Chapter 13

“Liche!”

Edith’s steps came to a sudden halt as she walked through the dusky streets. She spotted Gisela waving to her beneath the clock tower, their agreed meeting spot. Gisela’s cheeks were pale from the cold, making it obvious she’d been waiting for quite a while. Edith gave her a slightly apologetic look.

“Sorry I’m late. Did you wait long?”

“No, not even an hour yet. I just got here a little early.”

“Still. It’s cold, isn’t it? Let’s go inside somewhere.”

At Edith’s suggestion, Gisela eagerly linked arms with her. Edith stiffened at the sudden contact, but quickly allowed herself to be led into a narrow alleyway.

Soon, Gisela brought Edith to an old café tucked away in a secluded part of town—not the busy main street. The café, with peeling paint on the walls, shriveled vines curled up in the winter cold, and a faded awning, didn’t look fancy. But its worn-out charm gave the place a kind of cozy warmth.

The two of them sat facing each other at a window table in the farthest corner. Given how desperately Gisela had asked for time, Edith had expected her to get right to the point. But Gisela stayed silent, even as their tea was served, letting an awkward silence settle over the table.

In the end, it was Edith who broke the ice.

“Gisela?”

Gisela, who had been staring into her teacup, flinched and lifted her gaze. But as soon as their eyes met, she immediately dropped her gaze again. Edith frowned slightly.

“What’s got you so worked up? It’s okay, just tell me.”

“……”

“Gisela.”

Even with the firmer tone, Gisela couldn’t bring herself to speak. Contrary to Edith’s guess, it wasn’t because what she had to say was difficult. The truth was, Gisela didn’t actually have anything to say. For days now, she’d been circling around Edith because of that mysterious man, making up whatever little things she could. But now, she couldn’t think of a single thing to talk about—let alone enough to fill two hours.

‘Should I ask about her hometown? No, I already asked that last time…’

Even the bits and pieces that came to mind were all things she’d already asked before.

‘How am I supposed to keep her here, anyway? Ugh, why did I let myself get caught up in this mess…’

“Gisela.”

She’d already talked about her family, too…

Edith called out to Gisela again, watching her flush and fidget by herself.

“Are you… do you need money? Is that why you keep hesitating?”

“What?”

“If that’s it, it’s fine. Tell me. How much do you need? I don’t have a lot, but…”

Edith’s eyes narrowed, almost certain of her guess, but Gisela shook her head so hard her hair flew.

“No, no! It’s not money…”

“Then what is it? If you’re not ready to talk about it, you don’t have to force yourself. Just tell me another time.”

“Wait. I’ll tell you! I will.”

As Edith looked about ready to stand up at any moment, Gisela clung to her with a desperate expression.

Now she really had to say something—anything.

“The truth is…”

While Gisela struggled to stall for time with Edith, a long shadow slipped over the roof of Sasha’s house. The man dressed all in black, blending into the darkness as if he were its extension, was—of course—Zechart. His steps made almost no sound as he moved deftly across the roof. He’d already planned out his route, so his movements were quick and sure.

He slid down the railing and reached a second-floor window at the edge of the house. Gripping the frame and giving it a light shake, he opened it with a dull metallic click. It felt almost anticlimactic, considering Edith had locked it so carefully before leaving, but Zechart had loosened the lock during a previous scouting visit. For someone trained in infiltration and assassination, tricks like that were child’s play.

Without hesitation, Zechart slipped through the window.

His eyes, already used to the darkness, made out the rough shapes of the furniture and daily necessities in the room. If he remembered right, this was a storage room. He hadn’t found anything here during his last search, so he wasted no time in opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

He walked down the long corridor at a relaxed pace. He wasn’t even bothering to hide his presence—at this hour, he knew the house would be empty. As long as that woman, Gisela, kept her promise, he had at least two hours to himself.

‘Where could it be?’

He had a clear goal: somewhere in this house was the Enigma. The best outcome would be to find the codebook with the settings. He could just steal the machine itself, but that would be too obvious; if the resistance figured out what had happened, they’d probably change their plans.

After a thorough search of the second floor without finding anything, he moved downstairs. Unlike the second floor, there was still a faint warmth lingering on the first, and the moonlight pouring in from the large windows made it surprisingly bright.

As he headed for a room facing the living room, he noticed evidence of someone having been there recently on the table.

It was a neatly folded note.

He glanced indifferently at the clumsy handwriting, but his gaze stopped at a line written in a familiar hand.

[I have to step out unexpectedly tonight as well. I won’t be late. If you haven’t eaten yet, check the kitchen!]

It was the same handwriting he’d seen by the sea. Even though the note wasn’t meant for him, his feet naturally took him to the kitchen. He wondered if there might be something special waiting there, but all he found in a cold pot was a simple tomato stew.

He let out a quiet snort. For someone who supposedly had such picky eating habits, the stew, made with only vegetables, was a pretty healthy choice. On a whim, he grabbed a spoon from the cupboard. It was a bit shameless, eating someone else’s food after breaking into their house, but he figured one bite wouldn’t hurt.

He took a spoonful of the stew. The tangy flavor of tomato filled his mouth, along with a hint of basil.

Aside from being a little under-seasoned, it was an unremarkable stew. Yet there was a strange sense of déjà vu—almost as if he’d eaten it somewhere before.

He brushed off the thought, put the used spoon away, and turned to leave. As he exited the kitchen and returned to the living room, he suddenly heard a noise.

Zechart froze in the darkness. He hoped he’d imagined it, but sure enough, voices drifted from the front door.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

“I’m fine, really.”

Judging by the easy familiarity, it sounded like the owners of the house had returned. They’d come back far sooner than expected.

Zechart’s eyes darted around quickly. There was nowhere to hide in the open living room. He didn’t have time to make it back to the second floor. At that moment, he spotted a door in the corner of the room.

Without hesitation, Zechart crossed the room and slipped inside. He shut the door just in time to hear the front lock click open.

Voices carried from the living room.

“What if you get sick again?”

“I told you, it’s just some cramps. I could have stayed, but you insisted.”

“How could I let you stay when you’re in pain? And you’ve been feeling nauseous from morning sickness, too.”

“Ugh. When will this morning sickness end?”

Their conversation continued, but Zechart was too distracted to pay attention.

The moment he entered the room, his lungs were filled with a familiar scent. The crisp aroma of soap. The same scent he’d picked up from that woman.

It was that scent.

The moment he noticed the veil-adorned hat hanging on the standing rack by the wall, Zechart knew whose room this was.

So it was her.

With that realization, Zechart once again felt that strange sensation wash over him—the same feeling that gripped him every time he saw her. It was like having his nerves scraped raw by sandpaper.

Outside the door, the couple, completely unaware of his presence, began talking again.

“Both Perel-nim and Edith-nim are out.”

It sounded like they’d found the note. The sound of cautious footsteps faded gradually, then came the clatter of a pot being opened.

“Wow, tomato stew. For some reason, that smells amazing… I shouldn’t eat it, right?”

“Go ahead. I’ll make a new batch for Perel-nim.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t cook to save your life.”

“Hey, I’m better than you think.”

Their banter continued for a while, then faded away as the woman mentioned being tired. There was the sound of a door, and then silence—presumably they’d gone to the master bedroom.

Only after the house was completely still did Zechart, who’d been standing frozen in place, finally begin to move.

Within the now-empty room, his shadow glided across the floor like a living thing.