A fine, orange-tinged mist of rain fell over Humbert’s 15^(th) Street.

As the clatter of a passing carriage’s hooves faded into the distance, a black car pulled up with a sharp growl from its engine.

The door opened and a man wearing fine leather shoes stepped out.

Duke Hayton Deneir, wearing a frock coat and with his bowler hat pulled low, faced the men in black suits who had arrived ahead of him.

“Go inside. Search every inch.”

His deep voice echoed through the mist, and the men bowed to him. He towered over them by a full head. Moments later, their footsteps faded as they entered the five-storey red brick building.

A few days earlier, his aide, Mark, had discovered that Count Julian’s money had been transferred into an account suspected of funding the rebels.

Hayton had his suspicions about the second-floor office in the building that the Count had recently purchased. The property had been purchased in someone else’s name and was not included on the list of his assets.

It was an ideal place to conceal financial records, coded correspondence, and other evidence. This was why Hayton had secretly dispatched intelligence agents to raid the office at this late hour.

If they followed the money, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered who was behind the rebellion.

A sudden melody interrupted his tangled thoughts.

The familiar tune drifted faintly through the pale mist, drawing Hayton’s gaze to the fourth floor.

There, a lamp was glowing dimly in the window, its light spilling out alongside the music.

“This may take some time, Your Grace. Please wait in the car.”

“Have you contacted the Metropolitan Police?”

“Yes. I told them to have the search warrant drawn up.”

Hayton gave a slight nod, then took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

Click!

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Gradually, he felt the tension in his nerves begin to ease.

It hardly mattered whether it was the cigarette or the piano music that had the effect. What mattered was finding the evidence that would enable him to crush the rebellion more quickly.

Then the piano fell silent abruptly. He narrowed his eyes as he slowly returned his gaze to the fourth floor.

The lamp went out, plunging the floor into darkness as though the light and music had never been there.

Sensing that something was wrong, Hayton dropped his cigarette and ground it out beneath his shoe before approaching the building at a relaxed pace.

As he reached the landing below the fourth floor, he heard someone hurry out of a room and lock the door.

Hayton remained in the shadows and watched the figure hurry down the stairs.

It was a woman wearing a pillbox hat with a black veil drawn down to the tip of her nose.

“…!”

Only then noticing the tall man, the woman startled and went rigid before attempting to walk past him.

“Wait.”

At his cold voice, she slowly turned.

When Hayton’s gaze settled on her leather briefcase, she lifted it and held it against her chest with both arms.

“Excuse me, but may I look inside your bag?”

The tall man making such an impertinent request was decidedly intimidating.

“If you know it’s an imposition, you shouldn’t be asking.”

Her voice was gentle but firm in its refusal. As she began to turn away again, Hayton reached out and caught hold of the bag.

“What are you doing?”

“This is an urgent matter. I have no choice.”

Hayton took the heavy bag from her and undid its metal clasps. It was the sort of briefcase a lawyer might carry.

“Give it back!”

The woman tugged the bag toward herself with all her strength. Just then, the loosened clasps gave way, and its contents spilled out.

“!”

Sheets of white paper fluttered to the floor.

The woman’s veil quivered slightly as she stared at the scattered music sheets at her feet.

She sank to her knees and began to gather up the pages.

After silently watching her for a moment, Hayton slowly picked up a sheet.

The page was covered in closely written notes on how to play the piece, hidden amongst the exaggerated musical notation.

“It’s a piece my father loved. It’s only ordinary sheet music. Why should I be treated with suspicion over it?”

“You may go.”

With that curt dismissal, Hayton turned his back. A voice trembling with suppressed anger stopped him.

“How very rude of you.”

“…”

“Apologize.”

In contrast to her delicate frame, her voice was firm. Despite his intimidating presence, she stood her ground and Hayton felt compelled to look into her eyes.

“Rude? I hardly think you’re in a position to say that.”

With an icy sneer on his lips, he took two steps towards her and reached for the edge of her veil.

His fingertips tightened on it, as though he was determined to uncover the eyes concealed beneath. His own eyes gleamed in the darkness as his piercing gaze intruded past her veil.

The woman stiffened and tried to knock his hand away.

“What do you think you’re—!”

Just then, his aide came rushing up the stairs, breathless.

“Your Grace! What are you doing here?”

Hayton paused, his hand poised to lift her veil, then lowered it.

“Perhaps it’s your lucky night.”

Hayton cast one last glance at the woman before he and Mark descended the stairs. Shortly afterwards, the men in black suits who had been searching the second floor also came out, and the waiting cars pulled away quietly from Humbert’s on 15^(th) Street.

***

Through the stairwell window, the woman watched Hayton and his men get into their cars and drive away.

“It’s past midnight, so I suppose that makes it today. The day you die, Duke Hayton Deneir.”

She murmured the words, then let out a quiet breath of relief and looked down at the briefcase.

A revolutionary courier had given it to her two hours earlier. Hidden beneath its cleverly fitted double lining was a brown bottle.

She had been terrified that Hayton would find it. Thankfully, the sheet music had drawn his attention away. Even if he had discovered the bottle, though, he could never have known what it was meant for.

Her fingers tightened around the handle.

‘If I fail, will Father Silvert really give me poison?’

She knew that she would willingly drink poison if he ordered her to. Nevertheless, the fragile hope that he might give her another chance caused a pang of pain in her chest.

Here she was, dwelling on tragedy when she should have been thinking only of success.

Biting her lower lip, she pushed the thought aside and stepped out of the building, carefully holding the briefcase she had to deliver.

Then she slipped into the darkness, making her way towards the temple on the banks of the Roel River.