"As you already know, I almost caught them."
In that narrow room, the two men sat facing each other.Lloyd, wrapped in his coat, explained everything that had happened today.
"Clearly, someone doesn't want us to investigate this matter. They tried to destroy the evidence—kill everyone involved. I had at least three of them alive for interrogation, but each one was shot dead before I could get a word."
The one who did the killing was the gunman—always at the front, shooting down anyone who fell behind.
"Berrow, these aren't the usual street rats we've dealt with before. They have a rigid internal structure… not the kind of thing a profit-driven gang could maintain."
For once, Berrow looked troubled beneath the half-mask covering his face. He knew this world too well.
"People in the lower districts bend to whoever has power. They'll sell out their own kin if it means staying alive."He spoke slowly, realizing the gravity of what Lloyd was implying.
"But these men… they weren't afraid to die, were they? The lower districts don't breed that kind of courage."
He turned his gaze to Lloyd, expecting that familiar gleam of discovery in the detective's eyes.
"So—what did you find? I know you wouldn't return empty-handed."
Lloyd nodded slightly."The people down there knew in advance… or rather, it was part of their plan. If the mission failed, they'd retreat into the lower districts—and the local gangs were meant to cover their escape."
"Berrow, you know how territorial they are. Down there, territory means money. That means the gang could only be local. I need to know who controls that area."
"Sabo," Berrow answered at once. Being the lord of the lower districts, he didn't need to think long."Sabo, a Viking from the northern seas…"
He paused—because that name connected to another: Wahl.
"You think Sabo took the goods?"
"No. He's just a dog eating from your table—he'd never touch business at your level," Lloyd replied without hesitation."He's just a smokescreen. Someone paid him to make noise and cover their retreat. And if the price was right, I'm sure he didn't hesitate."
Berrow leaned his chin on his hand, amused now."So what will you do, Lloyd Holmers?"
"Simple. Find him. Put a gun to his head. Ask who paid him. If he doesn't answer, pull the trigger—again and again—until he does."
Lloyd's tone didn't change. Calm, almost gentle.But the quiet cruelty in those words was bone-chilling.
"You'll kill him that way."
"Berrow, I've sat in on classes at the Royal Medical College. I didn't understand half the theory, but I did learn which wounds aren't fatal."Lloyd picked up the revolver beside him, tracing its cold barrel over his own torso.
"You should audit a few courses yourself. 'Learn till old, live till old,' right? Knowing how to shoot without killing—it's a useful trick. Works well for staging your own death, too."
He was dead serious. Rare for a man who usually spoke with mockery in his voice.Berrow didn't know what to say. Lloyd was… strange. Deeply, endlessly strange.
For a long time, Berrow had people tail the detective out of curiosity. But the reports were always dull.When working, Lloyd was tireless, chasing clues and corpses alike.When idle, he'd ride steam trams to different universities, slipping into lectures like a student.
He once lingered for months at the Royal Academy of Arts, enough to make Berrow wonder if the detective planned to change careers and become an actor.
But no—he studied acting only to solve cases better.And his final exam? Infiltrating Berrow's own inner circle.
Lloyd Holmers was a genius.No sound, no suspicion.He simply strolled into Berrow's casino in a black-and-white tuxedo, tray in hand, serving drinks and dealing cards at a high-roller table.
Berrow would never have noticed—if Lloyd hadn'twantedhim to. It was all just a test of skill.But Berrow often wondered—what if he had been holding a knife instead of a tray?
No one knew how many talents Lloyd truly possessed, but one thing was certain:He had devoted all of them to being a detective.
Couldn't that brilliance have been used for something else?
"So you're going after Sabo alone?"Berrow's tone held no doubt—only concern. Lloyd was capable, yes, and his shotgun deadly, but even so, taking on a gang single-handedly seemed suicidal.
"Yes. I have my own methods. Besides, even if I didn't—you couldn't help me, could you? As you said yourself, the cargo belongs to a Duke. You can't afford to leave any trace."
Berrow nodded. He had survived this long by dancing between powerful interests.One Duke couldn't unseat him, but could certainly shake his rule. After all, the lower districts were nothing more than a trash heap—and compared to the true powers of the city, Berrow was still a small king in a cage.
"Take this, then. With it, you'll be my emissary."
He tossed over his revolver—the same one he so often used to threaten Lloyd."Sabo knows this gun. He'll understand what it means when he sees it."
The undercity was more tangled than anyone imagined.Berrow ruled it, yes—but his followers were mercenaries bound by profit.His fist was the law, and so he remained the arbiter of their greed.
Seeing that Lloyd had a clear plan, Berrow relaxed a little and rose to leave.
"Then good night, Mr. Holmers."
The door closed softly behind him. The uninvited guest was gone at last.
Lloyd turned to the window, wiping condensation from the glass.Outside, a black carriage melted into the night, disappearing into the mist.
Watching it fade, Lloyd drew the curtains tight, slipped into his nightclothes, and covered the black tattoos running across his skin——until nothing remained visible but the silence.
One man against an entire gang—truth be told, that was suicide. Lloyd had confidence he could infiltrate Sabo's inner circle, but not enough to believe he could escape once the mob turned rabid.Yet just as Beryl once said, Lloyd was a genius—the kind who never missed a single exploitable chance.
From the folds of his trench coat, he drew out something he'd kept hidden all along. Under the lamplight, the ruby on the necklace shimmered—its glow mesmerizing, almost unreal.
It was beyond luxury. A masterpiece of craftsmanship so flawless it seemed to hold living blood within, framed in silver filigree that caught the faintest trace of warmth. But its true significance lay in the words engraved on the back.
"Embers rekindle."
Lloyd murmured the phrase, and as the words slipped past his lips, the ruby seemed to pulse with life—soft heat blooming against his palm.
It was Eve's necklace. He had torn it from her in the chaos of her desperate sprint. She hadn't noticed, too caught up in survival to realize what she'd lost.
Embers rekindle.
The saying belonged to a noble house. Lloyd sifted through the archives of memory—everything he had learned in Old Dunlin—and soon, recognition dawned. His pulse quickened. He hadn't expectedthis.
"Woshar" wasn't Eve's true family name. It must have been her mother's—used to disguise who she really was. Otherwise, the moment her superiors saw her surname, they would've sent an entire troop of mounted police to guard her.
Eve Phoenix.
That was her real name—the bloodline of the exalted House of the Undying Bird.
Her true identity was a windfall he hadn't anticipated. At first, he'd taken the necklace simply to gain leverage, a tool to use when the time came. The girl was important to his next move, after all—he needed eyes inside the Suaran Hall, eyes that would answer only to him.
Lloyd had been racking his brain for a way to pry information out of Sabo, but now—now the pieces aligned.
The situation had shifted. A new plan was already crystallizing in his mind. In mere minutes, he had traced every step from infiltration to execution—had already, in thought, walked the bloodstained alleys of the lower city several times over. Each route led to the same outcome.Lloyd would get what he wanted.
Meanwhile, far away in the ducal estate, the girl had just stepped out of her bath. Draped in a robe, she stood motionless before the window.
Today had not been kind. Her first case—and her first reprimand. Officer Press had been furious over her reckless conduct, and on her very first day, she'd been handed a "mandatory leave."
Still, despite the sting of failure, the thrill of investigation lingered. Her once-dull life had gained a spark of heat. New work, new experiences, new people... She tried, as best she could, to frame her encounter with Lloyd asjust that—an encounter.
Her hand rose to her throat out of habit—but the familiar warmth was gone. The space felt naked, wrong.
Her expression shifted from confusion to alarm. Panic set in.Only then did she realize—her precious necklace was gone.
Where had she lost it?
She tried to retrace her thoughts, but they dissolved into white noise, vanishing like smoke.No matter how she searched her memory, there was nothing.