Old Dunlin, Inner City.
When people speak of the splendor of Old Dunlin, the first place that comes to mind is always the Inner City. It is where the city's wealth pools most densely. Unlike the "Royal District" at the very center—sealed behind high walls and guarded day and night—this is the last place that most nobles can still touch with their fingertips.
Electricity blankets the district. At night it blazes with light. You can see silhouettes moving behind the tall windows of its buildings—their shadows stretching long across the pavement, broken and shimmering as steam rises from the vents. Even at the very edges of the Inner City, the warm, intoxicating scent of alcohol drifts in the air.
The streets are filled with the latest automobiles. Their demands on road conditions are so strict that they can barely wander outside the district, yet the wealthy still throw unimaginable sums at these seemingly impractical machines—because they embody the cutting edge of technology, and therefore, identity.
Lloyd sat at the table on the balcony, looking down at the city's peaceful slumber.
It was an excellent vantage point—one from which the entire block could be observed. And though the hour was already late, darkness held no dominion here. Brilliant lamps drove the night out of every corner.
It was a hunter's perch. From here, any abnormal movement would be noticed at once. If Lloyd had a new-model sniper rifle from the Mechanics Institute in hand, he could easily kill anyone within his line of sight.
But of course, Lloyd was a detective, not some cold-blooded executioner—certainly not the kind of madman who found joy in slaughter.
The dishes were already laid out on the table. All that remained was to wait for his guest.
He glanced at his pocket watch.Ten minutes late.
It didn't bother him. It was only 11:20. There was still a long stretch of night ahead—a night in no particular hurry to end.
There were plenty of pedestrians on the street below. Midnight was approaching, yet everything felt as if a beautiful day had only just begun.
Lloyd was still lost in his thoughts when a figure took the seat across from him.
He blinked. For a moment, the etiquette lessons drilled into him whispered the appropriate reaction: offer a compliment.
"…You look nice. Very nice."
The girl before him was indeed dressed to dazzle—elegant yet never gaudy, like someone long accustomed to drifting through ballroom crowds. Lloyd knew she wasn't pretending. It was simply the air she had been raised in since birth.
A reminder that temperament is its own kind of sorcery. Lloyd could mimic anyone, replicate any mannerism—but he had never managed to grasp that elusive essence.
"You called me out here just to eat?"Eve studied him. Lloyd was always like this—mysterious, appearing and disappearing at whim, leaving behind only a letter announcing his plans.
"Of course. One needs a full stomach before getting any real work done."
He picked up his utensils and began devouring the meal with the manners of a starving wolf. It was almost unbearable to watch.
Eve sighed softly.A man like Lloyd never did anything meaningless. He wanted something—he simply wasn't saying it yet.
"Did you prepare everything I asked for?"
He spoke with his mouth full—horribly so. Whatever he had learned in etiquette class had long since been discarded.
This was the Inner City, and this meal alone would swallow most of his monthly pay. He had no intention of holding back.
Eve leaned back slightly; she had no desire to stain her dress with splattered grease.
"I prepared everything… Now will you tell me what this is about?"
Lloyd's letter had been full of bizarre requests: formal attire, yet casual wear hidden beneath the dress; weapons and money to be carried discreetly.
She had struggled mightily to hide a fitted layer beneath her long gown, and the garter at her thigh was now heavy with weapons. She dared not walk quickly for fear of metal knocking against metal.
She suddenly thought of the assassin-queen from old tales—the alluring woman who hid razor-thin steel slats in her flowing skirts. When she embraced a man, she would draw those blades and paint the world crimson.Tonight, the only difference between Eve and that infamous killer was that instead of steel, she carried a Böning Model 91 pistol.
Lloyd wiped his mouth with a napkin. A full meal—what a rare satisfaction. Who knew when the next one like this would come?
"For your career and mine, Inspector."
He raised his glass and downed the wine in one swift motion.
Only then did Eve notice what he wore beneath the black-gray trench coat—crisp white garments, and beside him, a black formal hat as if he were preparing for some grand banquet.
"You need a successful case to keep yourself from being dismissed. And I need one to keep my employer from killing me."
Lloyd set the hat on his head, picked up his cane, and produced a false mustache from… somewhere. He pressed it neatly onto his upper lip.
"You brought money, yes?"
Eve nodded and lifted her handbag.
"Good."He stood, satisfied.
"I invited you tonight because I need you to accompany me to a ball. Going alone would draw too much attention—I need a partner."
"And how does that help our careers?"
"Because the ball is hosted by Sabo."
Lloyd extended his hand with a surprising elegance, helping Eve to her feet. She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder; the two moved together with a practiced grace.
"And who is he?"
"A gang boss. A Viking. He runs a group called the Green Sharks—handling cleanup for smuggled goods from the port of Reindona."
Leading the beautiful lady at his side, Lloyd couldn't help but feel—without trying—that they had become the center of the balcony's attention.This inspector, once dressed properly, was… startling.
"The thugs who ambushed us last time were his. We'll get something out of him."
"Something? Like what?"
"Information. Who he's really working for. The truth behind Worr's death. The answers will be there. And if we're lucky, we might even drag him straight into Suaran Hall."
His cane tapped lightly on the ground. Kidnapping was hardly a challenge for a great detective.
"Believe me, Inspector—he's far more valuable than the case you're pursuing. Enough to make you a rising star in the police force."
"Kidnapping is a crime. And without evidence, how do we judge him?"
Eve clung to the law in her heart. Compared to Lloyd—this principle-less madman—she was impossibly pure.
"Sabo is from the Lower District. Legally, he isn't even a citizen of Inlveig. You could kill him and no one would care.
"Suaran Hall has been wanting a foothold in the Lower District for years. They tolerate that trash heap only so long as it stays under their control. The only reason Sabo is still alive is because they haven't found the right opportunity."
Lloyd flashed a grin that was just a shade too roguish to be decent. As he spoke, he reached casually for Eve's handbag, rummaging through it until a few lion-stamped coins clinked into his palm—the official tender of Ingwelvig, minted under the decree of Queen Victoria herself.
He kept talking as if nothing were amiss, passed the coins to the waiter with a polite smile, then tugged Eve along as they stepped out of the place.
Eve stared, utterly dumbfounded, watching him go through her bag and take her money as though it were the most natural thing in the world. It took her several heartbeats before she managed to speak.
"What do you call that?"
"You're treating me. What's wrong with that?" Lloyd didn't show the slightest hint of shame.
"Stop looking at me like that. It's not much money. You're the little princess of the Phoenix family—don't make that face like I just swindled you out of a fortune, alright?"
He went on and on, relentless.
"According to the municipal income reports, I'm practically in the low-income bracket."
He wasn't lying. Lloyd had started out wanting to run a respectable detective agency. Unfortunately, he himself wasn't particularly respectable. Once, a noblewoman hired him to catch her husband's mistress. In the ensuing chase after a fleeing carriage, Lloyd fired a shot and blew out a wheel. The poor husband, clutching his mistress, rolled across the ground three full turns before they stopped.
The mistress ended up in the hospital with a fracture. The noblewoman, upon hearing this, paid her a visit—and gave her another one. As for the husband, he became convinced that Lloyd had been sent to assassinate him on the lady's orders. It turned out she still had lingering affection and decided to spare him. He wept, repented, and reformed his ways.
A happy ending for everyone—except Lloyd. His recklessly violent approach drove away nearly all his future clients. In the end, only Burlow would occasionally toss a case his way so he wouldn't starve.
Money was tight, painfully tight. Lloyd desperately needed cash to pay this month's rent. Otherwise, Madam Vanroot would put a bullet in him without hesitation.
"You know," he sighed, "I'm so broke I can't even afford bullets. Interested in sponsoring me a little?"
Listening to Lloyd ramble on and on, Eve felt as though she'd discovered yet another new facet of this damned detective.
"You're such a bastard."
"Thank you for the compliment."