A Secretive Night

For safety reasons, Jorgen had initially planned to secure the entire Blood Crow Inn, but due to Dalia's insistence, they only rented half of the three floors. Four rooms were left unoccupied, and several guards were stationed to seal off the fire escape staircase and monitor the main exit. Once all these arrangements were made, he knocked on Dalia's door.

A maid answered, "One moment," and when she let him in three minutes later, Dalia had changed into another dress. She stood by the window, fingers resting on the table before it, just inches away from a birdcage containing a white dove. The night breeze flowed in through the partially opened window, ruffling her sleeve edges and the feathers on the dove's neck.

"You may leave us for a moment. Mr. Jorgen and I have matters to discuss," Dalia instructed as the maid turned towards the door. As an added remark, she said, "You can rest in your rooms," before settling into her seat.

The room remained unchanged, devoid of any added or replaced furnishings. All Dalia had were the birdcage, two books, and clothes stored in a cabinet. Apart from that, it was a rather ordinary standard inn room.

Jorgen remembered when he had checked their belongings before departure and found only one trunk belonging to Dalia. He had even thought the servants had made a mistake. Even her personal tea set was left behind.

"Please, have a seat, Jorgen," she said. "Although I can't personally brew tea for you right now."

Jorgen leaned forward to glance out the window before taking a seat across from Dalia. The view faced the main road in front of the inn, lined with residential buildings. There were hardly any pedestrians as the residents were accustomed to returning home and staying indoors at night to prevent possible attacks from nocturnal creatures that might breach the guard lines. However, Jorgen could make out the silhouette of patrolling Night Watchmen, some carrying swords while others held specially crafted lanterns. To avoid disturbing the residents' rest, these lanterns emitted dim light, yet it was enough for trained Night Watchmen to spot suspicious signs. It was said that it was none other than Gondore Everlock who had invented these devices during his early years of solitary wilderness living.

"You seem somewhat weary," Jorgen remarked.

"The Everlocks don't have a favorable impression of me, do they?" Dalia asked.

"You? No, it's not about you personally. It's more about them being wary of the name we carry, the banner of the MI7. Such reactions aren't uncommon. I face resistance when I'm on a mission as well, but they do it out of fear. It's a sign that we have the upper hand."

"But I do want them to accept me as an individual. I don't think I'm something to be feared."

"Why bother? You're not here to make friends or fundraise. You're here on a mission, Dalia. Your response to Joseph at the dinner table was perfect; why now..."

She cut him off. "I know what 'being on a mission' entails. Doing it well doesn't mean it's something I want to do. You understand this better than I do."

Jorgen wasn't keen on revisiting Dalia's past. "Let's not talk about this. You should rest, Dalia. The long carriage ride can be quite draining. I'll return to my room." He pressed his palms on the table and stood up.

"Wait. What happened today doesn't really count as setbacks, and I've encountered even more adverse reactions... It's just... listen to me, Jorgen."

Jorgen looked at her and sat back down. "I'm listening. Go ahead."

"Do you know why I emphasized that I'm 'Dalia Shawl'? Because I understand that without that surname, it would be challenging for me to hold a successful fundraiser. Just as you said, we carry the title of the MI7, and we have the upper hand. They're afraid... I often wonder, could there be people donating out of fear of me? As if I'm actually conducting some form of extortion? Also, when attending certain gatherings, I often overhear people whispering 'that woman from the Shawl family.' Are they concerned that not inviting me would be seen as a lack of respect for the MI7? Sometimes, I doubt whether I've achieved anything solely through my own efforts."

"You know it's through your own efforts, Dalia. The Shawl surname does hold some influence, but compared to your personal dedication, it's secondary." Although aware that Dalia was magnifying negative thoughts about herself under emotional stress, Jorgen still aimed to reassure her. "I've seen your fundraisers and other public events; I know exactly what they're like. There are so many children, waving at you, asking their fathers to lift them on their shoulders just so they can catch a glimpse of you. They have no idea what 'Shawl' means. Honestly, the Parliament's decision to have you face the Night Watchmen's scrutiny is a selfish move. So, you can also be a bit selfish, don't overthink this mission too much. Once the award ceremony is done, we'll head back. It's that simple. Those siblings have a misguided understanding of you; let them be."

"This doesn't sound like something you'd usually say."

"Is that so? Maybe it's because we haven't seen each other in years, or maybe it's not. All I know is that when I'm interrogating someone, I never consider what they might think of me. Nobody can work at the MI7 burdened with such concerns, just like on the battlefield, you can't carry the weight of the enemy's thoughts. And... Dalia." Jorgen involuntarily intensified his tone. "It's not just you who both relies on and wants to break free from the Shawl surname. Many people are like you. Honestly, you've gained a certain level of independence now, and you have opportunities to break away, like Lord Remington's proposal."

Dalia's brow furrowed. "... You know?"

"Yes, I know. He's given you a month to consider, which means not long after we return from Darkshire, you'll need to give him an answer."

"How did you..."

"He told me himself. He knows we've known each other for a long time, so he wanted me to persuade you. Quite amusing, isn't it? Having a member of the MI7 try to play matchmaker."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Well, you see, I've told you as soon as we arrived in Darkshire."

"It's entirely his unilateral desire. I've only met him a few times at tea parties, and we hardly even had a one-on-one conversation."

"That's the norm for aristocratic marriages. His family is wealthy, his position in the Parliament is stable, his wife passed away from a brain illness ten years ago, and he's remained unmarried since then. His private life is orderly, without any unfavorable rumors. Both logically and emotionally, someone like him needs a respectable wife. When he mentioned it to me, he seemed quite sincere. As soon as the engagement is settled, he's willing to immediately invest a third of his wealth into your charity organization. He must have mentioned these terms to you, hasn't he?"

"Don't tell me you're planning to convince me on his behalf."

"No... I'm just intending to bring up some things he didn't tell you about himself."

"What?"

"He's already sought Panthonia's opinion privately, otherwise he wouldn't have the courage to propose to you. According to him, the old man's reaction was... no reaction at all, just a sentence 'This is your young people's business, Count.'"

"Impossible." Dalia's body involuntarily leaned backward.

"At least that's what he told me. He couldn't possibly act behind Panthonia's back and then deceive a direct agent. There aren't many people in this country with that kind of audacity. I mentioned your increased independence earlier for this reason. Honestly, that old man... has changed somewhat."

"Jorgen, what's gotten into you? You're actually speaking up for him? Have you forgotten what he's done to us?"

"Don't misunderstand, Dalia. I'm not saying he's suddenly become kind-hearted. He's still a person who pushes everything to the extreme. It's precisely because of that he wants to better utilize his remaining time. He's close to death. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I wouldn't be surprised to hear of his death anytime. He can't leave his wheelchair, and besides the undertaker, there's a doctor always by his side. Three years, Dalia, three years. That's the most optimistic prediction from the doctors, assuming he only works one hour a day. At a time like this, I think he no longer cares about whom you'll marry. Honestly, apart from the surname, your connection to the MI7 is no stronger than that of an active agent's—assuming he hasn't secretly manipulated something behind my back. You have a chance to break free. I'm not advocating for Lord Remington, but I won't urge you to reject him either because as a friend, I can only say that accepting his proposal is indeed a choice worth considering."

"But... I don't love him."

"See, you know what I said is reasonable, so you wouldn't say that. All objective conditions are reasonable; what's left is the matter of emotions. Therefore, what I just said was analysis, not advice. These analyses don't take your emotional issues into account, and I've never interfered with your personal feelings..."

"How do you know you haven't interfered with my personal feelings? You're... the only person who knows me."

She looked into Jorgen's eyes.

I thought so too. But that doesn't solve the problem, Dalia. Jorgen stood up and moved the chair behind him. "That's all I wanted to say. In any case, I know these days have been tough for you. If there's anything I can do to help..."

"Anything?" she said. "What if I asked you to kiss me?"

Jorgen reached out and moved the birdcage a little, closing the window. "It's getting late, get some rest. I'll go fetch the maid," he said, noticing Dalia turn her head away. In a voice almost too faint to hear, she said, "No need. Don't wake them up." As Jorgen left the room, she added, "You're wrong about something. At least until Mardias returns, the old man won't die. But... I'm starting to fear the day he comes back. Why is that?"

Jorgen exited the room, closed the door, and without calling the maids, had the two guards inspect all the other rooms on that floor before returning to his own. Seated on the edge of his bed, he knew he had anticipated that the conversation would end in an unpleasant manner, but he didn't stop the situation from unfolding, much like seeing a rubber band about to snap but still extending it further.

She had just been too emotionally charged to mean what she said. Although Jorgen persuaded himself like this, he knew it wasn't that simple. For different reasons, both of them led lonely lives, but Jorgen couldn't expect Dalia to bury these emotions completely beneath the weight of mundane tasks as he did. She was trying her best, coming close to succeeding, but right at this moment, the only person who could connect her to her past emotions appeared beside her. Having spent so many years in the MI7, Jorgen understood all too well how someone would react in such a situation. Of course, she might have simply been provoked by his words and retaliated in this way.

If Jorgen said he felt no attraction to her, that would be a massive lie, but he tried not to analyze himself on this issue. He thought that once their interaction extended a bit beyond the scope of friendship, it would lead to far too much trouble. A series of troubles he couldn't even list. He did trust her wholeheartedly now, but if they took one unnecessary step further, it would touch upon Dalia's sensitive past: she had killed for the sake of love.

The most crucial step in maintaining trust was, paradoxically, creating distance. Jorgen didn't find this ironic; based on an agent's experience, he thought to himself, it was a natural reaction.

He intended to sleep. But after closing his eyes, he began to recall Dalia's gaze as she had looked directly into his eyes earlier. That gaze, an undeniable gaze—essentially not that of a loner, but of a seeker—like the sunlight over the waves at sunset, spreading onto the shore with the motion of the waves.

In the middle of the night, a shattering sound from Dalia's room woke Jorgen up. Immediately, he realized the sound came from the direction of Dalia's room.