6-MI7

Five months had passed. Bossia returned to Gadgetzan with the water caravan, preparing to leave Tanaris. Beforehand, she split her earnings in half, instructing the accountant to give one portion to Caliph—though, in truth, she had earned nearly twice as much as he had. Either way, she had secured enough travel funds for a long journey ahead, while Khalif could still keep some money, even if he had to pay to retrieve the key from storage. She thought this arrangement was fair. She didn't say goodbye.

To ensure Shakes wouldn't exploit Khalif again, Bossia planned to meet with him one last time to formally resign—she didn't want to give him any excuse to say she "stole well documentation and ran off."

At the door to Shakes's office, just as she raised her hand to knock, she overheard a conversation:

"We're acting under Lord Jorgen's orders," a man said. "If you know who he is, you'll understand that it's best not to play games."

"Don't make this difficult for yourself," came another man's voice.

"There must be some misunderstanding, gentlemen," Shakes's voice responded.

"According to a report, the woman you illegally detained and tortured may be the one we're after. If that's the case, you're in deep trouble, Shakes. You'd better…"

Bossia didn't wait to hear more. She walked swiftly out of the building, doing her best to keep her footsteps light. She glanced around the street, unsure which direction to take, only knowing she had to get away quickly. Pulling her hood over her face, she weaved through the bustling crowd.

She couldn't immediately explain to herself why she was running. She'd understood clearly that Jorgen's men were looking for her. But it was all so sudden that the reason for their search wasn't the main concern. It would be a lie to say she didn't want to see Jorgen at all, but the problem was that MI7 had arrived, not Jorgen himself. Whatever had happened between them three years ago, MI7 was a force impossible to get close to. The Jorgen she'd known didn't embody the typical MI7 persona, but that threatening conversation she'd just overheard was a truer reflection of MI7. And, after all, Jorgen might have changed. Just as she herself had.

If Bossia had come face-to-face with Jorgen in that moment, she might not have run, though she wouldn't have rushed toward him, either. But facing MI7? That was another matter. The two men's words had conveyed confidence in their authority, contempt for the accused, and the blatant threat of violence. She couldn't simply allow that kind of image to touch her.

Bossia wandered through the marketplace for a while, then turned down a deserted street. After about two hours, the tense nerves in her temples eased.

Was I overreacting?

After all, she understood that her disappearance from the army three years ago couldn't have been a secret. Given her past, it was understandable that MI7 would be looking for her. Whatever their purpose, MI7 would only operate in their usual way. In any case, she wouldn't want them treating Shakes with respect—that scoundrel deserved some comeuppance. Perhaps her unease stemmed from her current identity—a wandering adventurer who occasionally engaged in illegal activities. In this lifestyle, avoiding MI7 had become instinctive, like a twig floating along a stream, veering away from rocks.

With that thought, Bossia felt a little more at ease. But she still couldn't imagine going back, approaching those men, and saying, "I am Bossia Wislanzo. Take me in." Besides, they'd probably left Shakes's office by now. She decided to rest and clear her mind. To save on travel expenses, she'd go to the gnome doctor's clinic.

Unexpectedly, the clinic door was closed. She knocked for a while, and just as she was about to leave, the door cracked open. It wasn't Zirabi Copperbolt who appeared, but her nurse. She looked at Bossia with an expression full of distrust.

"Is Zirabi here?" Bossia asked.

"Leave." The nurse pushed Bossia in the stomach, stepped forward, and pushed her again. "Get out. Don't ever come back."

"…What happened?"

"This morning, some people barged in, saying the doctor was hiding someone, insisting she confess. I heard them mention it was a woman with red-gold hair. The doctor didn't say anything, so they started rummaging through everything, saying they were 'searching for evidence.' They only left about ten minutes ago, and the doctor got so upset that she fell ill. I'm looking after her now. They were looking for you, right? I won't turn you in, Sharll, because I don't want to upset the doctor. But if you come near this clinic again, I'll shoot you. I really have a gun."

Bossia's thoughts grew muddled again. What troubled her most was the nurse's phrase, "only left about ten minutes ago," which suggested someone was likely still watching nearby. She wanted to stay calm, but it was difficult; perhaps someone had not only seen the earlier exchange but was observing her expressions even now.

What should I do?