Chapter 4

The man stood with his back to the window, while Edith faced it. With his hood pulled low and a mask covering his face, he was shrouded in black from head to toe—so much so that to Edith, he seemed almost like a living shadow.

‘How…’

Her mind went blank. She couldn’t even scream. If she made a sound, that cold, gleaming blade in the man’s hand might plunge straight into Leon at any moment. In fact, he was already pointing the knife at the child’s chest.

That was why it took her so long to find her voice.

“The child was just born. I know the reason you’re here isn’t the child.”

“…”

“So please, let him live.”

The room was steeped in silence, broken only by the faint, sleeping breaths of the child. In that heavy quiet, the man made no move. He didn’t threaten or intimidate; he simply stared at her in silence.

Edith took a trembling step forward. She had to protect Leon at any cost.

With every step, the moonlight grew stronger, etching her silhouette more clearly in the room. And the closer she got to Leon, the less distance remained between her and the man who stood at his side. Even as she reached the edge of the bed, his face remained hidden in the shadows, heightening her anxiety. For a moment she paused, but then, at last, she managed to reach out and gather Leon into her arms.

The small, warm weight of the child pressed against her chest, and only then did the breath she’d been holding slip out in a shaky sigh.

“…Thank you.”

She wasn’t even sure it was the right thing to say in a moment like this, but Edith, keeping her eyes on the man only a step away, slowly turned away.

At that instant, the child began to fuss.

No, please don’t cry. Not now, please…

“I never said you could go.”

Edith stopped in her tracks as if frozen. In the darkness, Zechart’s gaze fixed on her.

“I never said I’d let you live, either.”

At every word, Edith’s small shoulders jerked as if she’d been struck. Zechart began to approach her, slow and deliberate.

Of course, he had no intention of killing a woman and child who weren’t even his targets—killing them would only leave him with a foul mood. It wasn’t that he was insensitive to murder; he simply took no pleasure in it.

Then why?

The question flashed in his mind as he stopped just two steps away from her.

Up until that point, the woman remained as still as stone. Knowing that her terror and resignation were his doing left a sour taste in his mouth.

Why did that bother him?

The truth was, he’d been acting out of character ever since he’d climbed through the window awash in moonlight. More precisely, since he’d first seen the faded crib and the sleeping child inside it.

When he’d spotted the child, sucking his thumb in his sleep, Zechart had felt something strangely unfamiliar—a bizarre sensation he couldn’t name. He’d nearly reached out to touch the baby’s slightly damp black hair.

“…!”

In the middle of his tangled thoughts, a sudden dull pain registered. Blood was trickling down the back of his hand, and he realized Edith had stabbed him with a small pair of embroidery scissors, which were still embedded in his shoulder. He left them there, eyes locking onto her.

Her wide-brimmed bonnet hid most of her face, but the pale, trembling hand lingering in the air betrayed her fear.

A faint, involuntary chuckle escaped his lips.

‘Anyone would think she’d been stabbed herself.’

Edith, now shuffling backward, bumped up against the door. Stiff and petrified, she clutched Leon to her chest with both hands.

“Please, not the child…”

Though the baby had fallen back asleep, Edith was now on the verge of tears.

Zechart paused, frowning faintly. As mentioned before, he had no patience for chaos or noise.

Instead, he let his gaze slowly drift over her trembling figure. His eyes traced the delicate curves of her body, lingering for a moment on the small, pale ankle peeking from beneath her skirt—an ankle that looked like it would snap with the slightest pressure.

“I won’t kill you.”

Zechart blurted the words almost impulsively. He didn’t really need to, but for some reason, it felt necessary to say it. He didn’t bother adding that she could stop trembling now—just saying that much was already out of character for him.

He reached up and pulled the tiny scissors from his shoulder, intending to return them to her and leave. He didn’t like walking away without finishing the job, but he had no desire to remain here, not when being around the woman and child left him with this odd, creeping feeling.

What was it, exactly?

Zechart was still caught on the word he couldn’t quite name when, suddenly, footsteps echoed from outside the room.

Thud, thud.

In a split second, both of them moved. Edith spun toward the door in a panic, but before she could reach it, Zechart seized her from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth. Her small lips pressed against his palm, trembling as she held her breath.

“Quiet.”

His low warning made Edith nod ever so slowly.

Thud, thud.

Footsteps paced back and forth in the living room, every sound crystal clear in the tense silence. And the two of them—now pressed close, heat radiating between them—remained frozen together.

Edith couldn’t even exhale, feeling as though she were balanced precariously atop a thin sheet of ice.

‘Please, Perel…’

But, as if mocking her prayer, the footsteps eventually receded and faded away completely.

With that last hope gone, Edith silently gauged the man’s mood behind her. He’d said he wouldn’t kill them, but after she tried to escape and got caught, maybe he’d changed his mind.

She hugged Leon tighter.

The man’s hand, which had simply been covering her mouth, began to move.

His fingertips grazed her flushed cheek, then slowly slid down, tracing the line of her forehead and nose beneath the bonnet—finally lingering on her quivering lips.

Hah.

The moment his hand touched her, the breath Edith hadn’t been able to let out finally slipped from her lips, half a sigh, half a gasp. It was a warm, almost feverish exhale.

Her shoulders kept trembling. Maybe it was just fear, she told herself. The odd heat blooming inside her had to be from that as well.

His hand lingered on her lips, moving even slower now, as if carefully smoothing both her upper and lower lips in turn, pausing at the very center. It was then that Edith stuck out her tongue. She only meant to wet her lips—a nervous habit when they went dry—but the tip brushed right against his fingers, just as he was about to pull away.

It startled her far more than him. Edith jerked back, but a strong arm circled her in an instant, locking her tightly in place.

His body pressed against her back and hips, the hardness of him unmistakable, closer than before.

Then, almost unbelievably, his hand slipped between her lips. Not just over them, but inside, tracing the damp, sensitive lining of her lower lip.

The tips of his fingers brushed just shy of her teeth, exploring the tender flesh with unhurried precision.

Edith’s hands were useless—occupied with Leon, she might as well have been bound. But even if she’d been free, it wouldn’t have mattered. There was something so peculiar about the man, something overwhelming, that left her unable to make a sound from the very beginning.

Time felt as though it had stopped, only to start moving again at the sound of a thin wail from the baby below.

Leon. He’s awake.

The commotion must have roused him, and then Perel’s voice echoed from outside the room.

In front of a door that might open at any moment, the man was still unhurried. In the end, it was Edith, startled, who shoved him away.

He let her go without resistance, allowing her to stagger back and turn around.

At last, she thought, they would face each other. But even then, all she saw was his back. The man who had stood with his back to the moonlight was now walking toward it.

He perched on the windowsill, pausing as if to look back at her. She couldn’t be sure, really—the room was dark, the moon behind him casting him in silhouette, nothing but a shadow.

Still, Edith couldn’t shake the feeling he was looking at her. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words refused to come.

By the time the man finally vanished, the door swung open behind her, and Perel’s startled voice filled the room.

“E—Edith?”

At the sound, Edith simply collapsed to the floor, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

A hot, aching pain prickled at the inside of her lip—right where the man’s hand had touched her.