The Most Perfect Stranger — Chapter 12

"My take is, Siena, that those two who came to see you the other morning were using false identities."

Hasar spoke in an even tone, having heard everything that had happened to her.

That couldn't be right.

She had checked their affiliation cards and identification the moment they introduced themselves. However rattled she'd been, she would never have been careless about something like that.

Except—

Such things could be forged easily enough.

Perhaps reading the grim expression on her face, Hasar sprang up from his seat as if to clear the air. Siena remained curled on the sofa, arms wrapped around her bent knees, still lost in thought.

Well, look at her.

Her face was set in a thoroughly stubborn scowl.

Hasar had been on high alert due to the military provocation, and all outside contact had been suspended for the past two days, leaving him in the dark about everything that had happened.

Who would have imagined all this would occur while he was unreachable?

Picking up her empty cup, he walked over to the side table. Behind him, Siena's low muttering filled the quiet room as she droned through her thoughts.

Using her grumbling as background music, Hasar warmed the water with a faint smile.

This isn't so bad.

When Brigadier General Coleman had first relayed word of her visit, he'd been stunned. Siena, coming to Gaverum? Of all places.

Then, hearing her request, he had agreed to receive his sister.

She wanted to see her older brother before marrying and leaving for a foreign country. Him, of all people.

Meeting Siena after so long, Hasar had discovered many things had changed.

His sister was a little taller than before, her face had slimmed as the last of her baby fat melted away, and the openness and easy laughter that had once seemed transparent as glass had taken on a different shade.

She's gotten rather good at hiding what she's thinking, too.

With a short laugh, Hasar poured water into the empty cup and asked, "What were those two's names again?"

"The inspector said she was Janet Hugo. And the administrative officer, I believe, was John Harmant."

"Janet Hugo and John Harmant?"

At that, Hasar's expression turned even stranger.

"Don't be so cryptic about it."

"There's a pattern. A naming convention they use in operations, something like that... I'm fairly certain those two belong to the Imperial Intelligence Bureau."

"The Intelligence Bureau?"

So it was Uncle who made his move after all.

"Also, military inspectors, as the title suggests, only involve themselves in strictly military matters—they don't make site visits like that. You should have had the hotel checked first."

"It was so early in the morning... I didn't have time to think that far. Besides, Claude Marcel had told me the night before that the military would be sending someone."

"Then I suppose Claude took such a personal interest in you that he came all the way over himself."

Hasar straightened his posture as he summed up the situation, and the sheer absurdity of his words made Siena's eyes go round.

Mouth falling open, she raised her voice in disbelief.

"Interested? In me?"

"Well, he did show up out of nowhere."

True. It had been strange.

Claude Marcel had been at the hotel until the previous night, but he didn't seem to have been sleeping in his room.

Which meant he'd had some outside engagement—which made it all the more odd that he'd bothered to stop by the hotel so early in the morning.

"It looks like the military filed paperwork through Claude to send inspectors, and someone played games with it along the way. He didn't take kindly to that, so he stirred up the whole mess himself."

"...I suppose. He did grab those two the moment he arrived."

Siena leaned back against the sofa's armrest with a disgruntled look. Watching her roll her eyes skyward while hugging a cushion, Hasar shook his head.

"He probably sealed off your room for security reasons. There's no telling what the Intelligence Bureau might have planted while you were away. These days, a single stray wire is enough to bug a room. They'll have cleared out the furniture to check for hidden devices—and that sort of work isn't finished quickly."

That was an exceptionally detailed explanation.

"How do you know all this, Oppa?"

"Station yourself on a border long enough and you get familiar with espionage. Here—chamomile."

Taking the cup Hasar offered, Siena felt the stiffness drain from her shoulders. Only now did the tension finally begin to loosen.

"Feeling any better about things now?"

"Don't reduce it to something as simple as 'feeling better.'"

"Wasn't it Claude's attitude that rubbed you the wrong way?"

Looking at Hasar's beaming grin, Siena pursed her lips.

"Well, I can't very well complain when I'm the one who benefited..."

"Then be grateful. No need to twist it into something ugly."

The implication being that thanks to Claude, everything had been resolved without a hitch. At Hasar's matter-of-fact tone, she fell silent and turned her gaze to the ceiling.

Right. Thanks to him, I got past an ugly situation without trouble.

And yet her heart wasn't at ease. Partly because being on the receiving end of help didn't come naturally to her—but mostly because something about that help felt off, somehow.

Besides, she had refused outright to change rooms, and in the end she'd been stuck in that one for two whole days anyway.

Why would Claude Marcel extend such kindness to me, out of nowhere?

Why, of all things?

Because this one simple question went unanswered, an alarm had been ringing ceaselessly in some corner of her mind for the past two days.

If he had sneered at her—said she'd never seen it coming—she could at least have bristled in return. But the thought of how she was supposed to receive that kindness left her utterly in the dark.

"Hoo."

Siena let her head fall back against the cushion and exhaled a long breath.

It was exasperating, how casually her brother treated Claude's interference.

"What are you thinking about?"

"That you seem awfully comfortable with Claude. Why are you two close, anyway?"

"Jealous? That I was praising the guy?"

"Apparently."

At her thoroughly sulky reply, Hasar threw his head back and laughed out loud.

He had pressed his palm over his face, shoulders shaking with swallowed chuckles, when someone knocked at the door.

At the brief knock, Hasar checked the time and rose.

"Siena, wait here a bit? I have a meeting."

"Will it take long?"

"No, about... an hour? We'll have dinner when I'm back. And I'll walk you to the hotel after."

Having seen him off as he hurried out with that good-natured smile, Siena flopped back onto the sofa.

Her room had been returned to her, yet she had no desire to go back to the hotel. Her vacation was already dwindling to its last days.

The Founding Festival had fizzled out unceremoniously, and the Chante Kingdom's provocation had left not just Gaverum but the neighboring cities on edge—citizens weren't even venturing into the streets.

Her one long-awaited holiday, ruined just like this. She was sunk in a wave of futility when—

"What's that?"

The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room—and something on the desk caught the light.

Siena stirred and sat up. On the desk, glinting between carelessly scattered papers, an engraved emblem stung her eyes.

Almost without realizing it, she drifted toward the desk and reached out—then flinched and drew her hand back.

Those must be military documents.

Left lying out this carelessly, there was still a good chance they were classified.

Hasar might treat her as little more than a sounding board, but he was still a senior officer holding the rank of Major.

Right. What kind of person snoops through this?

She was turning back, cheeks warm with embarrassment, when a single possibility flashed through Siena's mind.

What if these documents were related to the Chante Kingdom's provocation? She still hadn't uncovered why an arrow had flown into her room at precisely that moment.

Even the smallest scrap of information about the current situation might help her trace the source of that arrow.

Unable to resist the sudden impulse, Siena's body turned back toward the desk. She swallowed hard.

"Okay—I'll just check whether it's about the Chante Kingdom or not. All I need is the title."

Right, just the title.

She'd glance at the title and nothing more, and if it wasn't relevant, she'd close the file. That was all.

Siena reached out slowly, sliding aside a single sheet of paper that covered the golden emblem at an angle.

And the instant her eyes fell upon the surface hidden beneath, her thoughts cut off entirely.

Where a title should have been written, there was nothing. Nothing except the emblem.

The black steel file bearing that seal was stuffed full with a thick bundle of papers.

"..."

Siena's fingertips slid slowly along the cold intaglio of the engraving.

It was the seal of House Marcel.