Bernadette was quiet for a few seconds. "Fair enough. And it's convenient for doing things you wouldn't want Vivian to know about, isn't it?"
"What the — can you hear my thoughts?!"
"What if I can?"
"Then... that's actually not so bad. It'd make talking to each other a lot easier."
"We don't need you to speak aloud for that. Just think in my direction."
"..."
Vincent went stiff. "You can actually hear my thoughts?"
"I can, and I can't. If you're consciously directing your thoughts at me, I can hear them. If you're just thinking to yourself, I can't."
Bernadette made a dismissive sound. "You seem to have quite a few secrets you'd rather I didn't know."
"Some things, yes. Personal matters, mostly."
She smiled without comment.
Tingen City.
Melissa walked home carrying a heavy basket. She'd gone out of her way today — lamb and a steak, because she intended to make a proper dinner tonight. Klein had been running himself into the ground for two days straight. He came home each evening looking utterly exhausted, and whenever she asked what was the matter, he just shook his head.
High pay always came with high demands. As his sister, the least Melissa could do was make sure there was something good to eat waiting for him.
Despite the windfall of five hundred pounds that had come their way last time, Melissa hadn't changed her habit of walking home. She'd taken this route dozens of times — cut through a few alleyways and it saved a considerable stretch, barely slower than the horse-drawn omnibus.
Thump.
Without warning, a figure staggered out from the side of the road and collapsed onto the ground. He tried to get up, struggling and failing several times, letting out a dry, pained sound.
Melissa approached carefully. "Excuse me — do you need help?"
"No, thank you, young lady."
On the ground lay an extremely elderly man. A fresh cut on his palm was seeping blood steadily. He looked pitifully frail. "I just need a moment to collect myself."
He waved a hand weakly. "Go on your way."
"..."
Melissa's grip on the basket tightened. She hesitated a moment — then stepped closer. "Let me help you up."
"...Thank you."
She set down her basket and carefully helped the old man to his feet, guiding him to the side of the road. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Should I take you to a hospital?"
"No need. I'm just old and weak — a moment's rest and I'll be fine." He wrapped a handkerchief around the cut on his palm and gave her a gentle smile. "Truly, child — I'm fine. Please, go on."
"I'll stay with you a little while, if that's alright."
"...You'll stay until I'm feeling better, and then go?"
"Yes."
"..."
The old man bit down on his pride, forced himself upright, and said, "You see, I'm quite fine. My house is just up the street."
"I'm going that way myself. I'll walk you home."
"...Very well. Thank you."
Blackthorn Security Company.
Dunn puffed steadily on his pipe and said in a grave voice: "Still no divination on where Old Neil is?"
"Nothing."
Klein was growing increasingly despondent. After Old Neil disappeared, he'd gone above the grey fog to divine his location immediately — and had located him quickly enough. But every single time the team went to the divined location, Old Neil seemed to have known in advance, departing just before their arrival.
"Don't worry. Old Neil will be alright."
"Mm..."
Dunn said quietly, "If we don't find him today, I'll have to send a telegram to Backlund."
Klein's expression shifted. "Captain..."
"You understand, Klein. Not reporting this sooner was already my selfish decision. But Old Neil's situation is unknown, and we can't simply leave it. If he truly loses control... the consequences don't bear thinking about."
"...Let me try one more time!"
Klein walked quickly out of the office to the room Old Neil used most frequently, locked the door behind him, walked four steps in reverse, rose above the grey fog, and leaned back in the bronze armchair. He entered the dream divination with practiced ease.
Within seconds, Old Neil's figure took shape in the hazy dreamscape. He was running, frantically. He stumbled and fell heavily — and was helped up by a girl.
Then the two of them moved off together, toward Old Neil's temporary hiding place.
"!!!"
Klein's eyes flew open.
He had seen her.
That girl — it was his sister. Melissa.
Backlund, Jorwood District.
Vivian's efficiency was impressive — after lunch, she had already brought Vincent to 22 Skye Street in the Jorwood District. It was a terraced house tucked into a residential neighbourhood, surrounded entirely by homes, the single sign above the door standing out conspicuously from everything around it: SELFRIDGE DETECTIVE AGENCY.
The missing detective had been a man named Selfridge.
The previous rent had been paid quarterly. After his disappearance, the landlord had waited one additional month before giving up and reletting the space.
"I had it cleaned in advance, and some of the older furniture has been replaced."
Vivian led the way, walking through the layout: "Through the front door is the sitting room. The ground floor has a guest room and a washroom. Upstairs there are two bedrooms and a second washroom, and a dressing room as well."
Vincent glanced around and nodded. "Can I move straight in?"
"Of course."
Vivian hesitated. "In that case, I won't be able to attend to you at all times."
"Have you forgotten? You accepted a certain existence's gift — you have obligations to fulfil. If you spend every waking hour at my side, when would you have time for anything else?"
"..."
She lowered her head. "I understand, Your Majesty."
Vincent patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. When I truly need your help, I'll reach you through the Invisible Servant."
"Yes!"
"Good — help me get a few advertisements placed in the newspapers as soon as you can."
After Vivian left, Vincent dropped onto the sofa with a sigh. "After all these exchanges, this is the first time I've really had somewhere of my own to come home to."
Bernadette gave a hm of disapproval. "The way you act is completely unlike me."
"I've been following the method you first taught me. And for the record, your people have never once been suspicious."
"You're doing a poor imitation of the me you've constructed in your imagination. Frankly... it makes me cringe."
Vincent looked deeply aggrieved. "Alright, fine. But I at least grasp the core of your Queen persona. And when you were controlling my body, that was just a male version of you."
"I only behaved that way during the recording. When actually dealing with people in person, I..."
Bernadette trailed off. She quickly recalled her own performances while piloting this man's body.
...It did seem to be roughly...
...similarly questionable.
She changed the subject firmly. "In any case — you need more practice."
"So do you."
"..."
Hmm—
At that moment, Vincent's spirituality gave a small jump. It felt like a distant call reaching him from somewhere far away. He blinked. "Did you feel that?"
"Yes. It's a scroll I previously gave to someone. When they need help, they can activate it with their spirituality to send me a message."
"Was that given out before one of our exchanges?"
"Not the most recent one — the one before."
"Ah? So it never occurred to you that when they activated it for help, I might be the one in control of the body? If the soul-fragment of yours hadn't happened to end up here this time, I'd have had no idea what was going on."
"I didn't think that far ahead at the time."
"Alright — so what do we do? Where is the person calling for help? Can I get there in time without a Teleportation ability?"
"Tingen."
"What?"
"They're in Tingen. It's the brother of the girl you wronged during our first exchange."
Vincent stopped. "When did I—"
"Have you forgotten? That girl was kind enough to take you to buy bread, and you grabbed it right out of the shop. The baker assumed she was your accomplice and had her taken away by the police."
"???"
That happened?
I had no idea.
To be continued…
No updates for almost 4 days guys, I will be traveling.
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