regrets?

  He set the box down on a crate, hesitating before finally letting go, his hand recoiling like he’d just placed a venomous snake on the table. I stifled a smirk. He looked like a man handling something utterly repulsive.

  Just then, I shifted my weight to move closer, and my oversized shoe—a second-hand deal I’d snatched up for half-price at a barter shop—scraped loudly against the stone floor.

  Damn it. Three crowns for these shoes, and now they’re costing me twenty.

  Fontaine’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with fear, and this time, he saw me. Of course, he wouldn’t have noticed me if I hadn’t tripped over my own stupid shoes.

  Worst investigator ever.

  "Who’s there?" Fontaine demanded, his voice trembling slightly, full of fake bravery.

  Well, no point in hiding now. I stepped out of the shadows, trying to muster some semblance of confidence.

  "Uh, sorry about that," I started, forcing a grin. "Would you believe me if I told you I was just passing by?"

  Fontaine’s eyes narrowed, clearly not believing me, but instead of looking angry or suspicious, he seemed... relieved. Like I wasn't the threat he was expecting.

  But then—there it was again. The fear.

  What’s he so afraid of? I wondered. It wasn’t me, that’s for sure.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Before Fontaine could respond, the warehouse door creaked open again, and a figure slipped inside—a woman with very distinct red hair and a sharp gaze accompanied by a frown.

  So THERE WAS a woman involved.

  She moved with a predator’s grace, resembling a cat, or lynx, her presence sleek and dangerous. She scanned the room quickly, and her eyes landed on me.

  "And who’s this?" she asked, her voice cool but sharp as she assessed me.

  I usually had no problems with people looking at me. But her gaze seemed especially discomforting. Like she was deciding whether to kill me or not.

  Please don’t.

  "Just a creep that was following me," Fontaine muttered, clearly trying to dismiss me as quickly as possible.

  Creep? Really? I thought, keeping my sarcasm to myself. I prefer ‘peculiar observer,’ but yeah, I did follow him.

  Before she could respond, heavy footsteps echoed through the warehouse, followed by a male voice.

  "Mr. Fontaine, we know you're in there!" The voice was rough, dangerous.

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she moved quickly, snatching the box from Fontaine’s hands. She glanced at me again, as if weighing her options, then grabbed my arm and shoved me toward a pile of crates.

  "Hide!" she whispered urgently.

  I didn’t need to be told twice.

  I ducked behind the crates, my heart racing as I watched her settle into the shadows, becoming as still as I was. The air was thick with tension, and I knew that whatever was in that box, it was bad news.

  She glanced at the box, her expression hardening. Slowly and carefully, she opened the lid just enough to peer inside.

  That’s when it hit me—a wave of dizziness, like I’d just been thrown into a whirlpool. The world started spinning, colors blurred, and for a moment, it felt like I was somewhere else entirely. The sensation was overwhelming, almost suffocating.

  When I blinked again, I was back, my vision slowly clearing. The dizziness faded, leaving me with a pounding headache.

  I wanted to groan but knew better than to do it.

  How long had it been?

  Felt like an hour, but not really.

  I could see the woman still peering into the box, but I couldn’t focus on what she was doing. Everything felt... off. Like I was slightly out of sync with the world around me.

  "Shhhh," she whispered.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, still trying to process what had just happened.

  It couldn't be that I was that tired.

  But I had no time to think about it.

  From my hiding spot, I could hear the heavy footsteps of the men approaching, their voices growing louder as they neared the warehouse. The woman beside me remained tense, her eyes locked on the box as if it held all the answers—or maybe all the dangers.

  Then, without a word, she stood, box in hand, and stepped out from our shared obscure hiding spot.

  My heart pounded.

  What the hell is she doing?

  Surely they'd see me now, right?

  There was no way they wouldn’t notice an unassuming man behind such an eye-catching redhead standing right next to him...

  Well.

  They didn’t.

  Their eyes went straight to her like she was a blinking firefly.

  But none of them noticed me, not even when they were practically on top of us.

  I was just background.

  Oh, I mused, a wry smile drawing on my face. Except for the tripping shoes, I’m still invisible... Charming.

  The men looked surprised to see her.

  "We were expecting Fontaine, not you," the shorter man said, his tone suspicious.

  "Where is it?" the taller man demanded.

  By then, I could tell whatever was inside that box was the crux of this whole matter. At least it wasn’t an affair... Maybe...

  The woman hesitated for a moment before showing them the box.

  "It's here," she said, her voice steady. "But you don't dare open it. We still don't know its effects. Just be careful with it."

  "Come with us, both of you... You carry it," the main goon—the one seemingly less stupid—said.

  They clearly didn’t want to handle it, despite their bravado. They left it to the woman, and I could see the tension. The way they acted, it was as if that box contained poison.

  "How chivalrous of you..." the lady muttered, and I could hear the clear sarcasm in her voice.

  Mr. Fontaine seemed to become a pecking chicken, nodding fearfully, observing the situation in silence.

  Then, they started moving out of the warehouse—redhead in front, then Mr. Fontaine, and finally the two goons. One of them even took a look inside and out to see if anyone was spying on them.

  I'm right here, dumbass.

  I debated whether to follow them or not. I knew I should mind my own business. This wasn't what I was hired to do. I could relay it to Gideon, and he would know what to do.

  But the strangeness I felt toward the box—and the whole situation—compelled me to make a stupid decision.

  I decided to follow them.

  From a safe distance, of course, knowing full well this could risk my life.

  They led me through the dark, winding streets until we reached a carriage parked discreetly in an alley.

  The carriage was unassuming, and from the looks of it, whoever owned it didn’t try to draw attention. It even looked somewhat ominous. The curtains were closed, but there was light inside, and dancing shadows cast themselves on the windows as people moved within.

  I found a spot to hide nearby in the alley right beside it, straining to hear their conversation.

  ~ ~ ~

  "Welcome, Ms. Dufresne. You are quite the troublemaker, aren't you?"

  A male voice rumbled through the air, and I assumed it belonged to their ‘boss.’ The man’s voice was intense and low, with a slight foreign accent, but he seemed very well-spoken.

  "Mr. Fontaine, you have given me quite a bit of trouble as well by acquiring this item. I will reimburse you for it, though. But I will need you to hand it to me."

  Mr. Fontaine, audibly distressed, spoke up.

  "When I acquired this, I didn’t know it would bring me so much trouble. Someone made me think that whoever was after it was a thief, not such a polite and civilized person." His words carried a tinge of resentment.

  "Ah, Ms. Dufresne does have a knack for spicing things up."

  I could hear from his intonation that he was smiling.

  "Now, I need you to hand it over to me."

  Mr. Fontaine, feeling relieved, said, "Thank you. I paid a fortune for it. I’m glad to be rid of it."

  Ms. Dufresne clicked her tongue in irritation but said nothing.

  "That one is very dangerous," she started. "It shouldn’t be sold in the auction."

  "Well, Ms. Dufresne, who buys it and whatever they are going to use it for has no relation to me whatsoever. Those are the rules of the auction. Now, please..."

  There was a brief pause. I could only assume Ms. Dufresne was handing over the box.

  "Isn’t it quite peculiar how these things come to be? This one, for instance, is... strange, to say the least."

  As he spoke, I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, reminiscent of the very same sensation I felt when the redheaded woman—now Ms. Dufresne—opened the box for the first time, although not as intense.

  As I blinked, the world seemed to spin.

  I don’t drink, but I’m sure that’s how drunk people feel.

  My vision blurred, and I felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, like I was shackled to the damp alley.

  As my eyelids grew heavier by the second, I heard his voice, dripping with polite sarcasm and amusement.

  "Why didn’t you tell me you’ve brought company, Ms. Dufresne?"

  Suddenly, the dizziness faded, and there I stood, regaining command of my body once more.

  "Shit..."

  Panic set in as I realized he was referring to me.

  I tried to remain as still as possible, hoping they wouldn’t notice me, but I knew it was too late.

  I should’ve dashed away like Gideon taught me to the moment I saw the two men back in the warehouse.

  I heard footsteps approaching, and then the unmistakable presence of one of the goons standing right next to me, blocking my exit.

  The man in the carriage continued in his formal, old-fashioned manner.

  "Young man, why don’t you come out and join us?"

  I wonder how he knew I was 'young.'

  At this point, I knew I had no choice but to confront them.

  "Would you believe me if I told you I was just passing by?"

  Sarcasm was my usual defense mechanism when I was nervous.

  The red-haired lady looked at me with a face that asked, Again?

  I could only offer a weak smile in return.

  The man smiled lightly, with a calm demeanor and a posture that seemed royal. His presence was imposing—tall and lean with a finely tailored dark green overcoat and black inner clothes that exuded both wealth and power.

  Despite his somewhat normal and amiable face, he had an uncanny ability to catch the eyes of everyone in the room. His long, wavy hair reached his shoulders, giving him a slightly unkempt look.

  His sharp, angular face, framed by high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, seemed to see right through me.

  I could have sworn they glimmered ever so faintly.

  Every instinct I had screamed at me, louder than any other time I’d faced danger.

  "Why don’t you take a seat?" he asked in a commanding tone.

  I felt an inexplicable compulsion to obey. It was almost like an order I couldn’t refuse.

  And I didn’t.

  ~ ~ ~

  As I stepped into the carriage, the scent of polished stained wood and leather hit me.

  The space was tight, dimly lit by a small lamp overhead. Dark, luxurious fabric covered the seats, giving off a quiet sense of wealth without flaunting it. Everything was arranged with simplicity.

  One of the goons, the taller one, still standing outside the carriage, shot a glance at Mr. Fontaine. Now that I was closer, I noticed his dark hair was almost black, with a scar running down his left cheek. His thin lips barely moved, giving him a constant, unsettling grin.

  The other goon, shorter and stockier, had light blonde hair and yellowed teeth that stood out against his pale skin. He seemed more focused on keeping an eye on Fontaine than on me, his small eyes darting around nervously.

  "All right, how can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

  The man spared me a curious glance and turned to Ms. Dufresne.

  "Is he someone you know?"

  She shook her head. "No, sir. He just followed Fontaine to the warehouse... I guess he followed us twice, but he's not someone I know."

  Mr. Fontaine stiffened at the mention of his name, his eyes darting nervously between the boss and me, clearly unsure of what to expect next.

  The taller goon cleared his throat, as if reminding Fontaine to stay in line.

  The man’s gaze shifted from me to the box resting on his lap, his voice soft and almost coaxing.

  "Try opening it, young lad."

  He pushed the box toward me.

  I instinctively held it, feeling the coldness of the wood.

  I hesitated, a wave of unease washing over me as I remembered the two instances where I had been affected, and how he had essentially been commanding me. Could that be explained by any logical answer? A type of gas in the air? Was that box perhaps a container for a toxic substance that could instantly affect some people while not affecting others? Was his voice permeated with sound waves that manipulated targeted people? I guess I just didn't want to accept the most obvious answer.

  "Can I not?" I asked in a final bid for desperate refusal.

  The boss’s eyes gleamed, almost literally, with interest as he tilted his head. "Well, that might be tricky. Of course, I could make you forget what you’ve come to know today, but it would be... rather forceful. And I cannot guarantee your mind would emerge unscathed. There are always... side effects to the... procedure. However, if you open it, I’ll overlook your earlier transgression. How about that for a deal?"

  I didn't think I had much of a choice. I didn't want to know whatever procedure that was.

  "Just opening it, right?"

  With a reluctant sigh, I reached for the box lid. My hands trembled slightly as I began to open it, the sense of unease growing stronger as I felt the slight resistance of the lid. As I opened the box, I felt a strange pull towards it, almost like I wanted to touch it—whatever was inside it. My fingers twitched with the urge to reach out. The boss watched me intently, then closed the box just as I was about to touch the leather wrap over it.

  "And what is your name?" he asked, his eyes never leaving mine.

  "I... my name is Kieran... Crowe," I replied.

  Once again, I couldn’t refuse. I should have answered with a different name. Gideon taught me that one of the taboos when getting caught was to give them your real name.

  "Interesting," the boss murmured. "Do you know what's inside the box?"

  I shook my head, sincerely. "I have no idea."

  The boss clapped his hands together, a look of amusement on his face.

  "Then, I will leave this in your care, along with a decision. You may open it or not. If you choose not to open the box within a week, I will extend my forgiveness to you, Mr. Fontaine, and Ms. Dufresne. However, should you decide to open it, you will owe me a favor."

  He then handed it to me, and I felt the weight of its significance immediately.

  The boss then turned to his associates. "Mr. Fontaine, you are dismissed. Ms. Dufresne, you will accompany us."

  As they prepared to leave, the boss handed Mr. Fontaine three promissory notes. The smallest note issued by the Imperial Bank was worth 500 Crowns. I did the math in my head; that was, at the very least, 1,500 Crowns. The realization that the item in my hands was worth such a steep price made me even more anxious.

  What have I gotten myself into...

  I felt an overwhelming urge to distance myself from this object, but the realization struck me—if I opened it, I would owe a favor worth at least 1,500 Crowns. That is five years of comfortable living expenses. All tied to a shady mob-like boss and a bizarre night.

  The boss gave me one final, chilling instruction. "Remember not to say a word about what happened today to anyone."

  I watched as they disappeared into the night, leaving Mr. Fontaine and me alone in the street. The box felt heavy in my hands, the weight of the decision it represented pressing down on me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ding Dong

  Gideon Moreau's coffee time was interrupted by the sound of the door chime as another person entered the reserved restaurant. A figure approached Gideon's table with a confident yet nonchalant stride. Gideon looked up as the man took a seat across from him.

  "Oh, Gideon, my friend, you wouldn't fathom what I've stumbled upon," the man said, his deep, foreign voice tinged with playfulness.

  Gideon’s expression was a mix of surprise and wariness. The presence of this peculiar acquaintance always made him slightly uncomfortable—not out of fear, but because of the constant reminder of the world he had been drawn into. It wasn’t a world he liked being a part of. And whenever the man wore that amused smile, Gideon knew headaches were sure to follow. Dealing with someone like him, who navigated this world so effortlessly, only deepened his discomfort.

  He had a feeling this time wouldn’t be any different.

  "What is it this time?" Gideon asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  The man leaned back slightly, his eyes gleaming. "What is the name of your assistant, the one you mentioned previously?"

  Gideon frowned, feeling a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. "Why do you ask, Sigmund?"

  Sigmund smiled faintly, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Was it Kieran Crowe, perchance? Can you guess what he was doing? He was involved in the pursuit—or should I say investigation—of the same man I was looking for. The one who had procured a certain relic I had set my eyes onto."

  Gideon's eyes widened in shock as the realization hit him. "No way. Kieran... and you... both after Mr. Fontaine?" He leaned forward, his discomfort turning into a more restless anxiety. "What did you do to him?"

  Sigmund's expression remained composed, his tone almost serene. "Rest easy, Gideon. I didn’t harm him. But I was... curious. His destiny intrigued me. Too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? So, I offered him a choice. The boy is now faced with a decision, one that may shape his path."

  Gideon’s restlessness didn’t subside. "You can’t just play with people like this. He’s young, he’s—" He cut himself off before his worry grew further. "What kind of relic was it?"

  A sudden realization dawned on him. Don't be cursed or sentient type.

  Sigmund’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of mystery lacing his words. "The specifics elude me. There’s something... peculiar about it. Dangerous, even. Almost as if it’s developing a will of its own. But, of course, I cannot say for certain."

  Gideon’s brows furrowed in concern. "A dangerous item, possibly with a will of its own? Cursed and sentient, Sigmund. For God’s sake!"

  Sigmund simply shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. "Don't be uncouth, Gideon... Time will reveal its true nature, I’m sure. For now, it’s in Kieran’s hands. A test, if you will."

  Gideon shook his head, rubbing his temples, the unease gnawing at him. "This is lunacy. You can't just—"

  Sigmund interrupted, his tone firm yet still calm. "Let’s leave that to destiny, shall we?" He paused, then his gaze grew more intent, and his playful mood switched instantly to a serious and commanding one. "Now, what about the matter I asked you to look into? How’s the progress?"

  Gideon sighed, his discomfort still lingering but knowing there was nothing he could do. "So far, not much to say. I’ve been digging, but nothing out of the ordinary." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "However, I did find out that the Director of Foreign Relations has been seen with a tall woman who always wears a veil."

  Sigmund's eyes flickered with interest. "The Director, you say? How intriguing. It must be her, then, isn’t it?"

  "Yes," Gideon confirmed, his voice steady. "From what I’ve gathered, she’s been seen in his company more than once."

  Sigmund leaned back in his chair, considering the information. "Interesting. If she's involved, you can stop investigating. It’s too... dangerous."

  Gideon nodded, the weight of the investigation pressing on him. "Right... But I still think we should be cautious. This situation is more tangled than it seems."

  "Agreed," Sigmund replied, his tone thoughtful.

  With that, Sigmund stood up, smoothing out his coat. "I’ll be in touch, Gideon."

  Gideon watched as Sigmund left the restaurant, leaving him alone with his thoughts.