The next morning, Voss was woken by the smell drifting in from the kitchen.
"Huh? Who's making breakfast?" He rubbed his eyes and sat up groggily.
In the kitchen, Artoria was at the stove, frying eggs with practiced grace. Every movement was neat and elegant.
"Good morning, Voss." She turned and smiled. "I made a simple breakfast—I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not!" Voss said, surprised. "I didn't expect you could cook."
"As a knight, mastering basic survival skills is essential." Artoria plated the eggs carefully. "Though it may not be as delicious as what one of my friends could make, it should be acceptable."
"This goddess wants breakfast too!" Aqua stumbled in, hair a mess from sleep.
Tom and Jerry, drawn by the smell, leapt onto the table and stared at Artoria expectantly.
"There's enough for everyone," Artoria said warmly.
After breakfast, Voss brought Artoria to NYPD Headquarters.
The gray stone building loomed tall and formal, its busy officers moving with purpose.
"It's my first time giving a statement at a police station. I'm a little nervous," Voss whispered.
"Relax, Master," Artoria replied calmly.
Today she wore casual clothes—a white blouse and dark blue jeans. They were actually Aqua's spare clothes, but their similar builds made them fit well. With her golden hair and swaying ahoge, Artoria looked more like a lively actress than a medieval knight.
"We're just cooperating with the investigation."
"Voss! Over here!"
George Stacy's voice carried from across the lobby. Dressed neatly in uniform, he wore a bright smile.
"Good morning, George," Voss said, greeting him.
"Just call me George," he replied, clapping Voss on the shoulder. "Catching Wright and Scarface last night earned me praise from the Chief!"
"Congratulations, then."
"Miss Artoria, thank you for your help," George added, looking at her with genuine admiration.
"I only did what I could," she answered politely.
"Too modest! Do you know those two kept muttering in the holding cell, things like 'we're dead, we're done for'?"
Voss and Artoria exchanged a glance, both a little awkward.
"They were probably just rattled," Voss offered with a dry laugh.
"Maybe so. Anyway, let's get your statements done quickly—it's just procedure."
The process went smoothly. Voss stuck to the cover story: Artoria was a cosplay enthusiast with martial arts training. She answered clearly and concisely, leaving no holes.
"Alright, you're free to go," the officer in charge said at last.
"Wait." George called after them. "Voss, do you have a moment?"
In George's office, the walls were lined with commendations and framed photos. On his desk sat a picture of a smiling teenage girl.
"Your daughter?" Voss asked.
"Yes, Gwen," George said with a proud smile. "She's seventeen, in high school. Very bright—wants to be a scientist someday."
"What a wonderful kid," Voss said, privately thinking, I wonder if Peter's confessed to her yet.
George tucked the photo away, his expression turning serious. "Voss, I have to ask. Why were those two targeting you? The Wright gang doesn't usually hassle ordinary civilians without a reason."
Voss's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his tone even.
"I'm not sure. Maybe because I stumbled across something I shouldn't have once."
"What exactly?"
"A gang fight," Voss answered vaguely. "I panicked and ran. Maybe they thought I'd call the cops."
"Could be." George nodded thoughtfully. "But now that they're in custody, you shouldn't have to worry."
"That's a relief."
"By the way, you're still living in Hell's Kitchen?" George asked.
"Yes, why?"
"I strongly suggest moving. That area's too dangerous. Last night won't be the last time."
Voss considered it. After everything, he didn't want to keep living there anyway.
"You're right. I was planning to move. Do you know any safe areas with bigger housing? Rent isn't a problem."
"Oh? Doing well these days? No more street performances with your furry sidekicks?" George teased.
"Not anymore. I switched jobs—the income's fine," Voss admitted, a bit sheepishly.
"In that case…" George pulled out a map of New York. "The Upper East Side is one of the safest, but pricey—three to four grand a month for a two-bedroom."
"I can afford that," Voss said, calculating quickly. "But are there other options?"
"Midtown's good too—convenient, safe, and slightly cheaper, $2500 to $3500. Greenwich Village has an artistic vibe, a lot of writers and cafes. Rent's $2000 to $3000. Or Forest Hills in Queens—quiet, detached houses, cheaper but further out."
Voss nodded as he listened. Artoria stayed quietly at his side, observing.
"If it were me, I'd pick Greenwich Village," George suggested. "Good environment for writers. Safe, peaceful, inspiring."
"That does sound perfect." Voss's interest perked. "Know any good agents?"
"Actually…" George handed over a card. "A friend of mine runs a reliable agency there. Tell them I sent you."
"Thank you." Voss tucked the card away gratefully.
"No problem. And if you move, give me your new address. If trouble finds you again, I'll get there fast."
"Will do."
Leaving the station, Voss felt lighter. The Wright gang problem was handled, and now he had a path to a new home.
"Master, shall we go look at houses?" Artoria asked.
"Absolutely." Voss pulled out his phone.
He called the number on the card.
"New York Premium Properties, how may I help you?"
"Hello, I was recommended by Officer George Stacy. I'd like to view apartments in Greenwich Village."
"Oh! Officer Stacy's recommendation—that's wonderful. Do you have requirements?"
"Two or three bedrooms, safe area, good environment. Budget within three thousand."
"We have several listings that fit. Can you come now? I'll assist you personally—my name is Tolly Anderson."
"Perfect. Where should we meet?"
"Our office is on the north side of Washington Square Park."
"We'll be right there."
Voss hung up and grinned at Artoria. "Come on, let's see our new home."
"New home…" Artoria repeated softly, her emerald eyes warming. "That sounds lovely."
They hailed a taxi toward Greenwich Village. The city blurred past outside as Voss's heart swelled with anticipation. He was finally leaving the crumbling walls of Hell's Kitchen behind.
And with Artoria by his side, safety was one less worry. She was still adjusting to this world, but Voss believed she'd become a true partner in the days to come.
"Master, what are you thinking?" Artoria asked, watching his smile.
"Our new life," Voss said. "Maybe the new place will give me more inspiration."
"That would be wonderful," she replied, her ahoge bouncing happily. "I'm looking forward to it."
The cab pulled up to Washington Square Park. They spotted the agency easily.
A middle-aged man in a suit stepped forward to greet them. "You must be Mr. Voss. I'm Tolly Anderson."
"Nice to meet you." Voss shook his hand. "This is my friend Artoria."
"A pleasure, miss," Tolly said with a polite nod. "Come with me—I'll show you some great places."
A new life was about to begin.