Chapter 11

The sky, which had been clear and bright, suddenly turned capricious, unleashing thunder and rain.

“April, as expected.”

Commander Davenport turned his gaze from the window back to his desk. This was his first day back after the Easter break, and the desk was already piled with troublesome matters.

Just as he was flipping through the audit-related materials to submit to the Parliament, a commotion broke out outside the office.

“Please wait just a moment, Major! That won’t work…”

Major?

Before he could even consider leaving his seat, the door of the command office flew open. The man who burst in without warning, without even a knock or a promise, was none other than Major Leon Winston. Everyone knew he was the most courteous man in the room, yet his arrogance had allowed him to ignore every rule with such ease.

“Major, what is the meaning of this?”

From the way Winston’s left hand dragged the struggling officer into the room like a dog, it was clear what had happened. The officer had no doubt expected a sharp rebuke, but Winston’s icy gaze only sharpened his mockery.

“I hunted down your lost hound myself. No, pardon me—your spy.”

His voice was far too polished, yet the danger beneath it was unmistakable.

“This man claims to be the Commander’s hound, but the secretary was kind enough to spare you the time by confirming it for you.”

Davenport’s eyes flicked to the fleeing secretary. He had always grown flustered whenever Winston was summoned or an appointment was arranged, and now he realized the fool had fallen prey to the madman’s charm.

“You should have been even more thorough in your training. Leave traces, create witnesses. There were far too many careless corners, weren’t there?”

The lieutenant, standing awkwardly between them, was the man who had been sent to gather information on the missing child.

Reports of disappearances had only ever reached Campbell and the duty soldier he had personally designated. Everyone was tight-lipped.

So when Davenport had ordered Campbell to dig through his desk, the careless fool had been caught red-handed.

“I-I’m sorry, Commander.”

The lieutenant bowed his head, voice trembling.

“Leave.”

At the commanding tone, the man fled. Davenport’s words had lodged in his throat; he could only watch the officer scramble away like a beast he dared not confront.

“I should have known better than to pick him.”

While he sighed, Winston slammed the door so hard the glass rattled and strode forward. Davenport stared at the man who dared challenge his authority with nothing but contempt.

If it had been any other officer, a reprimand alone would have shattered him. But against Winston, such a thing was impossible—Davenport had long since learned that no one in his command dared speak to the Major without trembling.

“What is this?”

The paper Winston had placed mockingly in the middle of the documents was a torn newspaper clipping. When Davenport read it, he realized he had asked the wrong question.

It was an advertisement for the adoption of a child expected to be born between May and June. The cryptic message hidden in the meaningless numbers read, “The only blood you can trust to hide you from that man is your own.”

It was coded with the rebel cipher the child had once been fed.

“You don’t know which of Grace Riddle’s bloodlines is the traitor, yet you allow her to turn herself in?”

There was no room for excuses, no need for explanations. Davenport simply stared at the cold, calculating man who had hunted down every newspaper until he found the ad.

“Do you even understand how dangerous this is? How many rebels outside the group even know there is a traitor among them? Using their cipher to place an advertisement—thanks to your short-sightedness, more people are now hunting that woman’s life.”

Winston’s words were a knife pressed to Davenport’s throat. The Commander had no answer. The obsession was growing sharper every day.

“I was wrong to think you would spare her.”

Winston’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.

“You intended to kill her, didn’t you? A truly brilliant strategy.”

“Major, that’s not—”

“Why would I kill my own daughter?”

Even when he forced the word out, the madness in Winston’s eyes refused to dim.

“Your mistake ends here. You have just advertised to the world that we know the rebel cipher.”

“I don’t know where that ad came from—”

“Even if you don’t know, anyone who uses the enemy’s cipher has revealed it. Now the street rats won’t use it anymore. You have wiped out the rebels’ core tactic in one stroke. At this point, Commander, you look more like their spy than I do.”

Davenport’s temper flared, but he knew he could not deny it.

“You’re right. I was too careless.”

He raised both hands in surrender.

“Fine. I won’t touch you either.”

Winston’s forehead creased. The man who had spent the last four months in a frenzy of possession suddenly offered something he had never asked for.

“Release the child.”

The child could never endure Winston. At worst, both would die. Even if she survived, the two of them together would only bring disaster. Davenport’s instinct screamed that separation was the only mercy left.

Winston’s eyes burned with fury.

“Your hand means nothing to Grace. The one who must let go is you.”

“Major, I have told you before—do not lose everything you have for the sake of one thing you have lost.”

Damn it.

Leon’s fists clenched until his nails drew blood.

One loss had once been everything.

But now it was only one?

He drew a slow breath, choking down the rage that threatened to swallow him whole.

“You are mistaken. The only one who will lose everything is you, thanks to your daughter.”

“I have never intended to kill her, whether she knows my secret or not.”

“Killing her or taking her, it changes nothing for me.”

Davenport exhaled wearily. Winston’s obsession with Grace had only grown darker with each passing month. In four months he had become unrecognizable.

Others envied the man who had been promoted for his ruthlessness, but no one knew how much it cost him to smile in public.

When he wiped the bitterness from his face, a photograph lay on the desk.

“This is…”

It was a passport photo. The false identity card used by Angela Riddle when she infiltrated the Royal Guard. The name on it was Nora Watson.

“Not the same as we agreed.”

Davenport’s voice was shaking with rage. He had agreed to hand over all evidence of the regicide plot only if Winston took command of the purge. Winston had broken that promise.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The man who had been snarling moments ago suddenly changed his tune, voice honeyed. Davenport’s trust was already cracked.

“The only item of Angela Riddle’s you asked for is not here.”

“Then how can I trust you? The trust between us has already been shattered.”

“When you planted a spy under me, was the relationship between us solid? You know it began in coercion, not trust.”

Winston looked down at him with pity and pushed him further into the corner.

“I also have Angela Riddle’s diary. You don’t need to be told what’s inside.”

Davenport had already taken every blow the fight could offer and was reeling, but the madman showed no signs of stopping.

“There is a safe in the Winston estate. The inscription reads, ‘If I am killed, expose what is inside.’ Remember that.”

“Both of us put it there?”

Davenport’s mind went blank.

“Of course, if Grace is killed, it will be exposed as well.”

“Fine. I am completely out of this. You may run off the cliff like a rabid lemming—whatever you like!”

Even if the cliff was right below them, Grace would be safe there.

Before Leon could finish speaking, he turned and walked out.

“That’s why I warned you. That damned woman…”

When he returned to the First Special Task Force headquarters and collapsed into his chair, nothing could be done. He stared at the same paragraph of documents until his eyes burned, then stood up.

“Major.”

Campbell knocked on the office door.

“Enter.”

In Campbell’s hand was a single memo. The moment Leon saw it, he sat back down.

“We received word from Wakefield.”

The private detective he had hired to track Grace had found something.

[Mid-early March. Long-term stay alone. Fraser Hotel. Black hair. No visitors. Appeared healthy. Pregnant. Check-out was voluntary. Destination unknown. No hotel records in Wakefield for later days.]

It was not the final clue, but it loosened the knot in Leon’s stomach.

At least he knew she was alive.

Tracking had narrowed to the Wakefield region because of a gold ingot. In early March, Jonathan Riddle Jr. had identified a serial number on the gold market. Leon had issued a bounty on any ingot with a similar number.

A week later, his hunch was confirmed. At a bank in Wakefield, a pregnant woman wearing sunglasses had sold two one-troy-ounce gold ingots on March 7th.

Although the report had taken time, filling the months-long gap in their records was enough to satisfy him.

She had sold two ingots. Leon’s theory was that the money was for rent or medical expenses. Either way, Grace planned to give birth in Wakefield.

“Keep hospitals and midwives under surveillance.”

“Yes, already done.”

“Good. You may go.”

As soon as the bank report arrived, Leon had issued b&y; for any hospital or midwife in the Wakefield area and beyond. To be safe, he had also distributed wanted posters nationwide.

A mother with turquoise eyes who never removes her sunglasses. A mother who came alone.

Any one of those traits was rare enough that the staff would remember her.

No matter how he thought about it, the choice she had made—having the child—was brilliant. She was walking straight into his trap, and the only question left was the due date.

Only four weeks remained until the child was born.

Soon he would hold both Grace and the child in his arms.

The rain suddenly stopped. The clouds parted. Through the window, sunlight poured in, and Leon smiled.

April had been as capricious as his own soul—up and down between hell and heaven.

The sound of crying never stopped. The child had begun disrupting her mother’s sleep before she was even born, and that habit had been carried into the world with her. No matter how you looked at it, she was the son of the man Leon Winston.

“That damn bastard…”

“Shh, the baby is listening.”

A familiar voice mixed with the baby’s cries.

“It is not good parenting to insult the father in front of the child.”

Grace’s eyes snapped open, adrenaline surging through her veins. The black silhouette in the dim morning light was as familiar as the voice.

“I wondered what mixing fire and ice would produce…”

The man held the baby in his arms, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

“Whatever it is, it is beautiful.”

Grace could not see his eyes, but his tone was so tender it hurt.

“No, it is lovely.”

He kissed the baby’s forehead and whispered. Grace stared, fists trembling.

Why? Why? The same word repeated in her mind, white and merciless.

She had done everything possible to escape him. She had found an apartment months ago. She had filled every corner with items that bore no trace of a man, so anyone who entered would think the husband was away on business.

Of course, it had been a lie to fool the midwife. The day labor had started two days late, the midwife had come, and Leon had played the absent husband.

She had even darkened the room and used only red bulbs so her teal eyes would not be mistaken for something else.

The midwife had suspected nothing. She had only pitied the lonely mother and the husband who had missed the birth.

Then why had the midwife reported them?

The man who had been cursing the child suddenly laughed.

“You said as long as she doesn’t look like me…”

What had he said? You don’t just wish for something; you have to earn it.

He did not even look at Grace as he played with the baby’s curls and smiled with satisfaction.

“Still, you got lucky. You liked my appearance, at least. Pray she does not inherit your personality.”

I do not care! I am leaving. I will leave everything behind—including you and your child.

The words would not come. Her voice was gone.

“By the way, this torture room actually suits a cradle rather well.”

Torture room?

Grace tore her eyes away from him and looked around. Black ceiling, black walls lined with manacles and shackles, a steel table that gleamed coldly at the edges.

“What happened here?”

Grace was in a torture chamber.

She moved her limbs. The familiar ache and sound of chains around her wrists made her sigh.

“When did—let me go! Please!”

In the end she begged, but the man only soothed the crying baby and gave her no attention.

“The promise was that you would no longer be kept prisoner!”

“That promise is only valid when you come back of your own free will.”

“When did you ever say that?”

Go to hell! You bastard—

“Ki—uck!”

Grace’s eyes flew open. The wallpaper with palm fronds in the ceiling brought a sigh of relief. This was an apartment. Not a torture chamber.

Still, she scanned the room with wary eyes. Fortunately—or perhaps understandably—there was no sign of him. It took a long time to calm her racing heart after confirming safety.

“Even in my nightmares that bastard…”

The nightmare had been so vivid her pajamas were soaked. She brushed the sweat-damp hair from her forehead and looked down at the crib.

The baby was still crying. Grace stared at the empty crib, then slowly sat up. Her body had ached like it had been beaten the night before, but now it felt lighter.

She approached the crib and asked, “Why are you crying?”

The child was restless even in her mother’s belly. Now that she was out, she kicked vigorously and cried with all her strength. When Grace checked the diaper, it was dry.

“Hungry again.”

Grace went to the kitchen, mixed a little formula, and carried the baby to the armchair by the window. Instead of holding her, she laid her on her thighs and fed her with the bottle, propping her head only slightly.

“No… why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

The baby sucked the nipple but immediately rejected it and turned away. She kicked and flailed so hard her face turned red with rage.

“There, there. Sorry I’m late. Stop crying and eat, okay?”

Grace tried to soothe her with the bottle and then picked her up again, but it did nothing. Finally she gave in and tried the only method she hated.

“Ha… you really are funny.”

The moment her breast touched the baby’s lips, Grace’s expression softened into a helpless sigh.

“It’s not coming out…”

Last night the midwife had made her try, but little milk had come and the feeling had been unpleasant. So she had brought formula instead…

“Now she’s picky.”

A faint wave sound came from behind her, and the tiny, determined sucking of a small mouth continued. Grace sighed deeply.

“Why are you so small?”

Compared to the weight that had pressed on her during pregnancy, the baby was tiny and light.

Grace held the tiny life against her chest as tightly as she could.

“You have done nothing wrong to me.”

The child’s birth was not a crime. Birth happened whether one wanted it or not.

If there was a crime, it lay with the man who had made this child for selfish reasons, with the woman who had been caught and held captive, and with everyone who had tricked Grace into becoming a criminal.

Therefore, keeping distance from the child was not because she hated it. It was because she was sorry. She had already understood most of the agony and conflict recorded in Angela Riddle’s diary.

“What should I do with you…”

All her attention had been on surviving and giving birth; she had not yet decided what to do with the child.

“I could just give her away somewhere.”

It sounded easy, yet it was not.

She wanted to give the child a bright, ordinary future—the only atonement she could offer. But the problem was she did not know which path would lead to that future.

There were only three choices: send her to the man, give her to an orphanage, or find her a suitable adoptive home.

Sending her to the man was impossible. The child had been made to bind Grace; how would he treat her if she could not perform her role?

Orphans were the easiest for Grace, but also the most dangerous for the child.

Grace stroked the baby’s soft cheek until her eyes opened.

Dark blue.

Grace sighed. She had read in her mother’s diary that every child was born with eyes like this, and that they would eventually turn turquoise like her own. If the Blanchard remnants were still at large and the child fell into their hands…

They would recognize her at once. They might use her for revenge or to bargain with the Royalists.

And she was a girl, not a boy. Grace could not bear for her daughter to share her fate.

“What am I going to do with you? Tell me. Where do you want to go?”

Grace asked softly, looking into the child’s unfocused eyes. The weight pressing on her chest was heavier than the baby herself.

“Yes, you have no idea what I’m saying.”

The only wise answer was Grace’s own.

“I will find a good family for you.”

Even if the child’s eyes turned turquoise, finding her among the countless families of the kingdom would be difficult. And she would grow up in an ordinary home, loved, never knowing the truth of her birth.

At least, it would be better than any other path.

Grace stroked the baby in her arms and repeated the words.

“This is the best choice.”

She was being swayed as if trying to convince herself.

“You already know my plan.”

Shut up. You should be miserable.

On the cold metal table lay a body. It was covered in a white sheet, but the outline suggested a woman.

While the men surrounding the body remained silent, the man who appeared to be an attendant finally broke the uneasy quiet.

“This is the mother who died of postpartum fever today. Her husband and family were not present; she came to the hospital alone. The description matches the missing-person poster…”

The man’s explanation trailed off. Another uncomfortable silence followed. Leon scanned the sheet-covered body and then twisted his lips the moment he looked up. The attendant and Campbell both wore grave expressions, as though delivering a death sentence.

“Before I even see her, why are you already wearing that face?”

He snorted and nodded. The attendant hesitated, then lifted the sheet covering the face.

“Why are you looking at me like that? The woman under this cloth…”

It cannot be her. Leon’s patience finally snapped. The moment he himself lifted the sheet, the death sentence became a death notice.

“Grace.”

The moment he saw the life leave Grace’s body, his own life ended too.

This cannot be.

Those turquoise eyes were so cloudy. The light of life had gone out. Leon could not look away from the face that had lost all color. Campbell led the attendant out.

Alone, Leon suddenly laughed.

“Enough of this joke, darling.”

It was a joke. This woman had only been using her usual tricks. She was only pretending to die so that he would become miserable.

“If you don’t get up right now, I will kill you.”

He picked up the hunting knife from the small table beside the bed. He held the gleaming blade to the pale face, but Grace did not even blink.

Like a dead woman.

“You really are going to do it. Don’t regret it later.”

Leon tilted the blade toward her pale skin. The voice that came out between clenched teeth was shaking as much as the blade.

Clang.

The knife fell to the floor. A curse tore out of Leon with it.

“You bastard—”

He had been ready to shake the knife until the fool’s head spun, but the moment he grabbed Grace’s cheeks, he snatched his hand back as if burned.

Is there really such a cold fire in this world?

He knew there was a person colder still.

A dead woman.

Only then did Leon break. He pulled Grace into his arms and wept.

The woman whose body had always been cold to him was now ice. It was more painful than he could bear that she no longer pushed him away. The tears soaking her cheeks were his fault, and he could not endure it.

“Why are you here?”

He had searched for her every moment, yet he had never wished to find her in a place like this.

“If you had come to me, none of this would have happened.”

He blamed her out of habit and broke again.

It was my fault you were led to a miserable death. I lost the chance to ask your forgiveness and atone for the countless wrongs I committed. The tragedy between us was all my fault.

“I’m sorry.”

Even a sincere apology could not reach her. Leon waited for the words he had never dared hope for—forgiveness, reflection, apology. He had waited in vain.

Next time, I will not say it.

But there was no next time for either of them. This was the end.

“Grace.”

Leon stroked her cold cheek and kept saying her name, over and over, until his voice broke. Only love remained. For the first time. Only after she had gone.

“Grace…”

Even in the last moment, there was nothing he would regret.

The tears that fell wet the dry turquoise eyes. Leon left one last kiss on her lifeless lips and gave a twisted smile.

“Grace, you said you wanted to kill me. Did you know? I feel the same way.”

He lifted her left hand and kissed the empty ring finger.

“If you are going to die, I want you to die by my hand.”

His stiffened fingers curled around the trigger. The gun pointed under his own jaw. He slipped the trigger guard onto Grace’s left ring finger like a ring and wrapped his cold hand around hers.

Bang.

Leon’s body jerked. His eyes snapped open.

“We have arrived.”

The moment he removed the hand resting on his forehead, he saw the taxi driver’s face looking back at him.

“Haa…”

Leon ran a rough hand over his face. He had fallen asleep on the train from the station. Even that short moment had been haunted by an ominous dream.

He was not thinking clearly.

His heart was still racing. He tried to steady himself, but failed. Finally he gave up and stepped out of the taxi with Campbell, giving instructions to the driver.

“Wait here for a moment.”

It would not take long. Probably.

Leon put on sunglasses so no one would recognize him and entered the building.

Even in June, the basement of the hospital was cold. The echoing footsteps of a lone patrolman made the corridor feel ghostly. Leon’s steps stopped in front of a door marked “Mortuary.”

Campbell, after a quick glance at his superior’s face, knocked cautiously.

“Yes, come in.”

A middle-aged man rose from the desk in the corner of the mortuary. There were several cards stacked on the desk.

“Did you receive a phone call?”

The attendant pointed to a corkboard on the wall. Notices and rules were posted everywhere; in one corner hung a missing-person poster that had been fading for months. Perhaps today it would be removed. The attendant could not say whether it would be a happy or sad day.

“Yes.”

The young man with dark-blond hair answered, and the attendant turned and walked toward the body lockers.

“The phone number was in the West; he must have rushed here the moment he answered.”

This place was five hours by train from Winsford. He had been expecting him the next day, yet the man had come immediately. His urgency was clear.

The attendant’s explanation had barely begun when the young man opened the door and stepped inside, stepping aside for him.

The man looking for the woman was not this youth.

The moment the tall, well-dressed young man entered, the attendant’s eyes widened. From his neat appearance to the expensive suit, he looked extremely wealthy.

The woman in the body was poor.

Perhaps a runaway mistress? The attendant blinked, offering the obvious guess.

The young man stopped in the center of the mortuary. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but he kept staring at the locked body drawers as if searching for a missing woman.

“This one.”

The attendant guided him left to the 2B locker and began unlocking it, lips tight with tension.

If it was her…

The atmosphere in the mortuary was tense. Even the tall young man’s lips, though calm, trembled slightly at the edges.

“I will never get used to this.”

The attendant sighed as he opened the locker and pulled out the body on a tray. The young man’s expression darkened as he scanned the sheet-covered corpse.

Should he lift the cloth or not? He hesitated for a long time. Only the ticking clock and occasional throat-clearing broke the silence.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Leon gritted his teeth. The attendant stared at him with pity, exactly as he had in the nightmare.

But this time he could not smirk and tell himself it was not Grace under the sheet.

He looked away and nodded briefly. The attendant, still glancing at him, reached to lift the sheet.

It felt as ominous as the nightmare.

Leon’s heart raced as violently as the first time he had seen her face in a dream. Or even faster. Every pulse in his body seemed to echo the beat.

Then the cloth was lifted.

His heart stopped.

“…”

The attendant’s eyes widened in solemn respect.

“Haa…”

He was laughing. The man looked at the face and laughed, then handed the attendant a bill with thanks and walked out.

“No. Please call me again next time.”

Campbell gave the stunned attendant his greeting and followed Leon out. The moment they stepped into the dark night outside the hospital, Leon removed his sunglasses and asked, “She cannot have died. Right?”

“No, she could not have.”

Campbell watched the Major light a cigarette with hands so dry the veins stood out like blue rivers and gave a dangerous smile.

They boarded the waiting taxi and headed back to the station. The trip here had taken six hours, but their stay had lasted less than twenty minutes.

In the back seat of the taxi, Leon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead with his hand.

This was the third time.

As the due date drew nearer, he had only waited for reports. But the phone had not rung.

Time had passed. In desperation, Leon had expanded the wanted posters—from hospitals and midwives to the mortuary. If she had given birth and something had gone wrong.

Then, of course, the phone ringing would not be welcome.

That meant he had taken one step back from the cliff and then two steps back. When the day came that he could no longer retreat, what would he do?

The echo of a gunshot in his nightmare made Leon swallow a sigh.

When he arrived at the station, he boarded the night train back to Winsford. On the opposite platform, the night train to the south stood waiting. Through the open windows, party lights glowed. Yet the train heading west, away from summer resorts, was almost empty.

Leon opened the door to the first-class compartment and nodded to Campbell.

“Rest.”

“Yes, Major….”

Since Grace’s disappearance, Campbell had always hesitated before saying goodnight. He no longer knew what kind of night to wish for.

“Rest well tomorrow.”

Leon nodded and entered the room, leaning against the closed door and pressing his throbbing forehead with his hand.

Rest well tomorrow.

He laughed. It was a soft, helpless laugh.

Always he had expected tomorrow to bring something. Even knowing it would only lead to today’s disappointment.

He had rented the compartment for nothing. He had not even lain down; he had gone straight to the lounge.

Late at night the lounge was empty. Leon tilted his whiskey glass until the ice melted and smoked his cigar until the case was empty, reading newspapers.

“Your nephews want to see you.”

When the familiar advertisement caught his eye, he exhaled cigar smoke with a sigh. Where was she? He had searched every corner of Wakefield, yet no sighting of Grace had been found.

The due date was mid-May, but it was now mid-July. Logically, Grace should have given birth and recovered long ago. She had not returned as a body, so the chances of a birth gone wrong were slim.

But until he saw her with his own eyes, he could not be certain.

When Leon was once again reading the personal-adoption section, he tilted his whiskey glass with the hand holding the cigar and gave a hollow laugh.

How could he find his child here?

Leon knew only the approximate birth month of his child. Hair color, eye color, gender—anything small—none of it. So no matter how many ads he read or orphanages he searched, he would never recognize his own child.

Yet he kept searching. He felt like a madman driven by obsession.

Leon’s hand, still turning the newspaper, stopped at the society page. The headline “Infant Found Dead in Rural Ditch” made the voice in his head scream.

“I will kill you before you call me Mommy.”

If that was how it was going to be, then at least do it in front of me. I want to see you lose your mind. I want to see you die of thirst for me. Come and do it, then.

Leon pressed his forehead to the hand holding the cigar and sighed heavily.

Have you really abandoned all resentment and interest in me?

While the train rumbled, Grace asked the same question again and again.

“Miserable?”

Yes. So you are happy?

No, are you still alive?

But instead of answering, she kept repeating the same words.

“Miserable?”

“Yaaawn…”

The baby laughed at the yawn.

“Not playtime. Eat quickly.”

“Heh… ugh…”

She woke people in the early morning because she was hungry and then played instead of eating. Grace forced her breast to the baby’s mouth.

As the child began to suck quietly, Grace’s mind raced through her finances. Cash was running low.

“Should I sell another ingot?”

Grace glanced at the closet. Inside the hidden safe was all her remaining wealth. The diamonds were untouched, but three gold ingots had been sold.

“Should I ask the broker if he wants another?”

Two had been sold at the bank; the last one had been sold to the real-estate agent who had shown her the apartment. It had not been an ordinary sale.

“Oh, do you know any place nearby that pays well for gold? Banks, jewelers, even pawn shops.”

While signing the lease, Grace had asked the agent for recommendations. The question had slipped out later.

“Gold, you say?”

“Yes, I need to exchange one-troy-ounce ingots for cash…”

She already had rent money in the bag, but the agent had misunderstood.

“One troy ounce… so roughly five and a half months’ rent. You are pregnant, so you won’t want to travel far. Just hand it over in kind.”

The agent would take the ingot instead of six months’ rent including furniture. When Grace pointed out he would lose money, the man smiled.

He had probably already decided the landlord would pay the rent with real money and he would keep the gold. If gold prices rose, he would pocket the difference. Grace had no reason to refuse.

With the extra cash, she could leave before the baby grew too heavy.

But the baby was not milk. She was a creature that needed money to grow.

She saved on formula; she had to pay for breast milk, which was free.

She also needed food. Laundry piled up in no time. Since Grace could not do all of it herself, she had hired a maid. Even though she only came once a day in the afternoon, the weekly wage vanished quickly.

The most logical way would be to sell the ring Leon had given her and use the money for the baby’s care, but the wanted posters at jewelers and pawn shops made that impossible.

Therefore, the maid must have slipped it into her hand on the last day. Of course she had ordered a special design to hide it.

“I have to send her away soon.”

The baby, who had never known such worry, lay against Grace’s chest, drinking steadily. Her dark-blue eyes were full of wonder, as if seeing the most wonderful thing in the world.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Grace sighed heavily and opened the newspapers on the side table.

The apartment lease ended at the end of September. Grace had decided she would send the child to a good family and leave for Columbia before winter, when the transatlantic line would stop running.

She had already turned to the personal-adoption section when she suddenly frowned.

“Daisy, your nephews want to see you. Your brother.”

The man was still placing ads. He was throwing money into the wind while holding Grace and the family hostage.

Grace did not even blink. Jonathan was not the soft type like Little Jimmy. He would handle it.

And if he harmed Jonathan’s family, the man would never have peace with Grace.

“There are penthouse units left. Treat my nephews well, you idiot!”

Still reading, Leon watched the man’s sarcastic tone and then something flew through the air and struck his nose. The fist that had aimed for him returned to his chest as if nothing had happened.

“Ah, damn.”

Grace rubbed her nose and groaned. The baby had been kicking and punching her stomach for weeks.

“An eight-week-old baby has this much strength?”

She laughed in disbelief. The baby opened her mouth wider and laughed along.

“Whatever it is, it is beautiful.”

Grace’s smile vanished instantly.

She burped the sleepy baby and held her. While burping, the child clung to her with tiny arms. Grace’s heart grew heavy; she knew the child understood she was about to be left.

“It’s okay. There are better parents in the world than—”

The word “mom” refused to leave her tongue.

“There are many people. This is the best path for you.”

Even after burping, the child stayed glued to her chest. When Grace tried to pull away, the baby cried until she fell asleep. Dawn was breaking outside when Grace finally stood, staring at the red sea visible between buildings.

“You must go before you remember me. By the time you can say ‘mom,’ I will be on the other side of that sea. Alone.”

“I will live my life. You will live yours too.”

Grace stroked the sleeping child and repeated the words like a mantra.

The train sliced through the morning sunlight like a blade and entered Winsford Central Station. Campbell, who had been waiting on the platform, knocked on the compartment door when the train finally stopped.

“…”

The moment the door opened, Campbell almost swallowed his morning greeting. The Major who stepped out looked as though he had not slept at all. Campbell worried he might collapse from overwork.

The two officers stepped out and immediately took a taxi.

“Halewood—”

Campbell was about to tell the driver to go to the Winston estate when Leon shook his head and corrected the destination.

“Winsford Temporary Detention Center.”

“What are we choosing today?”

The voice was light, like picking a horse from a stable. But the riding crop in his hand pointed at people.

Five former rebel leaders knelt in a line on the ground, hands and feet shackled. They had been dragged to the execution ground before sunrise and now stared at Winston’s glossy brown shoes, afraid to meet the devil’s eyes. Leon had worn civilian clothes instead of his uniform. While he paced in front of the prisoners, the devil asked suddenly,

“Any volunteers?”

No one answered. No one wanted to volunteer for the firing squad.

When the mockery grew too cruel, those who had already watched many executions began to tremble.

Two of them did not tremble. They already knew they would not die today. Still, their faces were tense. They were the two who had been told their fate was to be tied to the pillar at the very end of the execution ground.

“No volunteers? How strange…”

Only a month earlier there had been eight people on the execution ground. Now only five remained. One of the three here would die today.

From late spring, Winston had become even more ruthless. Before, he had shown the limits of human cruelty through others; now he himself had become the cruelty that wore human skin.

Little Jimmy understood. This was not revenge for what they had done, but revenge for what another person had done to the rebels. And that other person was clearly Grace.

Grace was being sacrificed unjustly because of her mistake. While the others clenched their teeth and swallowed their rage, Winston paced in front of them, taunting.

“Then there is no choice.”

Last time they had drawn lots. This time, how would he choose a madman’s punishment?

Everyone held their breath and swallowed dryly.

“Tell me why you must die instead of me. The two of you who convince me will be spared.”

All three raised their heads. Their eyes showed shock, then hesitation. The first to speak changed everything.

“S-Sir, the two of them once—”

The ugly confession had begun.

“Grace Riddle is a whore who sold out her comrades for a man—”

“Shut up!”

“You did it too! You stood on the gallows and shouted! You filthy traitor!”

“When did I ever—”

“Do not kill innocent people!”

They all ended up shouting insults and curses at each other. In that moment, decades of brotherhood were crushed by the fear of death.

“This was the best show of the year.”

Winston laughed as if watching a comedy while watching the men’s shame.

“Hey, even for the sake of our struggling comrades, try to smile.”

He cajoled the pale Jimmy and Dave, forcing them to react.

“Neither of you is even trembling.”

Winston laughed, looking down at them. The two men froze.

“Hey, look this way.”

The three men who had been exchanging curses and spit looked at Jimmy and Dave.

“It is hard to choose. So the two of you who will live today have decided who will die today.”

These men stood on the border between a cruel life and an even crueler death. They fell for Winston’s cheap tricks. Even while pleading for Jimmy and Dave, their eyes burned with contempt and hatred for the two.

Finally one gave up.

“Just kill me… kill me now…”

He was going to die anyway. It was better to face death today than every day in fear. But neither Jimmy nor Dave could order his execution.

“Kill me… please kill me…”

Leon watched the two street rats who would live and the man who was already half-dead, and clicked his tongue.

“You cannot do it? Well, then, what is proper execution? Fine. Today I will choose.”

He spoke as if he had no choice, but in truth Leon had already chosen. After watching the three prisoners push every limit, the man he picked was neither the first to beg for mercy nor the first to beg for death.

“The most indecisive man who neither betrayed nor gave up first.”

Leon pointed at one prisoner with the tip of his crop. The man twisted his face and trembled.

“I hate indecisive men.”

He hated lack of courage, the cowardly. As he explained his choice, Leon suddenly stopped.

“Wait. Who is this?”

He opened his arms as if greeting an old friend and exclaimed in delight.

“The most indecisive man who was the first to ask for an honorable death for Grace.”

The man’s face turned ghostly. He looked at the others with eyes full of accusation. Someone in the room had told everything.

“What? It was not me who gave the order… hey, everyone thought the same thing! Right? Tell him, everyone!”

But the comrades either looked away or only looked at Leon.

“Please spare me…”

Leon leaned over the man crawling on the ground, crop tip lifting his chin.

“Oh, you also swallowed cyanide and wanted an honorable death. Then you could have avoided today’s shameful execution.”

“Please, I was wrong.”

“You now know why I kept that woman alive. I am impressed. You had the Joker in your hands and did not know how to use him, so instead the Joker used you.”

Leon clicked his tongue and stood straight.

“You should have heard the news of your death.”

He did not need to say who would hear it. He glanced back at Campbell, who nodded while holding a notebook. Tomorrow’s newspaper would carry the execution report.

Look. I am doing my best for your revenge.

Leon pressed his forehead to the palm of his hand and sighed, ordering,

“Drag him away.”

The duty soldier took the prisoner to the pillar at the end of the execution ground. The man’s legs gave out and he dragged himself along the ground, cursing uselessly.

“The monster’s father was killed by you! Dave! You should be here!”

As he was tied to the pillar, the man shouted. David Wilkins turned his head.

“Ugh!”

The crop struck the neck visible above the prisoner’s uniform. The man collapsed and could not get up, writhing.

This was the man whose leg had been broken during the Blackburn operation when Grace’s explosion had knocked him down the tunnel. Leon gestured and a soldier lifted him into a sitting position.

“I sat you in the royal box; you should show me the respect of a royal execution.”

This time the crop tip dug into Little Jimmy’s cheek, which he had tried to avoid.

“Look straight ahead.”

Little Jimmy was the more obedient, but Wilkins would not obey and kept lowering his head. Leon took a black glove from Campbell and grabbed the prisoner’s hair.

“Look well. How your children died. And how you and the remaining one will die.”

As he reminded the man of what he had done and what he would do, the prisoner closed his eyes tightly, teeth gritted, jaw trembling visibly.

The first meeting with this man was still vivid after all these months.

Then he had been praying in front of the cross on the prison wall. When Leon asked what he had prayed for, Wilkins had only gritted his teeth and said he was praying for his son’s eternal rest. He had not known that Leon already knew the truth about Fred’s father and another truth Grace had revealed.

“God, please have mercy on this poor child.”

“I wonder if you pray like that for my father too.”

Only then did the prisoner realize why Leon had come. His face turned ghostly.

“Too bad. If I had known you were the avenger of my father, I would not have sent Fred so easily. At least I would have killed him in front of you.”

Only then did the man sense he would die more painfully than his son. He came out in a pitiful manner.

“I am truly sorry for Major Richard Winston’s death. It was never my intention.”

“You think an apology can cover it?”

“That is not it…”

“Life for life.”

At those words, the prisoner’s hands began to shake.

“S-So you already—”

“Oh, you mean you paid with your son’s life instead of yours? How tragic. Fred, did you hear what your father just said?”

Leon mocked Fred from the prison floor.

“Fine. If you want to save your own life with your son’s, then do it.”

Leon watched the spark of hope in the prisoner’s eyes die. That was his favorite game.

“I will not kill you right away. I will bring your children one by one and make you watch them die, and then I will send you away with a light heart. You have quite a few children, haven’t you? Including Nancy, who escaped. In other words, I will keep you alive until I catch her and kill her. How satisfying to save your life because of your children.”

And Leon had kept that promise to this day.

“Angie! She is also a collaborator!”

One day the man wept before his dying children and screamed in rage,

“Kill my children too! If you are going to kill her, kill Angela Riddle’s children too!”

“That is never going to happen.”

“Then I have to kill my own child too.”

Somewhere, there was surely a child of mine still alive.

Leon closed his eyes tightly.

“Major?”

How long had he been closed-eyed? When he opened them, faces stared at him in bewilderment.

“The firing squad is ready.”

Even after everything was prepared, Leon had not given the order. One soldier reported again. Only then did Leon release Wilkins’s hair and step behind the rifle-bearing soldier.

“Aim.”

The man who had been sobbing began to roar at the sound. They had shown mercy by covering the eyes of the other prisoners, but not for the rebel leaders who had kept Grace like a pig. The soldier aimed carefully at the fatal spot.

“Fire.”

The moment Leon finished speaking, he was already walking back with his riding crop. The moment the scream and the gunshot merged, the execution ground echoed with them.

“Grace Riddle, you filthy whore!”

The laughter left Leon’s face in an instant.

Under the blazing summer sun, the men stood frozen. The shots and screams slowly faded and then disappeared completely. Only a suffocating silence remained.

Leon, eyes closed and teeth gritted, suddenly laughed and opened his eyes. He waved a hand at the soldier waiting for orders. The soldier lowered his rifle and stepped aside.

Tap-tap. The dry footsteps of the dirt-covered ground crossed the execution ground slowly. The man who had been sobbing from thigh to full body stopped at the sound of footsteps and the presence behind him.

He regretted not dying yet.

“Hah!”

The thick end of the crop dug into his wound. The devil’s fangs bared as he asked,

“What did you say I called you?”

“Hah!”

The man rolled his eyes in agony, gasping.

“Who did I call you a whore for? I asked.”

Winston twisted his jaw with the gloved hand to force him to look and then bit out each word.

“Grace is a saint.”

The cool voice sent chills down spines.

“Never forget even in hell. My woman is a saint.”

The moment the crop moved away, the man gasped for air. He had hoped that would be his last breath, but the execution ground showed no mercy.

“Let him die like this.”

“Please, please kill me…”

Leon watched the screams as if they were sweet music and wiped the dirt from his shoes with a handkerchief at his leisure. The command fell before the four pale rats.

“You will watch until the end. See what happens to those who dare insult my woman.”

He walked out of the execution ground, teeth gritted, repeating the words.

The innocent woman is a saint. The most pure saint who sacrificed herself to defeat evil.

p>When he heard the word “saint,” Leon unconsciously gave a contemptuous laugh. Of course, the vulgarity he saw in bed was a secret only he knew.

So to the creatures of this world, she was a saint.

She had to be a living saint.

“Abington Beach. Next stop Abington Beach.”

The tram driver called out. Grace startled awake. When had she fallen asleep? These days, even sitting anywhere made her drift off.

Looking down, she saw the child sleeping peacefully, pacifier in mouth. This moment, an angel, was in truth a little devil.

“Please don’t wake up.”

Grace sighed and lifted her head. Between the orange trees heavy with fruit, the turquoise sea and golden sand spread out. A familiar sight.

“The sea is reflected in your eyes.”

p>Shut up. Please, shut up.

Grace stared blankly at the sea that matched her own eyes, bright sunlight pouring over the hair like Leon’s. She hurriedly turned back inside.

But the tram had four-sided windows. Familiar scenery flashed past until the entrance to the carnival appeared. Grace looked down at the sleeping child, as if she could escape him by looking at her.

“Haa… damn…”

She muttered the swear softly and closed her eyes tightly.

Sixteen years had changed many things, yet only the unchanged things caught her eye in that short moment.

She had not wanted to come here. After failing to rent an apartment in Wakefield when the landlord changed his mind, she had kept moving south.

Logically it had seemed reasonable. There were many villas on the coast and short-term rentals were easier to find than elsewhere. In summer, tourists wore sunglasses all the time; no one would think it strange. This place saw many foreigners, so people paid less attention to strangers.

And there was no better place for Leon to exploit his flaw. He would assume she would not hide in Abington Beach with any emotional residue left, so hiding there would be the perfect counter.

But she had not done it. The emotional residue made Abington Beach unbearable to even think about.

So she had chosen a place twenty minutes away by tram.

Since then she had avoided this area, but today she had no choice. The family who had advertised for an adoption lived at the end of this tram line.

She could have sent someone to fetch and take the child. Usually that was how adoptions worked. But Grace had chosen to go herself in this hot summer, carrying the heavy child. She wanted to see the people and the home.

“Finding a good family for you is my duty.”

Grace watched the child sleep without knowing it was the last time. The tram passed Abington Beach and continued. The beach disappeared and small towns gave way to the suburbs of a large city.

“Newhaven. Next stop Newhaven.”

This was where Grace had to get off. The tram sounded like a lullaby, but she lifted the sleeping child.

“Ugh… heavy.”

The baby was approaching three months and growing like a snowball rolling downhill. Carrying such a heavy child meant she needed a stroller, but she had not bought one.

She would send her away soon; why buy a stroller?

She wrapped the large shawl she had loosened earlier around both herself and the baby. The child, who had been deprived of her nap, pouted and began to cry.

“You are too heavy. Really, I will send you this week.”

Grace walked through the housing district all the way, soothing the crying baby and finally sighing heavily.

She had never imagined raising a child would be so hard. She had worked at the village daycare when she was a teenager, caring for babies and toddlers, earning pocket money, and she had believed she knew how. She had even infiltrated an officer’s house as a nanny when she was twenty-two and stolen secret documents.

No one had suspected the nanny because of her expert childcare skills.

So she had underestimated the child. But she had forgotten that the child’s father was not a kind man.

The child cried for too long and was also very alert. Even a slight wet diaper would make her scream as if she had fallen into the toilet. And lately her appetite had increased; they were giving her formula, but she was so picky that she would take one sip and spit it out if it did not suit her taste.

“This little devil… exactly like her father.”

She was too picky and too much trouble; Grace had begun to worry she was being pampered.

By now she was probably gone from here.

“So try to be good.”

Grace stopped in front of the house where the family had advertised for adoption.

“Please just smile cutely at them from there, okay?”

“Eeeing—”

But the notorious Winston count’s daughter was not satisfied and began to wail, twisting her body.

“Aga, look at me.”

Grace snapped her fingers to get the child’s attention. The child still had tears and a pout, but Grace showed her first.

“Like this? Smiling?”

She pulled up the corners of her mouth and smiled. Teaching a three-month-old baby how to smile was absurd, but the child blinked her turquoise eyes and suddenly laughed “Heh.”

“Yes, like that. Beautiful.”

Grace could not help kissing her forehead. The child laughed again, “Kya.” Grace stopped for a moment, then pulled away as if nothing had happened and reminded her,

“You laugh like that inside too.”

Grace pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, sweat making it slide, and looked around the living room. It was as neat and nice as the outside.

“It must have been hard carrying the child so far in this heat. You must be thirsty. Please drink.”

The woman sitting across the coffee table poured iced tea from a crystal jug into a tall glass.

“Thank you.”

Grace drank the cool tea and glanced around again. On the mahogany table corner was a telephone and next to it a stack of department-store catalogs.

Rich people were easy to spot from the ice in the glass.

“Does your house have a refrigerator?”

The expensive thing she could afford by selling two ingots sat in the house. And there was a new sedan parked in front of the garage when she had arrived. She had already passed the wealth test.

In fact, the other tests had already passed too.

The excited voices of a man and two boys playing with a large dog in the backyard occasionally drifted through the half-open window.

“Try this too.”

The woman cut a cherry tart herself and gave one to Grace. Then she gave one to her husband, who received the plate with a light kiss on his wife’s cheek.

Even with a stranger present, he showed no hesitation. It was an old habit. The late-thirties man with his arm around his beautiful wife looked successful in both society and family.

In short, a perfect middle-class family from an advertisement.

p>Grace imagined the child sitting on her lap now, looking around at this perfect home. She would think this was her home and these people were her parents.

“We always wanted a daughter, but we only have two sons. We can’t have more anymore…”

The woman’s eyes kept going to Grace’s hand as she explained why they were adopting. The child was playing with Grace’s finger, sucking on it.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Grace handed the baby over and thought,

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Smile beautifully.

Fortunately the child did not cry in the stranger’s arms. She rolled her big eyes, looking at the new people with curiosity, and the woman soothed her expertly and praised her.

“What a pretty child. In the world, there are no angels.”

Grace almost choked on the tart.

“The child’s name is…”

The woman asked. Grace shook her head, meaning she did not know.

p>“A…”

The woman bit her lower lip slightly, as if she had asked something meaningless, then quickly changed the subject.

“By the way, the hair is really pretty blonde.”

The woman stroked the baby’s smooth, glossy blonde hair and sighed again and again.

Yes, I too fell for that blonde at first.

p>Sixteen years ago.

Grace set the dessert plate down with a bitter smile.

Light, bright blond hair was rare. If either parent had dark hair, it was even harder. Yet the child had inherited Grace’s dark-brown hair and chosen that rare blonde instead.

“It is not easy to have such a bright color.”

The man looked at the child and seemed to read Grace’s thoughts. He was about to say something, then stopped and awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Grace understood what he had wanted to say. She had not dyed her hair lately because she had no time, so her natural dark-brown color had returned.

Therefore the thought came naturally.

The child’s father has blonde hair.

The man had almost spoken the words. It was because Grace had lied about the reason for her pregnancy.

Her husband had died in an accident while she was pregnant. She wanted to raise the child but already had two children and could not afford to raise another alone. So she was giving the child away. That was the sad story she had told.

“How beautiful she is.”

The woman looked at Grace’s child with eyes already in love. She forced a smile after washing away the bitterness with iced tea.

Yes, having a mother who looks at her like that is better for the child too.

The woman stroked the baby’s belly and smiled at Grace, unable to hide her happiness.

“Actually, I have seen many children while looking for adoptions. This is the first doll-like baby I have seen.”

“When she grows up, she will be a great beauty.”

“That’s only natural, since her mother is a great beauty.”

The woman looked at Grace with a slightly apologetic, motherly expression. Grace smiled as if nothing was wrong and thought,

p>It’s not me. It’s because the child’s father is a great beauty.

The child looked exactly like the man. From hair to face shape, not to mention personality—she was her father’s. The man Grace hated most.

If that was the case, her eyes should have looked like his too.

Grace stared at the child’s dark-blue eyes while sitting on another woman’s lap. The child looked at her and laughed “Kyaa.”

“You’re so pretty, it’s a shame to give her to a boy, isn’t it?”

The maid who came every day to help with laundry had said that. It was true. The child was too much trouble, but when she laughed like that, Grace felt a strange satisfaction.

But she would not want a child who looked like the man. She could not.

While they stared at each other, the child’s eyes grew round and the sunny smile faded.

The pacifier dropped from the child’s hand. The man caught it quickly and put it back in her mouth. Watching the child suck again felt strangely natural, as if she had done it a thousand times.

“When she grows up, we will hire an actress.”

The man smiled at the child. It was a compliment, but Grace felt her mood sour.

The couple had not been given permission to adopt, yet they already acted like they owned the child. The perfect house suddenly seemed different.

The man’s face did not sit well with me. There are many liquor bottles in the cabinet. Some are half-empty. Is he an alcoholic? Or perhaps the woman drinks too.

She suddenly found a flaw with no basis and came to a conclusion.

Perhaps the happy middle-class family was staged.

Grace knew the conclusion was absurd and was ashamed.

“Oops, she is heavy already.”

“How? You smile so well even at strangers.”

The man lifted the child with both hands and played with her. Grace found the game unfamiliar and the baby laughed nonstop.

Yes, she was laughing on cue. Really good. Really…

The child looked extremely happy in someone else’s arms. She could laugh like that even without Grace. It was truly a good thing.

“Aga, shall we go see your room?”

The woman stood from the sofa and took the child from her husband. Then, without hesitation, she headed for the stairs.

Is this the time to say goodbye?

Grace sat, watching the woman’s back disappear. She met the child’s eyes as the woman held her and looked around. The child’s lip trembled and she reached out to Grace, crying.

At that moment, Grace’s heart began to pound.

“Aga, why? Are you uncomfortable?”

The woman tried hard to soothe her and finally understood what the child wanted. The two women’s moods flipped as the child was passed back and forth. As expected, the moment Grace took her, the child stopped crying.

Grace put the pacifier back in her mouth and wiped the tears with her finger. The child, still crying softly, clutched Grace’s collar with her tiny hand. Grace patted her back and whispered softly,

“You must not cry. Why did you cry? Okay?”

It was not a scolding; it was a mother’s voice.

“The baby is already starting to recognize her mother.”

The woman watched them from a distance and muttered with bitterness. Grace smiled bitterly on the surface but could not help feeling proud inside.

It had been a foolish thing to do.

And it had been even more foolish to scold the child.

“Don’t laugh at me. I will get used to you.”

On the way home, she got off the tram midway.

She was thirsty. No one questioned her poor excuse, but she crossed the street alone and headed for the beach.

The kiosk was still there. But the rough old man standing there now had acne-covered youth instead.

“Shale, one bottle.”

She bought carbonated water. An adult carrying a baby buying strawberry ice cream would look strange. And looking back at faded memories would not help. If she had thought that, she should never have gotten off in Abington Beach.

She was thirsty. That was her excuse, but she put the carbonated water in her bag and took off her sandals, walking toward the sea.

The feel of the fine sand was strange. This might have been the first time she stepped on it since that day. Her feet sank and her steps became heavy, exactly like walking into a swamp. Perhaps the same feeling had hit her when she had walked onto the Winston estate beach without knowing it was a swamp.

Back then she had not known it was a swamp.

She had only stood at the end of the beach and seen a boy more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. Or perhaps she had simply been lost in illusion.

Grace stared at the left end of the beach and suddenly lowered her head. The cool wind blew and the golden hair under the round brim fluttered like feathers.

In the end she had called to say she would contact him later and run away with the child. She had gone with the intention of leaving the child there and never looking back, yet she hesitated.

There was no good home, so why hesitate?

When the foam settled, she stopped. She dipped her toes in the water that rose and fell, staring at the large passenger ship floating far out until she spoke to the child.

“Are you excited? I was too, at first.”

The child looked around curiously at the sea and sand. Grace combed her tangled hair and pointed to the sea from her own eye level.

“Look. That is the sea.”

“Auah—”

The child repeated what Grace said in babble. Grace stared at the child’s sparkling eyes and suddenly felt curious.

At fourteen, was the face like the man’s?

She probably did not know. It was better that she did not.

When you were fourteen, I was already on the other side of that sea.

She sat on a bench by the roadside, staring at the sea, and finally felt thirsty.

“Ugh… why drink something that only tastes?”

She took a sip of the carbonated water and scrunched her face. The child on her lap looked at her face with curiosity and then stared fixedly at the carbonated water bottle.

“Why? Do you want to try?”

Grace put the bottle to the child’s small lips and let a little fizz into her mouth. The child immediately shrank back and scrunched her face. Her taste did not match the man’s.

“Hwaang—”

“Right? Drinking something so bad every day? Really, what a strange human.”

Grace wiped the carbonated water the child spat out with her chin and laughed to herself. Her face suddenly hardened.

“It is not good parenting to insult the father in front of the child.”

Shut up. Please, shut up.

Lately, the man’s voice had filled her entire head. Since being locked in the annex, she had only the man to talk to. After escaping, she had lived in isolation and had not spoken properly to anyone.

So for the last year and four months, Grace’s only conversation partner had been the man.

Even when she wanted to speak, there was no one to listen, so she would talk to the man in her head and suddenly startle, stopping.

And the man was as persistent in her head as he had been in reality.

“Grace Riddle.”

Why?

“Have you ever imagined a life without me?”

Yes. Now she would live a life without Grace Riddle. Ordinary. Like those people.

Grace held the child’s hand one by one and stared at the young couple standing on the shoreline with the sunset behind them.

She did not know what ordinary life was, but this was probably it. She imagined herself standing there and tried not to draw the man and child. But the man in her head whispered irritably,

“I have become curious about a life without Leon Winston.”

That voice, which had been full of fatigue the moment she heard it, now sounded like a snake’s sweet whisper. Grace gritted her teeth.

Why tell me that? Whether you do or not, do not stuff me into your life.

If it was just the three of them—her, the man, and the child—ordinary happiness seemed impossible.

If that had never happened, could you have become a better adult? Could we have been happy together? The thought made her laugh.

Ifs were meaningless; things that happened could not be undone.

Because that thing happened, two people grew up as imperfect adults and left only an innocent victim, the child.

Two people together always sparked flames that spread and turned everything to ash. She could not let this innocent child be caught in that fire.