The train pulled away like a decision already made.
Metal dragged along the rails in a thin, lingering scream that stretched just a little too long before tapering off. Steam bled outward in slow bursts, drifting across the platform before thinning into the pale morning air. The last carriage slipped past the edge of sight, its dark frame narrowing, shrinking—
Then gone.
Heiwa didn't move.
Her weight stayed evenly planted, feet aligned with the edge of the platform, shoulders neither slumped nor straight. Just held. The absence left behind by the train didn't rush in to fill itself. It stayed open, like something unfinished.
The sound followed.
First the wheels.
Then the faint vibration beneath the ground.
Then nothing.
The silence didn't arrive.
It had always been there.
Mr. Kamon adjusted his sleeve.
The motion was small—two fingers smoothing fabric along the wrist, aligning it with quiet precision. His gaze followed the tracks for a second longer than necessary before he spoke.
"Dear, you should head on home."
His voice didn't carry far.
It didn't need to.
Mrs. Dari didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes stayed forward, fixed on where the train had disappeared. Not searching. Not expecting. Just… measuring the space left behind.
A breath passed.
"Be home for dinner."
The words landed flat.
Not a request.
Mr. Kamon exhaled softly through his nose. His shoulders shifted a fraction as he straightened.
"I will do my best."
She turned her head then.
Not quickly.
Just enough for her gaze to meet his.
It stayed there.
A second too long to ignore.
Then she stepped away.
Her shoes met the stone in quiet, controlled taps as she moved toward the station exit. The crowd didn't react—they absorbed her without resistance, bodies closing the space she left behind as if it had never been there.
She was gone before the moment could settle.
The air changed.
Not colder.
Not warmer.
Just—
different.
Heiwa still didn't move.
"So."
Mr. Kamon shifted his stance, turning slightly away from the tracks.
"What is the plan?"
Miss Alvie was already smiling.
It appeared without transition—one moment absent, the next fully formed.
"Oh," she hummed.
Her head tilted, just slightly.
"To be married."
The words slipped out light, effortless, like they carried no weight at all.
Mr. Kamon stared at her.
Not long.
Just enough.
Then his hand moved.
He reached into his coat, retrieving a cigarette and a small case. The lid snapped open with a quiet click. A match followed—struck, flared, then steadied as he brought it to the tip.
The flame caught.
He inhaled.
Smoke curled upward in a thin, controlled line, rising past his face before dispersing.
"What are we doing?"
"You," she said.
She was already moving.
"Are following me."
She passed him without pause.
Mr. Kamon watched her back for half a second, the cigarette held loosely between his fingers. The smoke trailed behind him as he stepped forward to follow.
The carriage rolled into motion with a soft jolt.
Wood creaked beneath shifting weight. The wheels caught the rhythm of the road—stone beneath iron, each turn marked by a faint vibration that traveled up through the frame.
Outside, the city pressed in.
Voices overlapped—vendors calling, buyers responding, negotiations rising and falling in layered tones. Wheels scraped. Hooves struck. Fabric snapped lightly in the wind as stalls adjusted their displays.
Nothing slowed.
Miss Alvie leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on her knee. Her chin settled into her palm, her gaze angled toward the window but not fixed on anything in particular.
"How did you people meet?"
She didn't look at him.
Mr. Kamon tapped ash out the window. It scattered briefly before disappearing into the movement of the street.
"Why should I tell you that?"
She turned then.
Her eyes were bright—not sharp, not soft. Just… active.
"Because," she said, "we need something to fill the silence."
The carriage shifted slightly as it turned.
Mr. Kamon leaned back, his shoulder settling against the frame.
"Then tell me about the epoch of the demigods."
The change was immediate.
Miss Alvie stopped.
Not dramatically.
Just—
still.
Her fingers tapped once against her sleeve. The motion halted halfway through the second tap. Her gaze drifted outward again, but this time it didn't land anywhere.
The silence thickened.
It held.
Mr. Kamon watched her.
Then exhaled through his nose.
"She was my handler."
The words came without emphasis.
Miss Alvie's eyes slid back to him.
"During my diplomatic missions."
The carriage wheels struck a deeper groove in the road, the frame shifting slightly before settling again.
"Ah."
Her voice returned softer.
"Your handler."
A small pause.
"How interesting."
Her hand moved upward.
Casual.
She wiped beneath her nose—
And stopped.
For half a second.
The red stood out immediately against her skin.
Mr. Kamon leaned forward, his hand already moving. The handkerchief appeared between his fingers as he extended it toward her.
"Are you—"
"I'm fine."
She took it before he finished.
The fabric pressed lightly against her nose. Not urgent. Not careful. Just… applied.
"Just pushed myself a little."
Her voice didn't strain.
Didn't change.
But her posture shifted. Her shoulders settled deeper into the seat. Her head tilted slightly, resting more weight against her hand.
"That was… a long time ago."
The words came quieter.
The carriage continued forward.
"My apologies," Mr. Kamon said after a moment.
The cigarette burned lower between his fingers.
"For the trouble."
She waved it off.
A small motion.
"It's fine."
A pause.
"You can just buy me lunch."
Then the smile returned.
Light.
Too light.
The carriage slowed.
The rhythm of hooves shortened, each step landing closer together as the driver pulled back on the reins. The wheels ground against the stone once, then again, before coming to a stop.
A brief—
Neigh—
The sound cut across the street noise, sharp enough to mark the halt.
They stepped out.
The apothecary sat between taller buildings, its presence quieter, almost withdrawn. The sign above the door didn't call attention. It didn't need to.
"An apothecary."
Miss Alvie stretched slightly, her arms lifting before settling back down.
"Nice."
Mr. Kamon stepped forward.
His hand pressed against the door.
It opened.
He stopped.
Miss Alvie walked straight into his back.
"Ouch—"
He stepped aside.
The space inside caught the light differently.
Not dim.
Not bright.
Something in between.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars, herbs, and objects that didn't fit neatly into categories. The air held a faint mix of dried leaves and something sweeter, layered but controlled.
"Wow."
Miss Alvie stepped in.
"Now this is neat."
"Good morning."
The voice didn't come from a clear direction.
"Sorry—we are not open at the moment."
Mr. Kamon's gaze settled forward.
Behind the counter stood a figure in red.
Kimono.
Broom in hand.
Posture held—not formal, not relaxed. Just… owned.
Their eyes lifted.
Concentric rings of pale gold.
Still.
Watching.
"Good morning."
Mr. Kamon's tone stayed even.
"Ezra. What are you doing?"
Footsteps sounded from above.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Another figure descended, a chessboard tucked under one arm.
"Ah," she said. "Customers."
Miss Alvie stepped forward.
Just enough to close the distance slightly.
"A kitsune," she said. "And… something else."
No reaction.
"We have run into a bit of trouble."
The woman spoke evenly, ignoring the comment entirely.
Her tails moved behind her in slow arcs, brushing against the wooden floor with soft, rhythmic contact.
"So we cannot serve you at the moment."
"That trouble," Miss Alvie replied, "is why we're here."
A pause.
"I see."
"Mumeishi," she added. "That will suffice."
Her hand lifted slightly.
"Sit."
Ezra had already moved.
The tea set appeared without interruption—cups placed with precise spacing, the pot set down without sound beyond a soft contact against wood.
Tea poured.
The surface settled immediately.
No ripple.
"She came here."
Miss Alvie accepted the cup.
Mumeishi nodded.
"She did."
"And?"
"She left."
Ezra straightened, speaking without looking up.
"She was heading back to Heiwa. To the hotel."
Miss Alvie's fingers tightened briefly around the cup.
"So not the shrine."
"No."
Silence stretched.
Steam rose.
Then thinned.
"I see."
They stepped back into the street.
The sun had shifted lower.
Shadows stretched longer, pulling across the ground in uneven lines that moved with the passing crowd.
Mr. Kamon glanced back once.
The apothecary stood as it had before.
Closed.
Or simply unchanged.
"Where to?"
Miss Alvie didn't slow.
"We go to meet the senior managing partner of Sutrava Holdings LLP."
He sighed.
"Her."
"Yes."
They entered another carriage.
The door shut behind them with a dull thud.
"Have you met her?"
Miss Alvie leaned back, her gaze drifting toward him.
"No."
Mr. Kamon adjusted slightly in his seat.
"But I had tea with Lépine in Carmesia."
She paused.
"Have you?"
"Yes."
A small silence followed.
His fingers moved unconsciously, rubbing the ring at his hand.
The carriage rolled forward.
The airship dock carried a different kind of noise.
Heavier.
Layered.
Workers called out instructions. Crates shifted with dull impacts. Engines hummed beneath everything, a low, constant vibration that settled into the air itself.
They boarded without delay.
The ramp creaked once under their weight before steadying.
Inside, the space adjusted—contained, structured, the hum of the engines more pronounced now that it was enclosed.
The ground fell away.
Gradually.
Buildings shrank.
Lines blurred.
"What is she like?"
Miss Alvie handed him a biscuit.
"Quiet."
Mr. Kamon took it.
He considered for a moment before biting down.
"Like most of them."
He chewed slowly.
"But not as reserved."
She watched him.
"She's been present in two incidents."
"And?"
"Not a suspect."
He swallowed.
"Just… there."
Miss Alvie smiled faintly.
"Of course."
"And her maid?"
"Halle."
He leaned back slightly.
"Calm. Measured."
"Not Ayana."
"No."
The airship hummed on.
Time passed in smaller segments—cards played, losses acknowledged with mild irritation, wins dismissed without celebration.
Eventually, Mr. Kamon leaned back fully.
His eyes closed.
Sleep came quickly.
"The sun's gone."
Her voice cut through.
He opened his eyes.
The cabin had dimmed.
Not dark.
But no longer day.
They disembarked into evening.
Lanterns lined the streets below, casting warm pools of light across stone. Shadows moved between them, stretching and folding with passing figures.
They entered another carriage.
The door shut.
The wheels began to turn.
"Isn't it rude," Mr. Kamon muttered, "to visit this late?"
Miss Alvie didn't answer.
He paused.
His posture shifted slightly.
"…I was supposed to be home."
"Too late."
Her voice didn't change.
The residence stood apart.
Not larger.
Not louder.
Just—
certain.
They were led inside.
"Good evening."
Mr. Kamon inclined his head slightly.
"Apologies for the late visit."
The air inside carried the scent of cinnamon.
Warm.
Sharp.
It settled quickly.
Lakshmi Devi sat behind a desk, adjusting her sari as she rose. The movement was smooth, controlled, without wasted motion.
"No trouble."
She took her seat opposite them.
"But what could the Concord want with me?"
Halle stepped forward, placing tea before them.
Miss Alvie lifted her cup.
"My junior has been kidnapped."
The word didn't echo.
It settled.
Miss Devi didn't react.
"People get kidnapped regularly."
Her tone remained even.
"How is this any different?"
Miss Alvie set her cup down.
"I say it is your problem now."
A pause.
"Call your prime executor."
Her gaze didn't shift.
"Have someone retrieve Victoria."
Silence.
The room tightened.
"Else?"
Miss Alvie didn't smile.
Miss Devi watched her.
Measured.
Then exhaled faintly.
"I will see what can be done."
She reached for paper.
The surface rustled softly beneath her hand.
"Port area of Liǎnglíng?"
"Yes."
Halle returned, placing a letter beside her.
Miss Devi folded it once.
Clean.
"Would you like to stay the night?"
"Yes."
Miss Alvie tilted her head slightly.
"This one has to leave."
Mr. Kamon didn't argue.
Outside, the sky had darkened.
The moon stayed hidden behind clouds, its presence only suggested by a thinning of darkness overhead. The wind moved through the streets, slipping between structures, brushing against fabric and skin without lingering.
Mr. Kamon stood at the boarding ramp.
He looked back once.
Miss Alvie stood beside Halle.
Still.
Waiting.
"This might have been the right call," he muttered.
The city behind them continued.
Unaware.
Unmoved.
He stepped forward.
Boarded.
The engines roared.
And somewhere beneath it all—
something was already burning.