Chapter 7: Identity Secured

As the clock at Saint Selena's Church struck midnight, Hagrid reappeared at the "Wild Heart" tavern, carrying a thin sheet of paper. He handed it to Angel, who had just lost two full pounds at the "Cat vs. Rat" betting tables.

"This identity document should hold up against Tingen's police for now, but the central archives in Backlund don't have your file yet. It won't survive a thorough investigation. If you cause any trouble in Tingen and the police telegram Backlund to verify your identity, you'll be exposed immediately. I recommend lying low for about a week. Once the forged identity is officially filed, you'll be able to move about freely."

Angel nodded, indicating her understanding.

Under the dim lighting of the bar, she carefully inspected the identity document in her hands:

Name: Angel Granger

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: June 28, 1331

As planned, she shared the same surname, Granger. According to the false information she provided, she was a distant cousin of Cole and Lily Granger, hailing from the remote Siviras County. Her parents had died during a border conflict between the Loen Kingdom and Intis.

Angel had also prepared a credible reason for her arrival in Tingen. As a bereaved orphan, she brought her entire savings to seek refuge with her distant relatives in Tingen. Cole Granger welcomed her and allowed her to stay at his home on Narcissus Street.

Her decision to tie her new identity to the Granger family was well thought out.

Firstly, it granted her legitimate residence at Cole Granger's home. Properties on Narcissus Street were expensive—a single house cost nearly a thousand pounds, and even renting one would cost dozens of pounds annually. It made little sense to leave an available home and seek other accommodations, whether renting or buying.

Secondly, having a local connection made her identity more credible. Being a "distant relative" of a local resident was far more believable than being a stranger with no background.

Finally, as someone with close ties to Cole Granger, she would have the opportunity to expose his previous crimes, seeking justice for the deceased.

This would be her final act of redemption for him as his "successor."

After carefully storing the identity document, which had cost her forty pounds, Angel left the still-bustling Wild Heart bar.

The streets outside were no longer crowded. Though Tingen had no curfew, most residents of Iron Cross Lower Street were working-class people who could barely afford daily meals. For them, staying up late was a bad habit—especially in an era when nighttime lighting was so costly.

Angel tightened her hood and began retracing her steps. The street's gas lamps were already extinguished, and the surrounding houses were dark. Only the crimson moon illuminated the silent streets, its light dimmed further by passing clouds.

Even with no one around, Angel played the part of an ordinary person without supernatural abilities. Under the moonlight, she carefully navigated around puddles and piles of trash.

Before long, her sharp hearing detected someone following her.

She wasn't surprised.

When she paid Hagrid for the forged identity, she noticed several greedy eyes watching her from the shadows. This was why she avoided using large bills during previous shopping trips. Unfortunately, the forty pounds she spent on the document was enough to draw attention.

Besides, even if no one else targeted her, Hagrid—a known information dealer—might not let a valuable target slip away. While the "Hanged Man" had once saved Hagrid's life, his associates had no such loyalty.

The pursuer's unsteady footsteps and lack of subtlety suggested he was an ordinary person and likely drunk. Still, even an average thug with a firearm could pose a threat. Angel wasn't about to take unnecessary risks.

Using her enhanced vision, she maneuvered around obstacles and quickened her pace. Her plan was simple: reach the Iron Cross Street intersection, use its many routes to lose the follower, and avoid unnecessary confrontation.

The pursuer quickened his pace too, but the dim lighting tripped him up. Angel heard the clatter of kicked trash and splashes from puddles behind her.

Just then, the rhythmic clatter of hooves approached. Turning her head, Angel saw a four-wheeled carriage. Its oil lamps illuminated the crest on its side: two crossed swords beneath a crown—the emblem of the Loen Kingdom's police force.

The pursuer froze, then darted into the gap between two nearby buildings, trembling at the sight of the emblem.

Angel instinctively lowered her head to avoid attention, but then remembered that facial recognition technology didn't exist in this era. As long as she wasn't caught committing a crime, she had no reason to worry.

Acting suspiciously would only attract unwanted attention.

Straightening up, she stepped to the side, allowing the police carriage to pass while deftly avoiding the splash of muddy water from its wheels. She moved like any ordinary pedestrian encountering a speeding carriage.

The police carriage passed without stopping.

Through the window, Angel glimpsed two men sitting opposite each other. One wore a black coat and high hat, a police star glinting on his shoulder. He had light brown hair, gray eyes, and a stern expression. The other was younger, with black hair and brown eyes, dressed in a linen shirt, and appeared indifferent.

What is this, some official's spoiled son out for a late-night joyride? Angel thought sarcastically.

The carriage sped away, and its light faded, leaving the street shrouded in moonlight once more.

Behind her, footsteps resumed. The pursuer hadn't given up and was closing the distance again.

The pungent stench of cheap alcohol reached her as the footsteps stopped a meter behind her. Angel heard the rustle of clothing.

Realizing a confrontation was unavoidable, she turned sharply and assessed the situation with her night vision.

Her pursuer was a middle-aged man in coarse trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. His unkempt beard and matted hair suggested poverty and recent unemployment.

Seeing him reach into his pocket, Angel acted first. She stepped forward and kicked the side of his left knee. The drunk man, off-balance from too much alcohol, collapsed onto the filthy street.

He pulled a small, crude revolver from his pocket, but Angel grabbed the hammer before he could aim, twisting the weapon from his grip with a painful cry.

"My finger! My finger!" the man howled, clutching his dislocated joint.

"You're lucky it's just a dislocation. Find a doctor," Angel said coldly. The poorly maintained revolver, likely a discarded woman's gun, was in pitiful condition.

Pointing the gun at the man, she asked, "Where'd you get this?"

"I—I found it at the docks outside the city! It was just lying there! I swear, no one gave it to me!"

"Anyone put you up to this?"

"No! No! I just saw you flashing money and thought I'd score a quick payday. Please, don't kill me!"

Angel judged him to be a desperate drunk acting on impulse rather than a pawn sent by someone else.

"Lucky you—I'm not in the mood to kill anyone tonight. Get your act together." Taking the revolver, Angel backed away and disappeared into the shadows.

On her way home, she dismantled the revolver, discarding its parts in different drains and trash heaps.

When she finally arrived at Narcissus Street, Angel double-checked her surroundings before entering the house and locking the door.

For the first time, she felt like she'd truly secured a foothold in this world.

The forged identity was just the beginning. She had much to plan and even more to accomplish.

Changing into comfortable clothes, Angel settled in her study, dipped her pen in ink, and opened her notebook.

Another sleepless night awaited.