19.
*Swoosh.*
The first thing to greet Anita was the sound of the wind rushing through the thicket. Inside the main gate, weeds grew waist-high, swaying rhythmically in the gusts blowing from the plains.
‘Ah, right. This was the kind of place it was.’
She remembered the atmosphere being far brighter when she was a child. Against the backdrop of the piercing blue sky, the Boellony villa held a bleakness that felt jarringly at odds with the weather.
A shiver of unease washed over her. Anita called out toward the overgrown, jungle-like garden.
“Father! Are you inside? It’s me, Anita!”
The area remained silent.
“Father!”
She strained her senses, desperate for his reply, but the mansion was as quiet as a grave.
*Creeeak.*
The noise of old hinges nearby made her jump.
“My lady. The door is unlocked.”
Just as the attendant had said, the villa’s gate was not secured.
‘Someone has been here.’
Could it be that her father really was inside? Anita stepped into the mansion, her muscles coiled in defense.
“…Father?”
Fortunately, the villa was not entirely empty.
Sparse pieces of furniture filled the rooms. Paintings hung on the walls, and a pot devoid of flowers sat neatly on a chest of drawers. Everything, however, was blanketed in a thick layer of dust.
“I’ve been meaning to ask since earlier. Did you come all the way here to see your father?”
“That is the plan.”
“In that case, my lady, please check the upstairs. I will look around the ground floor.”
“Thank you.”
Perhaps he had been exhausted by life and had fallen into a deep, secluded sleep. However, after searching every room on the second floor, she could find no trace of him.
‘Haa. Is he not here?’
If so, why had Duke Edenbahir given her the address? Even more suspiciously, why had he kept it a secret from Lancelot?
Returning to the bedroom she had used in her childhood, she sank into a chair with a heavy sigh. As Anita shifted the creaky furniture back and forth, she recalled a detail she had long forgotten.
“…Ah, right.”
She had carved out a secret compartment under this very chair.
A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her. She pushed the chair and carpet aside and pried up the floorboards. Beneath them, a small pink pouch lay in wait.
“To think I actually remembered.”
Inside were the treasures of young Anita: white seashells, a handkerchief with a princess drawn on it, and a candy so aged she wondered if it had rotted into nothingness.
‘…Huh?’
There was an object underneath the pouch that hadn’t been there before.
‘A paper envelope?’
Had she put this there herself? Moreover, the envelope was far too pristine to be an old relic.
That was when the sound of footsteps from the floor below began to draw nearer.
Why?
As if concealing a grave secret that must never be unearthed, Anita shoved the envelope into her bag, then quickly replaced the floorboard and carpet.
*Creeeak.*
The door opened and the attendant entered. Anita stood awkwardly, struggling to calm her heart, which was pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Did you find something?”
*Something.*
The casual phrasing struck her. He had specifically said “something,” not “father.” It sounded as if he had come here for that very object.
Anita lied with a nonchalant face.
“…It’s been so long since I’ve been here. I can’t even remember where things are.”
“I see. In any case, it doesn’t look like a place where anyone lives.”
“My father might have left something behind. I need to look a little longer.”
“As you wish.”
Just before he left the room, the attendant’s gaze flickered to the bag Anita had set down beside the dusty bed.
“Ah, allow me to hold onto your bag for you.”
It was the bag containing the revolver.
“No, that’s quite alright. It’s not heavy at all.”
The attendant, unable to tear his gaze away from the bag, lingered for a moment before heading back down to the first floor.
Anita stared at the hallway, holding her breath until the footsteps finally faded into silence.
Coincidence.
[A few days ago, some madman burned all the carriages in this district, so it’ll be hard to find one.]
[My grandmother used to live around here. It’s been a while since I’ve visited, too.]
[Did you find something?]
[Allow me to hold onto your bag for you.]
Coincidence upon coincidence upon coincidence.
The collective sum of those events was screaming a warning. It was dangerous.
‘I have to run.’
But how? Hadn’t the carriages been burned?
‘Let’s just get out of the mansion first.’
Gathering her bag, Anita armed herself with a mask of indifference. She would pretend to look outside for a moment, then find the farmer she had seen earlier for help.
But that plan hit a wall the moment she reached the exit.
The door. *Click.*
The window. *Click, click.*
Every exit had been locked. Looking through the glass, she saw that every window and door had been secured with a padlock from the outside.
‘He couldn’t have installed these in such a short time. They were locked before I even arrived.’
What followed was even worse.
‘…Fire?’
Black smoke was creeping up from the kitchen. It wasn’t just the kitchen—smoke was billowing from the parlor as well.
For the first time in her life, Anita spat out a harsh curse.
“Son of a bitch!”
She ran to the back of the house and pounded on the door with all her might.
*Bang, bang!*
“Is anyone out there? Someone is trapped inside!”
*Bang, bang, bang!*
“Help me! There’s someone inside!”
The fire was spreading with terrifying speed through the dry, wooden structure. The likelihood of being roasted alive before anyone noticed the blaze was rising with every passing second.
She retreated to the second-floor bedroom and opened the window. It was unlocked, but the drop was steep.
‘Alright, Anita. Stay calm. Don’t panic… Breaking a leg is better than burning to death.’
One small mercy: the weeds surrounding the mansion had grown wild and dense.
Anita gathered the faded curtains and bedding, tied them into a makeshift rope, and tossed them onto the undergrowth. If she landed on that, she might survive. Hypnotizing herself, she clutched her bag to her chest.
‘Focus. Just hit the pile.’
Dragging this out would only make it harder. Three deep breaths. One, two, three!
‘…J-just one more time.’
One, two, three!
Anita threw her body onto the heap of fabric.
“Argh!”
Her head spun, her hips felt as though they had shattered, and her body was a map of white-hot pain. But she had no time to process the shock.
Right as she fell, she locked eyes with the attendant standing in the garden.
With movements faster than she had ever possessed, Anita ripped the revolver from her bag. She aimed it directly at the head of the attendant, who was lunging toward her.
“Don’t move.”
*Thump, thump.* The sound of her heart threatened to deafen her, but her mind turned ice-cold. Her vision sharpened into crystal clarity.
“Who are you?”
The trembling in her hands began to subside as her breathing stabilized.
“What are you looking for in this villa?”
The attendant halted, a sneer twisting his face.
“What do you want from me? Do you wish to become a murderer?”
He looked like a different man now, his cold, heartless eyes devoid of the servant’s guise. A mocking, secretive voice drifted to her.
“If you kill me, you will become a murderer. Do you truly wish to bring shame upon the Edenbahir family? Upon Lancelot, who took pity on you and gave you a home…?”
Suddenly, the attendant’s eyes widened in shock, his words cut short.
A familiar scent enveloped Anita’s back.
Large, white hands reached out from over her tensed shoulders. The warmth settled naturally over Anita’s fingers, steadying her grip on the trigger as a low voice whispered against her ear.
“Let go, Anita Boellony.”
Despite the arrogant command, Anita’s fingers remained locked on the trigger. She turned her head, her gaze meeting Lancelot’s.
“Anita. Your hand.”
How was he here? How could he have arrived so quickly?
Before the question could escape her lips, Lancelot’s fingers snatched control of the weapon.
His hand pulled.
*Bang!*
She thought she heard a scream.
She tried to look forward, but Lancelot’s other hand held her head firmly in place, forcing her to focus only on him. He watched her with an unperturbed, singular expression.
“You are only to look at me.”
Following that, a second gunshot rang out.