Chapter 24

“…Thank you for confirming it for me.”

Edith spoke in a relatively calm voice as she picked up the blanket she had dropped and covered herself.

By then, dawn was breaking, and the room was filling with a pale blue light.

“Are you disappointed?”

At the man’s question, Edith shook her small face.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.”

She answered honestly, even if it was a little irresponsible.

The truth was, she couldn’t really identify what she felt.

Maybe it was disappointment, or maybe relief. Maybe acceptance, or maybe denial.

“There’s definitely no trace of Maximilian in you. And you say you’re not him, too.”

So you really aren’t Maximilian, then. Maximilian must be resting in peace, free from pain.

“But you look so much like him—no, you’re exactly the same.”

How can you not be Maximilian…?

“So I don’t know.”

The scale, weighed down with both acceptance and denial, remained perfectly balanced—unable to tip to either side.

But even so—

“Still, I’ll try to accept it. I’m sorry for forcing something that wasn’t there.”

With a dry sigh, Edith stepped back.

Then she turned away, deliberately avoiding the man’s gaze she felt on her skin.

She didn’t feel particularly sad or heartbroken.

Maybe she had, just a little while ago, but not anymore.

Her heart quickly settled into a brittle kind of peace.

Truthfully, Edith was rather used to this.

It happened often enough.

Even though she’d gotten a bit better lately, there was a time when she would stop in her tracks every time she saw a tall man with black hair.

Simply because she couldn’t make herself believe he was truly gone, when all she’d ever had of his death was hearsay…

There were even times when she’d called out his name and followed after him.

Even though a part of her always knew the truth, she’d let herself climb up on the empty hope born of blind longing, only to fall again and again.

‘Still, I suppose this time was a bit much.’

Her heart, so used to falling, had been shattered and worn down, then healed and reshaped so many times that even she couldn’t quite recognize what it had become.

But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The thick calluses that had grown over her wounds made Edith braver.

By now, she was quite numb to these sorts of pains.

She found herself standing next to the bed, but couldn’t bring herself to sit or lie down.

Suddenly, she was keenly aware of everything.

It was understandable given the situation, but being in the same room, dressed as she was, with a man who wasn’t Maximilian—she felt uncomfortable.

Strangely enough, everything that had felt fine when she thought he was Maximilian instantly became awkward once she knew he wasn’t.

Edith touched her own clothes hanging on the rack next to the bed.

Naturally, they weren’t dry. In fact, they were still soaked.

Her grip on the blanket tightened.

It was then that a faint chuckle cut through the silence.

Edith turned her head toward the source.

The man was much closer than she’d expected—she needed a moment to realize it was because he was walking toward her.

The coldness in his eyes made her freeze in place.

Closing the distance she’d deliberately kept between them, Zechart reached out and roughly grabbed her slender wrist just as she tried to flinch away.

“Ah!”

With a short gasp, her delicate body stumbled and was pulled into his arms.

Even then, she didn’t let go of the blanket. Watching her cling to it only made his mood feel even more wretched.

“What are you doing? Let go of me…”

“So, I guess you’re done with whatever business you had with me?”

As Edith’s lips parted—about to say something, then quickly pressed into a line—Zechart let out a scornful laugh.

Of course, he’d had some idea.

It wasn’t hard to guess that the longing gaze and trembling voice the woman had shown weren’t really meant for him.

But now that he’d actually seen the change in her, he felt worse than he expected.

Maybe, just maybe, a part of him had wanted it all to be just as meaningless for her as it was for him.

Just swept up in the mood.

Overcome by a strange feeling.

Pulled by a reasonless impulse.

Drawn in, helplessly, with no reason at all…

His thoughts, stretching on endlessly, suddenly halted.

A surge of raw, unrefined heat rushed up in Zechart’s chest.

The subtle shift in his gaze made the woman in his arms flinch.

The two of them were so close, separated only by the blanket, that he could feel her trembling.

An awkward silence fell between them.

In that hush, he thought about all the things he could do to her if he wanted.

There was even a conveniently soft bed within arm’s reach.

Should I?

He lowered his hand and roughly cupped her cheek, rubbing her quivering, flushed lips with his thumb.

His thoughts pressed on, slow and relentless.

If, somehow, those lips ended up calling my name.

Maybe, just maybe, this disgusting feeling inside me would fade, even a little.

At that moment, Zechart realized their breaths were tangling together at close range.

That was when he noticed he’d tilted her chin up, leaning in.

“…Don’t… do this…”

The woman was crying in his grasp.

***

That morning, Sasha found a strange note in the living room.

Written without any explanation, just an unfamiliar address—at the bottom were the initials that startled her: “E. L.”

There was only one person she knew with those initials.

Edith Lindel, who had been missing since last night and whom everyone was desperately waiting for.

She had no idea who had left it or when, but just seeing that name was enough—Sasha rushed out of the house immediately.

Karon and Perel didn’t follow her.

After what had happened the night before, Steifts officers were stationed all over the city.

Being pregnant, Sasha could avoid their suspicion, but if Karon and Perel were with her, the document checks would have been much more complicated—and even their perfectly forged IDs might not stand up to too much scrutiny.

Sasha took a hansom cab waiting nearby after passing a checkpoint in the square, handing the driver the note’s address.

The carriage sped toward the outskirts of the city.

The passing scenery left streaks in her tear-brimmed eyes.

After about thirty minutes, the cab finally reached its destination: an old inn on the edge of Belen.

Sasha asked the driver to wait and tried to calm her anxious steps as she entered.

The innkeeper, nodding off behind the counter, groggily stood when she mentioned the room number.

With a jerk of her chin, she pointed Sasha to the stairs.

Each step creaked and groaned beneath Sasha’s hurried weight.

‘Is Edith really here? How did she get all the way out here in the middle of the night? The city gates and every checkpoint in Belen were locked down…’

With countless questions in mind, Sasha reached the room written on the note.

Before knocking, she nervously wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt.

‘Please, let her be here. Let this operation end without anyone else’s sacrifice.’

With that silent prayer, Sasha knocked on the old wooden door.

At first, there was no response, but after knocking a few more times, she heard movement on the other side.

Sasha’s ears strained, catching even the slightest sound.

The door creaked open slowly, still held by the safety chain.

Through the narrow gap, she saw a pair of wary, anxious eyes.

“Edith-nim!”

***

“Hurry up and get some rest, Edith-nim.”

Back at home after taking the same hansom cab, Sasha urged Edith gently.

Edith nodded with a tired smile and headed upstairs to the second floor.

Sasha watched her in silence for a while.

There was definitely something going on.

The vague suspicion Sasha had harbored now grew sharper and more defined in her mind.

Edith hadn’t said a word the entire way home.

Even in the brief conversation they’d had at the inn, all she’d managed to learn was that Edith had been injured, escaped with help from someone unknown, and regained consciousness only to find herself at the inn.

Well, that was true enough—but to Sasha, who knew nothing of the real circumstances, it was difficult to understand.

What weighed on her mind most was something Edith had muttered quietly while referring to that unknown benefactor.

‘I should have at least asked his name…’

The words had been so faint, so fragile, Sasha had barely heard them.

Yet her voice sounded dry and desolate—like a brittle leaf on an autumn day, crumbling into dust.