Philip fixed Alphard with a hard look, but weighing the awkwardness settling over the table, softened his expression and turned his attention back to the lady.
"So, tell me — what brings you all the way out here? I'm guessing you're not from this region, am I wrong?"
"Not at all — I'm a native of Victoria," she confessed, her voice carrying such deep affliction that a tear threatened to slip down her cheek. "Though, sadly, I've had to endure quite a bit of scorn and prejudice since arriving."
"My apologies, on behalf of my people," Philip answered. "Not all of us share that kind of ignorance. Please, pay those boors no mind."
"You're very kind. Fortunately, I've also come to visit some relatives who live in this beautiful city."
As the conversation carried on, Alphard's mind worked through the surroundings. Among the crowd, he spotted a bald man dressed in an ostentatious navy-blue diplomatic suit with polished gold buttons. His gaze, sharp with a piercing cynicism, gave away exactly how dangerous he was.
Philip followed the direction of his stare and, pausing his conversation for a moment, murmured, barely audible:
"Good eye."
Alphard needed nothing more. With a cold, calculated movement, he rose and walked toward the target's table. Without asking permission, he took the one empty seat facing the men.
From a distance, Philip felt his heart stop for a second. A cold sweat ran down his back as he struggled to keep his conversation with the lady on track.
"What the hell is that rookie thinking?" he muttered.
Alphard, unbothered, settled into his seat. The men at the table stared at him, stunned by the intrusion.
"Good evening. I've simply come to enjoy dinner. Please, don't let me interrupt — carry on with your business."
"Listen, boy," one of the man's companions cut in, his tone edged with threat. "We're discussing something serious here. Do yourself a favor — get up and leave."
Alphard fixed the man with a cold, unwavering stare.
"That hardly sounds like the vocabulary befitting a gentleman of your standing. Then again, I suppose that only proves your fine suit is nothing more than a costume — worn to fake a power you don't actually have... when even the humblest commoner shows better manners than you."
The man clenched his fists and began to rise, ready to lunge at Alphard, but a hand heavy with ostentatious rings landed on his arm: the bald man stopped him with a small, authoritative gesture.
"Young man, please forgive my colleague's roughness," the man said, his voice slow and measured, hiding a cold undercurrent beneath it. "Even so, I'll ask you kindly to leave. Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to call the hotel's security."
Alphard sank into thought for a moment, weighing his options.
These men might have their eye on me now, or mark me as a suspect. Still — I managed to get a read on what kind of man he is, even if I haven't found the root of all this yet.
Keeping his composure, Alphard offered a polite smile and, fixing his eyes on the group's leader, asked,
"Might I ask your name?"
The man studied him with a mix of calculated curiosity and coldness before answering:
"Valentin Foster."
"Thank you very much. I'll take my leave now," Alphard replied.
He rose to his feet, executed a brief but flawless bow, and walked back to his own table at an easy pace.
Taking his seat, he found himself face-to-face with Philip's stare. A dark, rigid expression that carried an overwhelming severity, a brutal contrast to the cheerful, carefree chatter Jane kept up beside him.
Philip cut Jane's conversation short with a precisely measured smile, kindly explaining that the two of them needed to leave for a work matter.
The lady froze mid-sentence, brow furrowed, a single lonely grain of rice balanced on her fork as she watched them go.
On the way back, Philip kept a grave, unbroken silence. It was the instant the room door shut behind them that the tension finally cracked.
"Damn it! What in god's name were you trying to do, walking up to those men?!" Philip shouted, no longer holding back, slamming his pen against the floor. "You know this is a critical mission! You could have ruined everything — if you haven't already!"
"I wasn't just going to sit there doing nothing!" Alphard shot back, raising his voice without backing down. For the first time, he broke through the wall of caution and deference he'd maintained around his companion, ready to face whatever came of it. "Instead of actually telling me what's going on, you dragged me here blind. Are you and the boss hiding something from me?"
Philip clenched his jaw and let his gaze sweep the room, fighting with everything he had not to explode.
"He's the boss's ex-husband," he finally said.
Alphard went cold. For a second he hoped it was some kind of joke, but Philip's expression didn't shift a single degree. A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out of him at how absurd it all sounded.
"There has to be more to it than that, right?"
"It's infinitely more complicated than that," Philip admitted, his tone glacially cold. "But I won't tell you the full reason right now. What I need is for you — once you find out the real reason behind all this — to feel absolutely no compassion whatsoever... and kill him."
Alphard's smile vanished instantly. Silence claimed the room once more as he turned his gaze toward the window, staring out at the blue sky.
Alphard broke the heavy weight of the room, crossing his arms.
"So what's the plan, then? If that man stays holed up in the hotel, an attack's going to be infinitely more complicated."
"That was exactly the problem," Philip grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. "The original idea was to find some way to lure him out of the building. But with the little scene you just staged at dinner, you blew that plan apart."
"Not my fault you kept me in the dark," Alphard replied, shrugging without a trace of remorse. "Why didn't you even bother mentioning what the plan was?"
Philip let out a heavy sigh, letting the irritation drain out of him.
"Fine. Let it go. We need to put together another plan on the fly."
Alphard fell silent, sinking back into thought. He weighed every variable of the situation, breaking it apart in his mind, hunting for a tactical opening. Suddenly, he looked up, a spark of calculation lighting his eyes.
"Which floor is he hiding on?"
"The top floors. Why do you ask?" Philip answered, frowning.
Alphard laid out his improvised plan at full speed, tracing the logic in the air as he spoke:
"Let's get him to leave of his own free will, using an urgent letter. Since you already know his background, you could draft a message convincing enough to get him out of the hotel right away, without raising any suspicion."
Philip narrowed his eyes, listening closely. Alphard kept going without pause:
"We follow him at a safe distance until we find wherever his base of operations is. When the moment's right, we blend in and infiltrate. While you handle the strike on the target, I'll cover you to make sure the plan actually succeeds. That way, we finish this quickly and get back to the capital."
"And who's going to deliver the letter?" Philip asked.
"You will. You'll need to steal a service uniform so you don't look out of place."
Philip nodded silently, still carrying a trace of resignation at having to scrap his original plan.
They waited in the room until night fell fully and the hotel's bustle dwindled to a minimum. Moving through the shadows of the corridors with extreme caution, they slipped their way to a door leading into a staff-only area.
Alphard stepped forward and extended his fingers toward the lock. He reshaped the structure of his hand into a metal key and inserted it into the lock, making small adjustments to the anatomy of his fingers until the teeth clicked perfectly into place.
After a few seconds of careful fumbling, he heard a soft click and managed to open the door cleanly, without a sound.
"Looks like there's plenty to choose from. Get dressed quick!" Alphard said.
Philip wasted no time changing into the servant's uniform they'd taken. As he finished buttoning the jacket, he hastily drafted a letter, matching the handwriting and tone precisely enough to convince Valentin the matter was one of extreme urgency.
Once ready, they climbed the service stairs in silence. Alphard took the lead, straining his eyes through the gloom to make sure they didn't run into any staff — no simple task, given how dim the corridors were.
Arriving at the target's door, Philip took his place beside the frame and gave a couple of light, precise knocks against the wood — loud enough to be heard from inside, but faint enough to go unnoticed by anyone passing through the hallway.
The lock turned, and the door opened. Valentin greeted them with disheveled hair and the sluggishness of someone jolted awake. Still, that groggy façade didn't stop him from fixing a sharp, probing stare on Philip's figure.
"Good evening, Mr. Valentin," Philip said, holding out the paper. "I've been asked to deliver this to you. An anonymous messenger left it for you."
"Did they not identify themselves?" Valentin asked coldly.
"Not at all, sir. They only stressed that the matter was extremely urgent, and that you were needed at your base of operations."
"I see. Thank you," Valentin answered.
Before closing the door fully, his eyes lingered on Philip for one extra second, a flicker of distrust crossing his face. Something about the "employee's" presence had left him uneasy.