The silence was downright unnatural.
The old butler stared rigidly at Lloyd, offering no response to his words at all. Only after a long while did he finally speak, his voice slow and deliberate.
"Yes. Then may I ask—is she here?"
Lloyd shook his head vigorously. Judging from how practiced the motion was, this clearly wasn't the first time he'd been through something like this.
At last, a trace of tension loosened on the butler's stiffened face. He let out a long sigh.
"Mr. Holmes, you wouldn't mind if we searched the premises, would you?"
"Would it matter if I did?"
"Probably not,"
the butler replied flatly.
He was the steward of the Stuart household—the very heart of the vast Stuart noble consortium. Those who had been elevated to nobility through wartime merit had gained even higher standing during the Glorious War. They were grateful, loyal, and united beneath the banner of House Stuart.
Families like this were the most troublesome kind. You might eliminate one of them easily enough—but what followed would be retaliation from the entire collective. Every profession. Every social stratum.
Before the words had even settled, the old butler rose and walked toward the bathroom, casually chambering a round in the firearm he held.
He wouldn't harm the young lady, of course.
But accidentally blowing a detective's brains out? That was still well within the realm of possibility.
"Hey—wait! What are you doing?!"
Lloyd flailed, trying to stop him, but it was useless.
The shower curtain was yanked aside. The distance between the two men was barely a step.
"See?" Lloyd said. "Nothing here. Care to help me scrub my back?"
Foam covered the surface of the bath. Lloyd wore an expression of pure, harmless innocence—though the butler clearly didn't buy it. He stared at Lloyd so intensely it nearly raised the man's hackles. Only then did he finally lower his gun and turn away.
"If you happen to see the young lady," he said coolly,
"tell her to come home early. There's a family banquet this evening."
He reached the door. Just as he was about to leave, something caught his eye.
He turned sharply and headed toward the wardrobe.
Lloyd's heart leapt into his throat.
As a demon hunter, he wasn't afraid of people like these—but not everything could be solved with violence. Some problems were far more annoying than that.
The butler's hand was already reaching the wardrobe—
And at that critical moment, a gunshot thundered through the room.
Madam Van Lud stood in the doorway, fury written across her face, a revolver still smoking in her hand. A fresh hole had been punched clean through Lloyd's floorboards, wisps of smoke curling upward.
"WHO stepped on my carpet?!"
Like a wrathful deity descending from the heavens, the old woman—armed with decades of uninterrupted menopause—had just saved Lloyd's life.
The butler froze, withdrawing his hand. Realizing he might be at fault, he began to apologize—
Only to be instantly shut down by Madam Van Lud's tirade.
"If you're done yapping, then GET OUT!"
Lloyd was so moved he nearly hugged her.
The butler struggled to maintain his gentlemanly composure, but it was clearly useless in front of Madam Van Lud. After casting Lloyd one last warning glance, he gathered his men and left.
Wrapped in a towel, Lloyd climbed out of the bath, glanced downstairs, then back at Madam Van Lud.
"If I weren't dripping wet," he said earnestly,
"I'd really like to give you a proper hug."
"Save it," she snapped. "The cost of fixing the floor comes out of your rent."
She turned and headed downstairs, muttering as she went,
"And tell Selene to take the biscuits when she leaves."
Lloyd snapped his head around.
The wardrobe stood open.
The culprit herself looked as though nothing had happened at all—expressionless, staring calmly at Lloyd. Then, almost smugly, the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Sometimes Lloyd had to admit it: Selene was better than him in many ways. And not by a small margin.
"So," Lloyd said at last, pulling on his clothes—being naked really wasn't pleasant—
"was all this just to dodge the banquet? You've got plenty of ways to do that."
"Not exactly," Selene replied. "There's somewhere I want to go. Somewhere only you can take me."
She slipped into her coat, gathered her pale-golden hair into a neat twist, and deftly plucked a deerstalker hat from the rack.
From behind, she looked like a smaller version of Lloyd himself.
His expression darkened.
As Selene Stuart, there were very few places in all of Old Dunling she couldn't go. Running through the possibilities one by one, Lloyd's finger finally landed on a particularly unpleasant conclusion.
"And what exactly do you want to do there?"
"Watch a show."
"A show?"
She nodded, seriousness in her voice.
"There are rumors that pirates smuggled in a batch of Eastern machinery. I'm interested."
"Just for that? You could buy it outright."
"But Yahweh is terribly old-fashioned," she said mildly. "He won't even let me touch firearms."
It seemed Lloyd had once again been reduced to a tool.
Sighing, he asked,
"So—which part of the Lower City?"
…
Night gradually swallowed Old Dunling.
Two detectives—one tall, one small—staggered along the street, pale breaths puffing from their mouths before vanishing into the dark.
Lloyd didn't have many friends in Old Dunling. His line of work ensured that most people he dealt with were desperados—the kind who might be dead tomorrow.
He wasn't even sure whether Selene counted as a friend. They had met through a job, nothing more. Two outlaws traveling together, their footsteps carrying them across half of Gaul-Nalo.
Maybe it was the mutual recognition between doomed souls. Or maybe Lloyd simply couldn't stand to see such an unlucky kid die.
On the road back to Old Dunling, he taught her many things—how to handle a firearm, how to sharpen her uncanny insight into the human heart. She learned quickly. Too quickly. At times, she even reminded him of himself.
He'd once considered bringing her back as his assistant.
But when Old Dunling finally came into view, what awaited them—what awaited Selene, to be precise—was an enormous welcoming entourage. Days later, she was confirmed as the lost bloodline of House Stuart and granted that noble surname.
Only then did Lloyd realize he'd been played.
His job had been to infiltrate Gaul-Nalo and bring Selene back—or rather, to retrieve certain stories she knew about some very important figures. She had used that knowledge to force him to escort her home.
The truth was, the deception ran even deeper.
She had been clever from the very beginning—so clever that even Lloyd had to admire it.
As the sole heir of House Stuart, there was no shortage of people with designs on her. But every last one of them had been stopped at the city walls by the Stuart collective.
She was now surrounded by nobles.
And Lloyd was taking her into the Lower City.
Whenever he thought about it, regret washed over him. He'd been this close to a life of wealth and splendor.
"Honestly, Selene," he muttered,
"if you really care about me, could you stop dragging me into so much trouble?"
In the early days after returning to Old Dunling, Selene visited him often—bound by that old outlaw camaraderie. At first, even the old butler tolerated it. But once Lloyd started teaching her how to land a clean headshot, they'd finally lost their patience.
"But they wouldn't dare," she said calmly. "Only you are different."
Her deep blue eyes reflected memories of that journey.
Everyone now saw her as the master of House Stuart. Everyone except this madman—who seemed entirely indifferent to it all, as if she were still the same girl she'd been at the beginning.
The great detective slung his Winchester over his shoulder and kicked open the door to the darkness.
Light spilled in—
And illuminated Selene as she stood there.