‘It’s true that being alone is scary.’

Debbie comforted herself with this thought.

When she entered Blake’s villa, the caretaker couple welcomed her warmly. Then a well-built man appeared and introduced himself to Debbie.

“I’ll be in charge of your protection. I look forward to working with you.”

Though he didn’t reveal who he was or what he did specifically, Debbie guessed he was a security guard who had worked at Voluptas.

They maintained enough distance so Debbie wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

As soon as she felt safe, the sleepiness she had been fighting washed over her. Seeing Debbie yawn expansively, the caretaker guided her to her room.

“You seem tired. I’ll prepare a meal for you after you’ve had some rest.”

“What? Oh… That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Thinking about it, she’d had quite an eventful day—walking to Voluptas all night, then going to the publishing house, and even being dragged to the security office to cooperate with an investigation. Naturally, she was exhausted.

‘I’m sorry, Lorraine. Even though you died, I still need to eat and sleep,’ Debbie muttered to herself as she flopped onto the bed in her room.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized how everything in her daily life continued normally, how the world kept turning without Lorraine, and how useless she felt for not being able to help.

But she would need to conserve her energy to endure what lay ahead.

‘I’ll take a nap first and then think things through with a clear mind.’

Debbie fell asleep, practically fainting.

* * *

A hand.

Lorraine’s hand.

The hand she could have reached if she had stretched just a little further.

Lorraine was right in front of her, with thugs threatening silently with their eyes. That hand she should have stretched out just a bit more.

Even in that desperate moment, instead of clinging to Debbie and crying “I want to live,” Lorraine had pretended everything was fine and walked away on her own, telling them to leave her friend alone.

You fool. Why did you do that?

Why did you take this burden alone instead of pulling me in with you?

Leaving me with just a keychain.

How could you smile so calmly even at that moment?

In her dream, Debbie struggled to follow Lorraine. But Lorraine, following those men, turned around and gently shook her head from side to side, just like before.

No. Please don’t go.

Your brilliance that I wanted to get close to but couldn’t approach easily.

Just when she thought they were getting closer, Lorraine would disappear somewhere far away. Now she whispered from beside Debbie.

— I’m alive. Don’t worry.

Really?

With wide eyes, Debbie felt Lorraine caress her cheek.

“Lorraine!”

Debbie bolted upright, reaching out to grab that hand. But what she caught was a white glove.

“Huh!”

When Debbie turned her head, someone was sitting in a chair pulled up beside her bed, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her.

“What are you doing?”

One of his hands wore a white glove, but the other was bare. He extended his hand, asking for his glove back.

“I was sent to the villa because it was supposed to be safe, but if you can come and go as you please, this place clearly isn’t secure at all.”

Debbie handed him the glove, annoyed by his intrusion.

“Please leave immediately. Don’t enter my room without permission!”

Regardless of her anger, he calmly put on his glove and spoke slowly.

“I apologize. In the confusion, I left you behind while following Lorraine’s trail.”

His words reminded Debbie of what Lorraine had said in her dream.

“Is Lorraine alive? She’s not dead, right? She was just kidnapped?”

In the dream, she had clearly said she was alive. For a moment, Debbie felt she had awakened from a nightmare where she mistakenly thought Lorraine had died.

However, he pressed his lips into a straight line and remained silent.

“…I wish that were true, but I’ve just confirmed she’s at the Eastern Security Office morgue.”

“You’re lying!”

Debbie strongly denied it.

“She told me she’s alive and not to worry!”

He gave no response.

“I was trying to request help for Lorraine! If only you hadn’t knocked me unconscious!”

Debbie felt something hot rising in her throat, making it impossible to continue speaking.

“Lorraine… Lorraine…!”

The dead don’t return. No matter how much you grieve, they don’t come back.

Rather than offering awkward consolation, he waited for Debbie to collect her emotions.

“After my parents died, I thought I wouldn’t feel sad about anyone else’s death…”

Yet the grief for a friend she barely knew was not light.

Debbie tried to calm herself. The fraudulent newspaper article announcing Lorraine’s death flashed through her mind.

“If I don’t do anything, people will believe that garbage article is the truth.”

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“How?”

“We need to find a way from now on.”

He spoke calmly.

Having settled her intense emotions, Debbie asked the question she’d been curious about.

“Are you the guest columnist AB?”

The man who had been silently listening to Debbie flinched almost imperceptibly. Like someone pricked unexpectedly with a needle.

“Can I take that as a yes?”

He remained silent at Debbie’s question. But his unconscious reaction was answer enough.

“My priest, welcome back.”

With tears moistening her parched lips, she relayed Lorraine’s final words to him.

“Those were Lorraine’s last words to me.”

Debbie wiped away traces of tears with the back of her hand.

“What kind of trouble was Lorraine involved in that cost her life? Who were the people who took her, and who are the people trying to cover it up with that disgraceful article?”

His eyes wavered. Yet he still couldn’t provide any answers.

“What do James Strock and Golden Gate mean? Why did Lorraine choose to use the phrase that made Troublesome magazine famous as her last words? If you know the reason, please tell me.”

Though he seemed to consider answering, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“If you won’t answer, I’ll uncover the truth on my own.”

He sighed slowly.

“If I ask you to wait and promise that I’ll resolve Lorraine’s injustice, would you believe me?”

“How can I not get deeply involved when my friend has died?”

“Lorraine… seems to have been trying to approach Count Shambali to discover something. That attempt was discovered, and she suffered retaliation. Someone protecting Count Shambali is now erasing all evidence.”

“Count Shambali?”

Debbie’s eyes sparkled.

“Who is he?”

Seeing Debbie’s curiosity about Count Shambali despite knowing nothing about nobility or politics, he continued cautiously, like someone opening Pandora’s box.

“Look, even if I tell you, you won’t understand. It’s better for you not to know more deeply.”

“I can start taking an interest now!”

“Give it up.”

“No! I can’t let Lorraine be buried like this! My parents were enough people to bury in my heart!”

Debbie’s reddened eyes hardened with determination.

“You don’t know! What it’s like to die bearing false accusations! The feeling of being tarnished by mud others throw at you despite living earnestly! How devastating it is to bury everything in your heart because the person is dead and can’t defend themselves anymore!”

Parents hanging on the city wall.

My parents who always said they would never become people their child would be ashamed of.

How could parents who worked diligently without accepting even minor favors be labeled as rebel traitors?

If they had been malcontents with many grievances against the world, they wouldn’t have had any reason to live so diligently in the first place.

The past years spent living quietly, constantly reminded to engrave deep in her bones the imperial grace that allowed the daughter of a rebellion leader to attend a prestigious school.

Lorraine, who had shared the same pain, was a wise person who harmoniously mediated between people wherever she went.

She had wonderful dreams and had worked hard to achieve them.

That Lorraine, a pr*stitute?

Killed by a stalker?

“Shouldn’t there at least be a fitting reason for her death? If they cover it up like this, what does Lorraine become? Who will acknowledge her?”

At Debbie’s plea, his shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly.

Finally, having contained his emotions from exploding, he spoke with renewed determination.

“Count Shambali is Marquis Clarence’s right-hand man. He’s orchestrated something, and I believe Lorraine got caught up in it.”

Debbie’s eyes wavered at this unexpected revelation.

“I don’t know the specific details either. So could you tell me what you witnessed?”

“Lorraine… had something she wanted delivered to Mr. Fret. Where is Mr. Fret now? I want to deliver her last words to him directly. Where is he now?”

He hesitated before answering.

“Well… he’s currently in a place where it’s difficult for him to appear right away…”

‘I knew it…’

From his hesitation, Debbie became convinced that he was Fret in disguise.

He hadn’t said a word about his identity, but conversely, he hadn’t denied what Debbie had asked either.

‘They say silence is another form of affirmation.’

Moreover, he was close enough to Lorraine to personally escort her to the after-party, yet had rejected her confession. Perhaps he was acting this way out of guilt.

“Will you really investigate Lorraine’s death thoroughly?”

Debbie asked him again.

“Even if it costs me my life.”

That was his answer.

Only then did Debbie hand him the keychain Lorraine had left behind.

If he was Fret, he had more than enough reason to thoroughly investigate Lorraine’s death.

So Debbie honestly shared everything she had seen and felt.

“That security officer. Rather than asking about the suspect’s appearance like someone trying to identify the culprit, he seemed more interested in whether a specific occupation could be inferred. And I know from working at our magazine that covers fashion—what Lorraine was wearing was definitely a duffle coat. A thick woolen product with gold embroidery on the chest pocket.”

At Debbie’s words, he muttered.

“The navy.”

“What?”

“Was that gold embroidery perhaps in the shape of a laurel wreath encircling a flag?”

“That’s right! How did you know?”

He replied to Debbie’s question.

“The rough woolen duffle coat is a military coat supplied by the navy.”

“No way. If it’s a coat that clearly identifies someone as navy, why would Lorraine flee in it, advertising herself?”

“We can’t be sure. Knowing Lorraine, she might have deliberately worn it to leave a hint.”

He fell into thought while fiddling with the keychain Debbie had given him.

“Do you know what this is?”

A keychain without a key.

The phantom thief took the object of unknown purpose and held it in his palm, then rotated his wrists in opposite directions.

Click.

Suddenly, a key tip popped out from one side of the keychain, whose structure had seemed impossible to discern.