The car cut through the fog-drowned streets like a silent blade.
Truman's hands rested steadily on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the dim road leading toward Dr. Morris's psychiatric clinic. The iron gates of the district loomed ahead, their silhouettes distorted by the weak glow of gas lamps. Vaelor sat beside him, his coat perfectly still, as if even the motion of the vehicle dared not disturb him.
After a long stretch of silence, Truman finally spoke.
"How did you know Dr. Morris was involved?"
Vaelor did not answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the passing buildings, their windows dark like unblinking eyes.
"Do you remember the girl at the brothel?" he said calmly. "The one who begged for help."
Truman nodded.
"When I brought her clothes," Vaelor continued, "I asked her about Selena. She hesitated—fear clouded her reason—but eventually she spoke. Before Selena disappeared, she had been seeing a man in secret."
"A lover?" Truman asked.
"A psychiatrist," Vaelor replied. "Not just any doctor. One who specialized in broken minds and convenient silences."
Truman let out a low breath. "That still doesn't prove it was Morris. There are many such doctors in Norus."
Vaelor's lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in the expression.
"Christie said Kite was the one who introduced that psychiatrist to Selena."
The name lingered in the air like a curse.
"That is why," Vaelor said softly, "I am certain."
Truman said nothing more. He pressed the accelerator slightly.
"Then let's go," he muttered.
The mansion was drowned in a heavy stillness.
Golden chandeliers cast a dim glow over a classic velvet sofa, where Junwell, Alfred, and Caeson sat in silence. The air felt thick, oppressive—like the calm before a ritual gone wrong.
Junwell broke the silence first.
"Those Senatus dogs…" he said, his voice sharp with restrained fury. "They've started playing games with us. Capturing our men as if they were street vermin. Hostages—taken effortlessly."
His fingers tapped against the armrest.
"Too effortlessly."
Senatus.
A union that operated in the shadows yet ruled openly. Backed by the High Chancellor, they handled his unofficial affairs—dirty negotiations, disappearances, silent executions. The Florith authorities cooperated with them not out of loyalty, but fear.
"If we want to shift power," Junwell said coldly, "Senatus must be erased."
Alfred leaned forward. "Why not deploy our Viper executives? Espionage, assassinations—this is their specialty."
Caeson scoffed quietly.
"This isn't Deccan," he said. "They can't reach us so easily. Security has tightened since the High Chancellor caught wind of a plot against him. Moving them now would be suicide."
"They'll come," Caeson added, "but not yet."
Alfred frowned. "Still… two of them came with us."
Junwell nodded. "Yes. I sent them ahead."
"To the bounty girl?" Alfred asked.
Junwell's smile was slow, deliberate.
"She's already gone. Out of Norus. New name. New face."
Alfred's confusion deepened. "Then why bother? If they wanted her dead, we could've simply killed her."
Junwell leaned back, eyes half-lidded.
"No," he said. "That girl is far too interesting to discard."
He paused, then asked quietly, "Have you ever wondered why she was marked for death?"
Alfred and Caeson exchanged glances.
"A governor's daughter," Junwell continued. "From only one city. Norus."
Silence swallowed the room.
"If this was mere revenge," Junwell said, voice dropping to a whisper, "they would have wiped out the entire bloodline. But instead, she was singled out."
His eyes gleamed faintly."That means she's not a target.""She's a key."
Alfred and Caeson did not fully understand—but they knew better than to question further.
They straightened, waiting.For orders.
In the hospital corridor, the air still carried the faint smell of disinfectant and iron.
Perun and Lukman had finally been discharged. The doctor stood near the door, brows knitted in concern.
"You should stay for a few more days," he insisted. "Your wounds—especially yours," he said, glancing at Lukman, "haven't fully stabilized."
Lukman shook his head slowly.
"We have very important work to do," he replied, his voice calm but unyielding. "We can't sleep here for that long."
The doctor sighed, realizing persuasion was useless.
They walked toward the reception desk. The sound of Lukman's boots echoed faintly across the marble floor. Without hesitation, he settled the hospital bills, the clerk sliding the receipt forward as if completing a routine transaction—unaware of how fragile the men standing before her truly were.
Outside, the daylight felt unfamiliar, almost intrusive.
Lukman's car stood parked beside another vehicle. Rumi was already waiting near it, arms crossed, relief flickering across her face when she saw them.
"Hey," she said, pointing lightly toward the car. "It's your car."
She smiled faintly.
"You said you had work to do, so I went and got it. I thought you'd stay longer… and your brother also wanted to meet you."
Lukman lowered his head slightly.
"Yeah… I'm really sorry about that," he said. "But next week, we'll have more time together."
He paused, then added sincerely, "And thanks—for everything."
They exchanged a brief silence, heavy with things left unsaid, before both nodded.
"Goodbye," they said almost at the same time.
Lukman hesitated, then spoke again.
"Let me give you a lift home."
Rumi shook her head immediately. "Nah, I'll take a taxi. It'll take too long if you drop me off."
"It doesn't bother me at all," Lukman replied.
She frowned slightly. "Why are you taking so much trouble?"
Lukman finally gave in with a small nod. "Alright."
Then, more seriously, he said, "Take care of yourself. And if anything goes problematic—call me. Even if it's because of my brother."
Rumi smiled softly. "Okay."
She waved her hand lightly. "Bye."
They watched her walk away, her figure slowly swallowed by the moving crowd and passing cars.
Then they left.
Inside the car, silence settled again.
Perun broke it first. "So… where are we going now?"
Lukman stared straight ahead. "The National Capital Bank."
Perun raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"I need to withdraw some money."
"How much?"
"Twenty thousand dollars."
Perun turned toward him sharply. "But why?"
Lukman's tone remained steady. "We're going to buy something."
Perun let out a short breath. "Oh. So you're planning a big move—something visible. Something that puts you in their eyes."
Lukman's lips curved faintly.
"As expected," he said, "you're smart."
Perun frowned. "What are you saying? If you get into their eyes, won't we be walking straight into more danger?"
Lukman finally glanced at him.
"No," he said quietly. "We'll become part of their plan only to destroy it from inside."
Perun fell silent.Slowly, he understood.
Lukman wasn't acting recklessly. He was tying himself to the Vice Chancellor's circle, deliberately stepping into their field of vision.
Lukman broke the silence first.
"Perun," he said evenly, eyes fixed on the road ahead, "do you know anyone… someone who has a connection with the Vice Chancellor?"
Perun stiffened slightly.
"Well," he replied cautiously, "how do you know about that?"
The question lingered longer than necessary.
Perun hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah… I do."
As he spoke, a memory surfaced uninvited.
The KasparBar.
"There is a man," Perun continued slowly. "But dealing with him won't be easy."
Lukman remained silent, allowing him to continue.
"I, my cousin, and a friend of mine… we made a scene with his people once," Perun admitted. "It wasn't pretty. Things escalated faster than they should have."
His fingers tightened unconsciously.
"But," he added after a brief pause, "he's a businessman. Through and through. Profit matters more to him than pride."
Lukman finally turned his gaze toward Perun."So you think we can still work something out?"
Perun exhaled. "Yeah. I think we can. If the price is right."
A beat passed.
"What's his name?" Lukman asked.
Perun answered without hesitation."Ricardo."