Chapter 5

In the chilling gloom of the alley, Rachel pulled out a cigarette and set it between her lips. When she flicked open her metal lighter, the hand that held it was streaked with blood.

“Hoo.”

Smoke billowed thick into the dawn air, stripped of any hint of light. Rachel’s icy gaze lingered on the man collapsed at her feet. With a convulsive spasm, hot blood surged from his mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that. If you’d had the chance, you’d have killed me, too. I just happened to win, that’s all. Malice goes both ways, you know.”

“……”

“Isn’t that right, Martin?”

The man—Martin—drew his last breath not long after. Rachel flicked her half-smoked cigarette to the ground. Ssshh. The burning ember was swallowed by the blood pooling on the pavement.

With her head bowed, Rachel reached into the man’s jacket and pulled out a file. Most of it was written in code, impossible to decipher. Except for the last page.

Her green eyes trembled faintly as she spotted a familiar name right in the first line. And just then—

“Rachel.”

She flinched.

Rachel’s wide green eyes darted toward the voice. Head-to-toe in black, a man was striding toward her. She smoothly covered the documents and mustered a stiff smile.

“You’re quick, aren’t you?”

The man’s dark eyes flicked briefly to the corpse before returning to Rachel. He reached into his pocket and tossed her something. Tracing a high arc, the object landed in Rachel’s hand—a car key.

It was only then that Rachel noticed the blood dried on the back of his hand. Unlike the stains on her own, this blood was his.

“You’re hurt?”

“A little.”

With a vague reply, Zechart turned away. Truthfully, he wasn’t hurt badly enough to be unable to drive—it was just that everything felt like too much trouble.

As he headed toward the car, he absentmindedly slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the cold edge of metal. One side was rounded, the other sharp. Scissors.

There was still blood on the tip—hers, from just a short while ago.

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

A wry smile tugged at his lips. She’d pleaded with surprising composure. And her body—she’d been so… remarkably warm.

The feel of her still seemed to linger on his fingertips, and Zechart bit down, then released his jaw. In that room, lit only by moonlight, he’d barely glimpsed her face beneath the wide-brimmed bonnet: just the shadowed bridge of her nose and the plump line of her lips.

If only he’d seen all of her. If he’d taken off that bonnet and memorized every feature, maybe he wouldn’t be torturing himself now, tracing the rest in his imagination.

“Did you take care of the target?”

Rachel asked as she climbed into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t a question she needed answered—just a habit, something agents asked each other as a matter of course.

But for once, Zechart’s answer was not what she expected.

“Not yet.”

“What?”

Rachel looked back at him, surprised. He was injured, so clearly he’d confronted the target—yet, not yet?

“There was interference.”

Rachel’s well-shaped brows drew together. His skills were unmatched, even within the organization. It was as much innate talent as it was training. And he was so meticulous, he’d never make a move without certainty. Who could possibly have interfered with someone like him?

But Zechart brushed off her silent question with ease.

“I’ll handle it soon.”

As soon as possible. And next time, he’d make sure it was just like always—clean and precise.

***

The night had seemed calm on the surface, but morning eventually came. The sunlight was bright outside, but the hideout remained shrouded in darkness behind drawn curtains.

“Drink some, Edith.”

Perel slid a cup of herbal tea in front of her. The hand that took the cup was pale and trembling.

“They found Martin’s body in an alley near the rendezvous.”

“……”

“And considering our hideout was attacked right after, I think they’ve caught on.”

Perel, in the middle of explaining the situation, stopped short when he noticed Edith shivering and let out a deep sigh.

“Edith.”

She looked up from her tea, her eyes red and dangerously close to tears.

“So he… died waiting for me.”

“There was nothing to be done. If you’d been there, Edith, you’d be dead too.”

Perel spoke quietly, as if losses like this were something he’d grown used to.

But Edith knew all too well that wasn’t true. Martin had been Perel’s friend for years. The weight of it was crushing.

“We have to be strong. For Martin’s sake, we have to keep moving forward.”

Edith wiped away her tears.

“Yes. You’re right, Perel. Thank you for the comfort.”

Perel managed a faint smile.

“For now, we should move to Glyssen. With things as they are, I think it’s best to postpone the operation. The confidential documents Martin tried to deliver have ended up in their hands.”

“No, Perel. If anything, we need to move faster.”

She set down her teacup and stood, her hands still trembling but her expression now steady and resolute.

“Even if they have the documents, they won’t be able to read them right away. It’ll take time to break the code. That means they don’t know our whole plan—at least, not yet.”

“Then…”

“Let’s go to Hasmal, not Glyssen. We need to finish this operation before they can decrypt the code.”

“There’s a lot of risk involved. Are you really alright with that?”

Edith gave a faint smile.

“Of course, Perel.”

She really was alright. No—she had to be, if only for Martin, who’d died alone on a cold street.

***

[ To my lost husband,

I’m writing you a letter I know I’ll never send.

I realize the notes I write from time to time may disturb your rest. I know I probably won’t keep that promise you made me give—to remarry if you left first.

But you’re the one who broke your promise to come home alive, so let’s just call it even.

(…)

For many reasons, I’m going to Hasmal. Yes, it’s the very Hasmal you’re thinking of—the place where I first met you, and the place that took you from me.

That’s why I’m writing this letter from the train.

I’ve left Leon for a while in Glyssen with Madame Marie. He’s such a steady child—so much like you—he won’t give her much trouble. And it’s safer there for now.

I hope this journey to Hasmal won’t be dangerous, that I’ll return to Leon safe and sound. But a part of me also wishes it will be dangerous, so that maybe, somehow, I might reach you. If wishing for that makes me a terrible mother… so be it.

I miss you. So much.

On the threshold of winter, from Edith. ]

She folded the finished page neatly in half and closed her diary.

There were already countless folded pages from previous unsent letters just like this one.

Whenever she missed Maximilian, Edith would write to him as if journaling, even knowing she’d never send the letters.

She traced the worn cover of her diary with a gentle hand, then tucked it away deep in her bag.

Next to her, Perel was asleep, and she carefully adjusted his head to a more comfortable angle before turning her gaze to the window.

Unlike Perel, she couldn’t sleep. She had nowhere else to rest her eyes, so she stared out at the scenery.

Rattle, rattle.

With every heavy jolt, the faded landscape flashed by outside the train window. The world was nothing but darkness. It almost seemed as if it would remain forever without light—a hopeless feeling she couldn’t shake. If this mission failed, perhaps that’s exactly what would happen.

Operation Scholar Mate.

A strategy named after the chess move where the queen and bishop work together for a checkmate—the king, in this case, being Stifts.

Specifically, Stifts’s head, Herman Miller.

He had founded Stifts to root out resistance movements when neighboring countries invaded by Hasmal began forming alliances.

In Hasmal, he was treated almost as an elder statesman. If they were caught attempting to assassinate someone of his stature, being sent to a labor camp would be the kindest fate they could expect.

“Is there anything you need?”

The vendor walking down the aisle spoke to her. Edith gave an awkward smile and almost refused, but then bought a sandwich and a bottle of soda, thinking she’d share them with Perel when he woke. There was still a long way to Hasmal, and they’d surely get hungry.

Rattle, rattle.

The train barreled endlessly down the tracks.