The realization that the phantom thief knew where she lived and had brought her here was profoundly shocking.

When Debbie considered running outside, fear washed over her as she wondered if it would be any safer out there. But Lorraine had been kidnapped. Debbie crossed her arms over her chest, unable to stop trembling.

Memories of the day her parents were executed unfolded before her eyes.

“It’s okay, Debbie. Listen to Mrs. Hopkins and wait. It’s nothing serious. We just need to answer some questions. It might take a while, but we’ll definitely return, so don’t worry.”

Even while being arrested and dragged away, her parents had tried to comfort their frightened daughter. Yet a week later, they were hanging from the city walls, labeled as rebellion instigators.

How could anyone possibly describe that day’s terror and the pain of such loss? Lorraine’s composed demeanor, her efforts to cooperate with those men while trying to protect Debbie, overlapped with her final memories of her parents.

Debbie jumped to her feet, resolving to go to Voluptas even if she had to walk through the night. She would regret it for the rest of her life if she did nothing, even if she risked encountering thieves along the way. Lorraine had asked her to deliver a message to Mr. Fret.

Through the half-open window, countless stars shimmered brilliantly in the night sky.

Clatter, clatter.

Despite her firm resolution, Debbie screamed when the window rattled. Someone from another house yelled obscenities.

“Is the wind blowing?”

But the tree branches visible outside weren’t moving at all. Trembling with fear, Debbie approached the window to check if anyone was watching.

Due to the night curfew, the streets were nearly empty, though some people still moved about secretly. Everyone seemed suspicious to Debbie, giving her the ominous feeling that they might rush over and harm her at any moment. She fumbled to lock the window.

Whoosh.

There was no wind. Yet beyond Debbie’s shaking hands, silvery powder—like something a fairy from a storybook might sprinkle—sparkled in the air. It brushed past the windowsill and drifted like smoke toward some distant part of the sky.

Debbie rubbed her eyes, wondering if she had imagined it. But it wasn’t a dream. The sparkling powder scattered toward the sky, creating a faint halo around the moon.

It was a strange sensation. When the glittering light disappeared, leaving only darkness, tears rolled down Debbie’s face.

Shortly after, Debbie left her home in simple attire, determined to reach Voluptas. Frightened to leave unarmed, she searched for something to use as a weapon but found nothing.

She considered taking a fruit knife but worried the night patrol might mistake her for a thief. Some pepper for self-defense would have been helpful.

Finally, she grabbed a few pockets and a long umbrella to use as a makeshift club. She regretted not having bought a heavy, hard iron umbrella before. She had never realized how terrible it felt to be exposed to crime with nothing to rely on.

Why had they told her not to report to the security office? Both Lorraine and the phantom thief… And where had that wretched editor-in-chief disappeared to at such a crucial moment? In this darkness, what was the truth, and who would protect Lorraine?

After walking all night, Debbie arrived at Voluptas by morning. However, the doors of the large tavern were firmly closed. When she tried to enter the hotel to find Blake, a security guard blocked her way.

“We’re temporarily closed. No one is allowed in.”

“You’ve seen me before, right? I need to see Mr. Fret! Please call him.”

The guard shook his head. “He’s out. You won’t be able to see him for a while.”

“Then please call President Blake!”

“He left with Mr. Fret.”

At those words, Debbie collected herself. She was certain they had gone to rescue Lorraine. That was somewhat reassuring.

“Please come back later.”

What surprised Debbie more was that all the lights in the once-brilliant Voluptas and the hotel were completely off. She wasn’t the only one affected—the area was full of people who appeared to have been turned away from Voluptas.

As the morning fog cleared, crowds began filling the streets for the morning commute. With a confused expression, Debbie hesitated about where to go next before deciding to head to the publishing house.

That useless editor-in-chief who had disappeared—he must have gone to work. She thought she should confront Gray and discuss what to do next. With Fret and Blake gone, Gray was the only one who knew them and could mediate.

She barely caught a tram. It was so crowded that she had to dangerously hang onto the railing by the back door, but today her mental anguish was so severe that physical discomfort barely registered.

With disheveled clothes and hair, Debbie hurried her steps despite no one chasing her. Contrary to her urgency, street vendors had set up stalls at every corner, and the general atmosphere was chaotic, making it difficult to walk quickly.

“What’s the world coming to with things like this happening?”

As she rushed past, someone’s words caught her ear. The sound of newspapers rustling was loud everywhere.

Trying to ignore this, she continued walking, but she couldn’t ignore the newsboy’s loud cries to attract customers.

“Extra! Extra! Horrific murder under the Crimson Bridge in the middle of the capital!”

Debbie’s brow furrowed instantly. With her mind already troubled, she disliked hearing someone excitedly shouting about newsworthy items.

Regardless of who had died, the word “murder” had a particularly unpleasant connotation.

“Culprit surrenders! Love or obsession? Read today’s paper!”

Until that moment, Debbie had been preoccupied with thoughts of how to confront Gray. That changed when she glimpsed Lorraine’s face at a passing stall.

Her knees weakened, and she nearly twisted her ankle.

The front page of the newspaper showed security officers searching under an unfamiliar bridge, alongside a photo of Lorraine smiling brightly.

“This can’t be happening.”

With trembling hands, Debbie picked up the newspaper.

“Hey! Pay first before reading! You can’t just read it for free!”

The newsboy approached and rudely snatched the paper from Debbie’s hands.

“I’m just trying to make a living here! You can’t act like this!”

Flustered by the boy’s scolding, Debbie opened her wallet and gave him whatever she could grab. Only then did she get the newspaper back.

“…around 1 AM this morning, a courtesan from an entertainment establishment was found dead near the Crimson Bridge crossing the Schnitz River in the central-western part of the capital Secris. The Security Bureau has launched an investigation. Less than two hours after the incident, Mr. ‘P’ confessed to the crime and turned himself in.

Mr. ‘P’, a regular customer at the entertainment establishment where the victim worked, had been actively pursuing her, but when the victim repeatedly avoided him, he harbored resentment…”

This was absurd. They published her face prominently in the newspaper but described her as a courtesan from an entertainment establishment!

Lorraine had been taken away by those men just yesterday around noon. It was now morning rush hour, and the paper claimed she was found dead at 1 AM. How could that be?

Moreover, the search photo under the bridge seemed out of place, making Debbie think they had prepared the article in advance.

“…On her way home after performing late into the night, she was kidnapped and proposed to, but when she ultimately refused, Mr. ‘P’ became enraged and impulsively…”

Lies. Everything from beginning to end was false.

Nothing in it was true. Outraged by the incorrect article, Debbie resolved to protest to the newspaper and demand a complete correction.

Lorraine had insisted that while she sold her dancing, she never sold her body. She had prided herself on being an artist. How could they write about her like this in the newspaper?

Thud.

Belated tears rolled down from Debbie’s eyes.

Just yesterday at this time, Lorraine had still been alive.

“How could Lorraine…”

Once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. Debbie stood there dazed, not thinking to move aside, bumping into passing pedestrians as she cried.

She covered her face with the crumpled newspaper, but that didn’t make people avoid her.

The world continued flowing regardless of whether Lorraine lived or died, and while no one else mourned, Debbie cried devastatingly, as though the sky had fallen.

“Move aside, please.”

A woman carrying a heavy load scolded Debbie, who stepped aside while still crying.

“If you want to cry, go somewhere dark and cry alone. What are you so proud of, blocking people’s way while crying? Showing off your tears to others?”

But where in this busy street during rush hour could one find a place to cry freely?

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Move!”

Debbie was jostled by the flowing crowd.

She thought the publishing house was just a short run away, but wiping her tears with the back of her hand, each step of the journey felt impossibly long.

Thinking about it, they hadn’t been particularly close friends—neither in childhood nor as adults. A beautiful flower about to bloom, waiting for the moment to fully open, had fallen from its branch before it could blossom.

What made this death so painful was that Debbie hadn’t been able to help Lorraine avoid her fate.

If only she had grabbed Lorraine’s hand and fled with her then?

Dragging her heavy shoes, she finally reached the publishing house, where she noticed men in navy blue uniforms that appeared to be from the Security Bureau.

As soon as she put her foot on the stairs to enter the publishing house, they approached and addressed her.

“Are you Miss Debbie Jones?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“We’re investigating yesterday’s murder of a courtesan from Voluptas. We request your cooperation.”

Debbie flared up at those words.

“Courtesan? Lorraine was a showgirl!”

“Courtesan or showgirl, isn’t it all the same?”

Debbie was stunned by the security officer’s dismissive tone.

“She was a headline dancer who performed on the main stage. Don’t insult the deceased!”

“Did you know about her death?”

“With newspapers spread across every stall, how could I not know?”

“It was supposed to be confidential information.”

Debbie momentarily lost her words at the officer’s statement.

“If it’s confidential, why is it on the front page of the newspaper?”

“The press cowardly beat us to it, but the investigation is just beginning. Come with us.”

“What? How can the investigation details differ from the newspaper article?”

The officer snorted derisively at Debbie’s question.

“It’s the Glorious newspaper. What did you expect?”

“Even adult magazines verify facts multiple times and refine articles before publishing them!”

The officer pushed Debbie’s back in response.

“Spreading third-rate rumors and talking about fact-checking. Newspapers or magazines, they’re all the same tricks to attract attention. Stop talking nonsense and cooperate with our investigation.”

Debbie was taken to the Security Office, a level higher than the regular security station.

Strangely, they treated Debbie harshly, with an authoritative attitude, pressuring her deliberately.

Nevertheless, she answered their questions sincerely, hoping they would address the injustice of Lorraine’s situation.

However, as Debbie explained the events, she kept having strange thoughts.

“Do you know who they were?”

They kept asking if she knew who had taken Lorraine. If they wanted to catch the culprit, they should have offered to create a composite sketch.

But their tone seemed slightly off.

“Tell us any clues that might help identify them.”

“Give me a pencil and paper. I’ll draw them for you.”

Debbie extended her hand to the officer, but he ignored it and continued.

“How can a drawing match reality? Rather, what kind of occupation did they seem to have? The impression they gave. First impressions. Explain that in words.”

“I can draw what they were wearing.”

“I’ve told you several times that we don’t need drawings.”

From the officer’s attitude, Debbie felt a chilling sensation.