Edmond did not bring a watch or his actual cellphone during his nightly patrols, for obvious reasons. Nonetheless, his experience was enough to guess the current time as somewhat past eleven.

  Only having a small dinner in his apartment several hours after the mess at Domino’s Mask, Edmond felt another painful throb in his mind due to his lies.

  A pang of conscience? Probably. But it was not exactly regret.

  He knew why Claude was being so intense, and understood his reasoning too, but it was not nearly enough to be convinced.

  I was the one who messed up and got hurt. Why should my screw-up expose others to danger while I do nothing?

  After all, he had his own reasoning too.

  With the broken suit covering his body and a black hoodie over it, Edmond looked down onto a wide expense of Seyfelt from up a tall office building. The air was even colder at such a height, and the wind currents felt as he ran and leapt toward a lower rooftop almost numbed what little of his skin was still exposed.

  It was only while moving across different buildings, descending and climbing, up walls and past them, that he fully realized the current effect of his injuries.

  Normally, Edmond was quite fond of the traveling part of his usual patrols. Even during the winter, the liberty to move and stretch to his heart’s content, jumping and sprinting in a way that would have been so out of place in the day-to-day of just walking, made even such cold air a treat that was both energizing and relaxing. It was simply fun, to the point he often found himself indulging in unnecessary acrobatics without thinking.

  But that was not his current experience. All turns, each flip, every moment of exertion felt like much of his back and arms were being pinched by a shutting door, all the while an electric prod was pressed against his abdomen, with heat reaching the other side. The wind was hardly a respite, and Edmond found himself working up a fever-like sweat during a night so close to winter.

  The pain… he could handle it. On its own at least, it was something he had to bear through. But thinking about his stamina, about what it would mean in the heat of the moment, when he had to take action with someone else at risk…

  Worry mounted at a constant, torturous pace. The fear of how many ways he could slip up, the terrible mistakes in judgment he could make, remained in his mind until something truly bizarre forced those thoughts to the side.

  “…?”

  Edmond stopped in his tracks on a low rooftop, bordering the area some people called Seyfelt’s slums.

  His gaze focused on the rooftop around thirty to forty meters away, he saw a single young man standing by the raised lip of the building’s top. His face and overall appearance like those of an Eastern actor or idol, it was now unmistakable that he was looking back at Edmond. But this was not what had surprised Edmond to the point of freezing up.

  Neither was the fact that he was wearing fashionable, light clothing without any sign of discomfort due to the cold, nor that he was standing on a tall rooftop just like that, or even the trails of black fog coming off his left shoulder.

  Rather, focusing on that shoulder, Edmond only became more confused. After all, before he reached this spot, when he had first caught glance of the man from a few dozen meters away…

  What just…?

  … All that left side, from the shoulder to the hip, had been missing, with only the black fog in its place.

  The rooftop under Edmond crumbled without warning. No, the action was too violent to be called ‘crumbling’. It had instead shattered, like glass exposed to a powerful explosion. He felt the force of the impact and the flying shards of rubble around him, while falling into the dark hollow of the building. If there were any additional floors before, they probably had broken away in the same manner.

  What the fuck!?

  He had no time to waste.

  Twisting his body in midair, Edmond kicked at one of the still solid, yet jagged edges of the broken concrete with all his strength, using it as a makeshift foothold for a jump. This was not a height he could not survive, but he had no reason to endure needless harm. The wall he leapt to would allow him to smooth out his descent—

  “Ah…!”

  His expectations were quickly betrayed when the wall he stepped on, without wasting a second, grew several large points in the opposite direction.

  Edmond quickly recognized his only edge, the fact he had just stepped onto the wall and could quickly bounce back to avoid being skewered. But the spear-like concrete formations were fast, managing to still make a good amount of contact despite his retreat.

  His eyes wide-open and forcing focus through the panic, he moved the best he could, trying to avoid some of the sharp points and block others with the armored parts of his suit. Feeling the ripping pain in his right upper arm, waist and left inner thigh, it was the point that reached his chest armor that knocked him further away, right into the opposite wall.

  Barely able to react in time and use it as another foothold, the fiery explosion produced at the same spot caught Edmond completely off-guard.

  He gritted his teeth to suppress a scream from the heat and force assaulting his body, blown back into the air and falling to the ground alongside the rubble. Desperately attempting to cover his more vulnerable spots from the remains of the exploding wall, he heard some very loud, oddly jovial words.

  “Oh my, that was rather quick of you. Sad it doesn’t matter in my territory!”

  Edmond did not recognize this woman’s voice or looks. Even after pushing his ache-filled body up onto one knee, the look he got at her mostly pink hair and luxury brand winter clothes rang no bells. The situation and environment stood at such odds with her gleeful appearance it felt ridiculous.

  Territory… so those spells were her doing?

  No. Just calling them ‘spells’ was inaccurate. The action was too fast, but the attacks themselves were pretty general in their scope. As dreadful as it was to think about it, Edmond might have died if that were not the case. Could it be they were rune-based traps?

  The sound of a step right behind him prevented any attempts at further analysis, replacing them with an abstract, yet dangerous feeling approaching. Taking advantage of his kneeling position, he collapsed forward to avoid the attack he knew was coming.

  “Eh?”

  Light breeze on his hoodie and a somewhat confused voice, Edmond followed his evasion with offense into the small, but crucial opening. Putting strength onto his arms, he continued his forward motion into what could have been a roll, but extending his legs powerfully toward the place his assailant would have been.

  He felt nothing, however.

  What…!?

  Not stopping his motion, Edmond caught an upside-down look at who had just been behind him.

  A dark-skinned man in the leather jacket was there, just where he should be after attacking with that hook on his hand. A place that should have exposed his chest and chin to Edmond’s counter kick.

  But all he had hit was empty air.

  Did he just move back to the same spot after dodging…? But why!?

  Completing the flip, Edmond landed on his feet amidst the debris. Trying to catch his breath within whatever time he was allowed, the exertion and pain continued to catch up to him. If not for his mask, Edmond would have been unable to hide a truly pathetic expression.

  “Holy shit, he almost got you! Hahaha!”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You had the first move and didn’t do him in, so who’s really the screw-up here?”

  Only half-listening to the banter from the pink-haired woman behind him and the hook-wielding man in front of him, Edmond instead focused on the building’s wall. Or rather than the wall itself, the fact there was no door.

  This guy… I’m pretty sure he wasn’t here when I first fell. Even if I couldn’t look around properly, I would have noticed him moving to avoid all the falling concrete. Unless…

  Two possibilities were present. The man had no need to avoid the debris, or he had come through the wall without the need for a door or to break it.

  It took a few seconds, but Edmond became awfully aware of a person who could fit both of those. The presence of the black fog man and the woman with the ‘territory’ were bonuses, the three complementing each other in the hasty hypothesis.

  “Violet Thorn. Phantom and Wildcard, right?”

  “Don’t forget ‘Miasma’.”

  Beginning to turn so that he could keep both of his attackers within sight to an extent, Edmond got a direct view of the actor-like young man from earlier, descending… no, reforming part of his body from the black fog, as the rest was essentially dragged by it so all of him could arrive to the bottom of the building. A display that made Edmond’s every nerve stand on end.

  “What would you know~? Boy scout does his homework!”

  “You two make it way too obvious. Might as well go all out with a battle cry or some other nonsense.”

  “Is there any point for us of all people to not show off~?”

  Even Edmond found himself agreeing to Miasma’s statement.

  They were Unmasked, powered criminals who did not fear exposing their faces to whatever authority was present, much less someone like him. Top members of the Violet Thorn, much like Scar-Tail from last night, and this time there were three of them.

  Just a coincidence? Very unlikely, especially if they were all together.

  So this is payback? What the fuck’s with this response time!? Scar-Tail was only caught last night!

  Edmond could not think of a way for them to find him so quickly, but that was irrelevant to his situation. They had him cornered, and he was screwed… if he tried to fight, that is.

  Holding onto his right arm with his left, shivering from more than just the pain and the cold, Edmond gathered the most facts he could remember, as fast as was possible to him.

  Wildcard is in control here, just like she said. The rumors about Phantom using some form of intangibility seem to be true, and Miasma… it’s probably better to not risk it and try to find out his specifics.

  The prospect of battle was grim with just one of them, let alone the three together. Chances being truly null on anything was a somewhat tenuous topic, but Edmond knew his odds of victory were as close to zero as was possible.

  However, if he acted without the intent to fight, things were different. Maybe not by a lot, perhaps only a minuscule amount, but his chances were still strictly better.

  There’s nothing else I can try… Alright!

  While the three Unmasked argued, Edmond extended his hands outward. He felt the visceral heat of the surrounding prana condensing, shaping into a spell.

  He had no need for power, and density could also be lower than usual. Instead, he focused on quantity and speed. If the bullets were weak and of little substance, it was still possible to form a lot of them quickly.

  Their movement was just as fast, spreading like a violent water splash in every direction. No real damage would be caused by such a weak spell, but instead of that, Wildcard’s hypersensitive traps, spread throughout the whole building, were magnificently set off.

  “What the…!?”

  “Shit!”

  “…!”

  The Unmasked, who had looked on with just inklings of curiosity before, yelled out as they were exposed to a variety of dangerous phenomena. Beyond the spikes and explosions from earlier, blue-ish electricity licked across the walls and the air, almost slicing winds blew, forces of push and drag battled and much more.

  A veritable maelstrom of ruin rampaged on, and Edmond used it as his shield.

  He was no safer than these three from the unfolding chaos. If anything, he might have been more vulnerable. But he trusted in the edge of not being surprised by it and having his following actions planned out.

  Edmond forced his legs to run with every ounce of strength he could muster. Away from Phantom, the only one who could have ignored the onslaught of activated traps, and toward a particular wall. The one where he himself had triggered one such trap, and the following explosion had torn a large hole in.

  Bearing through the trap effects that made contact with him, charging into even more of them as his body felt like breaking apart, Edmond could not waste this chance. With another push, he jumped through the torn wall and out of the building.

  “Ggh!”

  This time, as he rolled through the pavement on the street, he could not hold back a pitiful, painful grunt. Burned, cut, bruised… no, he still could not stop. This was nothing more than a distraction, a bother for the Unmasked.

  Edmond had to keep running, and so he did. Rising to his feet while constantly battling his need for rest, he promptly began running down the street. If he did not slow down, he might find a place to hide, or at least a chance to gather his thoughts.

  And yet the moment he looked up, for little reason than just to see his path a bit better, all such hopes disappeared.

  Edmond saw it for only an instant. The beast-like silhouette at the top corner of a low building, with the same intensity as if it had been a skyscraper. Backlit by the beautiful half-moon, it was almost like artwork from a legendary painter. But before even a second passed, the figure disappeared.

  It was only by reflex that Edmond stopped running, and it might have been his very exhaustion that made such a reflex act up. That small slip-up was what probably saved his life.

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  The pavement exploded in front of Edmond, only leaving behind a crater of indeterminate size, obscured by the resulting cloud of dust. But the man behind the dust, rising from his strike, was too much to be concealed in such a manner.

  An overwhelming premonition of death, exceeding either that from the golden-eyed Fei or the remorseless killer Phantom severalfold, filled every corner of Edmond’s mind and heart.

  It was like seeing a monster dressed for the cold. Over two meters tall, with the build of a beast and black hair that was almost like a lion’s mane. From the elbow down, his right arm had turned into a skeletal, gargantuan claw of crystalline purple, that which had been driven into the street just a moment ago and led the formation of that crater.

  “A debt is always repaid. Remember this, even if today is the end.”

  Hellbound.

  The name simply came to Edmond’s mind, without any complex thought.

  And it was in the same instinctual manner that he knew trying to get past this man, let alone fighting back, was futile.

  The only action Edmond could attempt with any amount of strength was running. Turning around and darting away from the human-shaped beast.

  He came into view of the thick, black fog just outside the building he had escaped from, steadily receding within the increasingly more visible Miasma. Phantom and Wildcard stood by each side of him.

  Did the fog protect them? Please, just leave me alone already!

  Edmond let out a roar of both frustration and misery, extending his hand toward the three Unmasked in a desperate attempt to clear the path.

  A spell much more powerful than before, a fast magic bullet carrying considerable heat and density made contact with the black fog, but failed to make it through to Miasma or anyone else. Weakening and shriveling on its path, it was almost like the black fog was devouring it bit by bit.

  At the same time, Phantom threw the hook on his hand toward Edmond, revealing its handle’s connection to some sort of long, thick wire wrapped around his arm, right beneath the sleeve.

  Edmond stepped aside first, before jumping in the opposite direction. But despite the layered attempt to throw off Phantom’s aim while also dodging, the Unmasked’s mastery with the unorthodox weapon was obvious, expertly pulling and moving his arm so that the hook would twist and aim back at the airborne Edmond.

  And when forced to block, trying what he could with the armor at his forearm, the hook became hardly visible for an instant, then went right through his suit like a mirage.

  “…!”

  There was no time to ponder anything about the unexpected extent of Phantom’s ability. Before Edmond could form a coherent thought, the excruciating feeling of the hook solidifying and pulling from within his arm took over the entirety of his mind, forcing hot tears out of his eyes.

  Dragged through the air like bait on a fishing line, he hit a wall of the building he had left before without any chance to resist. It was hardly surprising that another one of Wildcard’s traps was triggered by the impact, attacking Edmond’s body with blistering heat and shrapnel. He could not even afford to see just what it was before he was pulled again, in the opposite direction.

  He could not hit another trap like that. He could not allow Phantom to do so. If that happened, then there truly were no guarantees.

  Every drop of concentration he could muster had to go into this spell. He had to pull it off, if not…

  … Edmond shook off any and all unnecessary thoughts as he gathered as much prana as he could, ignoring his body’s wails. As much heat as possible, the best density he could achieve, all gathered along a sharp edge.

  Swinging his arm at the wire with all his available strength, Edmond’s blade spell managed to slice it away, freeing him from Phantom’s tether even if the hook remained inside his mangled arm. Still in free fall, that was incomparably better than whatever awaited him before.

  Or so he thought, before his blurry vision settled upon the approaching Hellbound. The violet claw shone under the moon, like a crystalline bone. Approaching Edmond’s chest, its speed was such that even if he were not immobile—

  His thought did not finish.

  By the time he found his mind functioning with some degree of normalcy again, he wondered if he had lost consciousness for that brief moment the ache had not reached him. After all, he could not even remember how he had reached the long end of the street.

  Edmond laid on his side, unable to even lift a finger. It was not just a matter of pain or exhaustion, things had reached a point where his mind seemed unable to communicate with his body at all, almost failing to notice the blood dripping down his head. All he could do was watch and barely hear as the four silhouettes, registering as little more than shadows, approached him from the other end.

  He could not do anything. This would be it.

  Claude would blame himself for it, when it was Edmond who lied to him. Max would cry, and maybe do the same as Isolde on that snowy day. Isolde herself might turn out even worse, while his last conversation with Hilda would be that stupid mistake of his at the restaurant. And Mom… Mom would…

  Darkness swelled around Edmond’s mind and sight, as if encroaching on a weakening fire. He tried to use the concern and regret to force his body to move again, but only his fear grew as the pain failed to reach more and more of his body.

  But then, at what seemed like his very last moment…

  … Only one color for everything. Silver.

  It looked like a lance, falling from above onto the street, between Edmond and the four shadows. Compared to Hellbound’s descent, it was unassuming and simplistic.

  But the silver light, the silver flames that spread wildly from it warded off three of the shadows with peerless might. Edmond may have heard a painful scream, and even the fourth shadow found it difficult to approach, forced to take a step back.

  The last thing Edmond saw as the dark receded within the overpowering need for rest, was a vivid brown ponytail, fluttering in the almost wintery wind that had now turned warm.

  After two hours of no significant progress, Ingrid Bach finally made the decision to close the document she had been working on, leaving the purchase letter unfinished for now. She could end up regretting it, without that much time left for the deal to go down, but it was doubtful she would manage to do any good work tonight.

  Distractions were no excuse, as her children had all gone to bed over an hour ago. And while she had yet to receive some important resources, she still had enough to write much of the letter.

  Ingrid was simply in an awkward sort of mood, as it may happen to anyone from time to time. And she had learned of the dangers of forcing things without settling that problem beforehand.

  Pulling back a few strands of her black hair, uncontained by the loose bun that gathered most of it, she got out of bed and her room, heading downstairs in slippers. Not wanting to overthink what she should be doing, a drink would likely help her relax and sleep later on.

  “…?”

  Ingrid was mildly surprised at the presence of someone else, once she arrived on the ground floor.

  Laying back on the couch, loose t-shirt and knee-length shorts wrinkled from whatever time she had spent in bed, Hildegard noticed her arrival soon after.

  “I thought you were in your room at least. Getting water?” Ingrid was the first to speak, with a voice that seemed to smile as much as her face did.

  Hildegard sighed, bringing a hand to her forehead.

  “A phone call. Groupmate has no sense of time and I just had to pace around.”

  “Sounds like something major came up. Or are you just popular~?”

  Hildegard chuckled at Ingrid’s frivolous inquiry. At least her mood seemed to improve just a bit.

  “What about you, then? Need a snack to make it through that job?”

  “I’ll deal with it tomorrow, I’m so over it now. I was getting… Hm, how about you join me, actually? You’re already way past fifteen.”

  Ingrid saw Hildegard’s eyebrow raise slightly as she turned and approached the kitchen, where the cooler laid.

  “Join you for what?”

  “A glass or two, of course. I like the strong ones, so tell me if you’re not feeling it.” She said while settling on a particular bottle.

  Hildegard took a few seconds to reply, showing an awkwardness rather unusual to her. Still, her eventual response was tinged with a sort of excitement that felt so sweet.

  “Sure, sure! I’d love to.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  Ingrid smiled again. Sharing a drink with Hildegard for the first time, she eagerly took out a bottle of particularly rich wine, the sort that would generally be saved for festivities.

  It was not long before she was sitting next to her on the couch, pouring two glasses to just over the halfway point.

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Lightweight?”

  “Of course not!”

  Perhaps a bit frustratingly, Hildegard’s childish offense did little else but further amuse Ingrid.

  “It’s our first shared drink, I wouldn’t be stingy with you of all people. Cheers.”

  The blonde’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the glass of wine brought up to her, lips pursed in just the slightest inkling of a pout. It did not last long, however, before she promptly raised her own glass for a satisfying clink.

  While Ingrid was a little more controlled than Hildegard, neither of the two stopped at small gulps. The drink was certainly delicious, but beyond that, it felt necessary.

  “To what, though?” The teenager asked before her second sip, delaying her drinking just a tad.

  “Hm, to our reunion, for one, would be obvious. Isolde got another scholarship offer, so that could be another. Even you and Edmond making it to another year…”

  Ingrid drank again, and then remained silent. Nothing had interrupted her, but she still would not speak more. On the other side of the conversation, she knew not getting a reply from Hildegard was answer enough for how she felt.

  She glanced to the side, as if to check on how much of her glass remained despite the little time since serving. Meanwhile, Hildegard tapped her slipper-covered foot incessantly, even if not quickly or strongly. Maroon eyes closed temporarily as she sighed, lips tight in a likely bite at their inner area.

  She drank more wine, and Ingrid followed suit. Regardless of how much time actually passed, slipping past drunken awareness after their first glasses had emptied, soon enough the third one was halfway done for Hildegard as Ingrid started on her fourth.

  They had done more than just take tasty sips in the meantime, with Hildegard returning to her phone often while Ingrid shuffled across songs on her own, a single earphone placed on her left ear. Nonetheless, Hildegard’s abrupt words did startle her somewhat.

  “Is that really something you want to toast for?” Her skin was slightly flushed, and her voice quite languid. Still, both it and her eyes harbored obvious dissatisfaction. “Another year of Edmond and me working on this? Since when is it something you’d be happy about?”

  Ingrid was impassive, unresponsive to Hildegard’s accusative tone. Increasingly frustrated, the girl drank a big gulp as if to calm herself down with the burn of the alcohol.

  It hardly worked.

  “He’s not here, even when we’re finally all together after years. If that’s how it is, just how little have you seen him ever since? Less than five times? Not even once a year, maybe?”

  “Hildegard…”

  “To not even tell me this is how things were… I became a knight too, I’m aware, but you and I know it’s not nearly the same!”

  Her lips did not even twitch, no attempt to open them being made. How could she even respond? Hildegard was not incorrect. While she had made her desire to join the Knight Corps known years ago, that was that. An interest she did not press for any more than a single mention at the dinner table.

  While she had both justified and regretted her moment of weakness countless times, it was Ingrid who resumed talks on the topic, and encouraged Hildegard to do as she pleased. Considering the more sensible path she had taken, let alone her attentiveness afterward, it was no surprise she was this upset with Edmond.

  It happened one year before Hildegard herself applied to become a cadet. A day Ingrid could still recall so vividly it might as well replay in her mind.

  Edmond’s anxiety and moist eyes after coming back home from an outing, the nonstop trembling in his hands, and in his voice every time he was made to speak up. Isolde’s frustration, Hildegard’s confusion, and her own fears. What if he was being bullied? Maybe he was hiding a bad injury? Perhaps he had witnessed some terrible crime…

  Ingrid never predicted the arrival of several police officers, led by a recruiter from the Alpheratz Knight Corps.

  Sorcery was dangerous. More than that, it was frightening. The ability of just a few people to change the landscape of the world everyone lived in, both figuratively and literally. Even low-ranking knights were able to overtake bullets and break through a car, depriving most non-powered folks of any direct ability to resist them. If one were to look at the Generals, they could hardly be considered people at all, with only whole governments and military companies being able to handle them.

  Naturally, any knowledge or materials needed to acquire sorcery and similar abilities were under the strictest of control, which was also to be applied to people who were already capable of performing such phenomena. Any person who could transform prana, no matter how low their ability might be, was to either be brought into a proper military body, or become part of a linked research organization.

  Realization hit Ingrid like a sudden, freezing downpour. Edmond was the first to ask for permission to join the Knight Corps, and Ingrid had firmly rejected the idea every time. The pursuit of a duty filled with danger far beyond the human. What kind of mother would support that?

  Even so, she was outdone. Edmond found a way to join that she could do nothing to oppose. The modest spellcasting ability he had learned from that teacher of his, even that was enough for the relevant authorities to draft him, lest he become a recorded criminal.

  Even today, Ingrid wondered if it all might have been avoided, had she not been so steadfast in her rejection of the boy’s aspirations. But she could do nothing to change her past actions, just as she could do nothing to take Edmond back from a life so different to her own.

  As for how things had been since that day, Hildegard’s accusations were by all means justified. However, when it came to Ingrid’s own feelings…

  “Hildegard, how much do you know about Theo?”

  “… What Mondi and Isolde have told me.”

  The implication was hardly hidden. There was no way she would go out of her way to ask them about that topic.

  Now halfway through her fourth glass of wine, Ingrid’s eyes wistfully moved away from Hildegard as she leaned back on the couch, lips gradually forming a small smile.

  “My husband was… a frustrating person at times. I can honestly count on one hand the number of times I saw him stressed at all, and with fingers to spare. Were it not for those, I’d say he was just born without the gene, or something. Just an annoyingly relaxed man, yet so good with words he hardly got grief for it, unless it was from me.”

  The dry sound of glass on varnished wood echoed softly, and Ingrid pulled her hand back from the glass. It felt pleasantly cold on her cheek as she focused her gaze on the drink, the few red speckles from the light’s shine on it being oddly mesmerizing. In contrast, Hildegard’s glass beside it was all but empty.

  “… Did Mondi hit his head, or something?”

  Ingrid’s subsequent laugh was brazen, yet oddly youthful.

  “Right, right. I know, doesn’t sound like him at all. Not even Isolde. Sometimes Max seems to be the one to resemble him, but he’s still little enough it might just be wishful thinking.”

  “So Mondi is more like…”

  The raven-haired woman glanced back at Hildegard again, an amused glint at the corner of her gray irises.

  “It could also be he ended up being his own thing, but you’re probably right. Stubborn, self-conscious Ingrid… Edmond really didn’t have any luck there.”

  There was no shortage of times in which she detested her own strong memory. Let alone saying it out loud, every time Ingrid thought of what her children ended up inheriting from her was accompanied by visceral discomfort. Mistakes at work from taking on excessive overtime, outings spoiled over being the one who paid less, even dinner could be awkward if she felt like a single element was out of place or subpar.

  Bearable when Theodor was still with them, now it was overwhelming. And the more such things happened, the more she ended up thinking about it, making the lump in her chest utterly insufferable.

  “And what is that to all this?”

  Ingrid could not have felt more thankful to the oblivious Hildegard, as she snapped her out of some very frustrating thoughts. She sighed, reaching for her glass once more before taking a gulp, rather than a sip.

  “Theo was lucky enough to make enough money from his passion, and he certainly loved writing a lot. But of course, this being the world that it is, such a line of work carries its fair share of problems.”

  Despite her aggressive drinking, the tasty liquor would not smother the growing regret within Ingrid.

  “Honestly, I don’t really know if that was all there was to it. Maybe something happened at school, or perhaps it was just the wrong talk at the wrong time, but one day, Edmond…”

  One second, two seconds… five seconds. Ingrid remained quiet, unable to find the proper words. No matter what she chose, it would make things sound exaggerated… or undercut. But with Hildegard’s growing, confused attention on her, she had to continue.

  “‘Get a job that pays’, he said.”

  The blonde’s eyes went wide for a moment, enough so that it would be noticeable even if she were not drinking. Ingrid’s heart was hit from both sides by pangs of regret and duty, the latter continuing to win just slightly.

  “Theo was hardly the type to mind slights at his lifestyle, much less without pressing matters to consider, but he loved our children very much. A few weeks later, he was already hopping on planes left and right to find something else he could work on, should time allow. One month later… he was in the hospital.”

  She refused to look at Hildegard after saying this. Such cowardice may have stung more than the girl’s expression would, but Ingrid could not find it in her to take that chance.

  “Some random accident, perhaps from the snowstorms in season. No negligent pilot or maintenance to blame, no disrespected protocol… it felt like fate, for all the wrong reasons. He lasted a week, with Edmond and Max being the last to see him.”

  Ingrid did not notice when her drink lost most of its flavor, much less its decreasing amount until her inability to sip further brought it to attention. Her chest felt tight, her breathing laborious despite her apparent calm.

  She still did not let go of the glass, her fingers holding it so tightly she would not have been surprised if it shattered. However, Ingrid did not pour herself any more wine.

  “People are complex, layered and mysterious. Even idiots are no exception to this, so there isn’t anyone that’s defined by just a couple of events, let alone one. Still, you probably understand a bit too, from four years ago. If he has… if he wants to settle this selfish ‘responsibility’, I’d rather allow him that freedom for now.”

  Hildegard looked down, her own glass as empty as Ingrid’s, and placed it upon the table. Her expression was tired, but more frustrated than drowsy. Large, reddish-brown eyes remained focused, however, as her gaze traveled back to Ingrid.

  “So that’s what you’d want. Rather, what you wanted.”

  Ingrid’s lips softly curved once more. No surprise was present, but her girl’s sharpness was still so pleasant to see.

  “Now a lot more of the whole ‘Miss Lunaris’ deal starts to make sense…”

  “Is that so? I never took you to be curious about it.”

  Hildegard’s expression relaxed, giving way to a chuckle before long. Likely assuming from the time passed that no more wine would be had, she picked up both glasses in one hand, and the now closed bottle in another. Her movements, instead of her speech, made the weight of her drink much more apparent, but they were competent enough as she stored the bottle in the cooler, and then brought the glasses to the sink.

  Water ran.

  “You really don’t have to…”

  “It’s just two glasses, Ingrid. Just go to bed, you probably want it as bad as I do by now.”

  She was not wrong.

  Ingrid could hold her alcohol, but anyone would find it agonizing to remain awake after such a bold drinking hour. Fittingly, she also lacked the energy to argue back.

  Her gaze regretful, her body heavy and sluggish, she stood up, walking toward the stairs.

  “Love you, dear.”

  “Same here. Thank you for… well, tonight was special.”

  The slight awkwardness in her smirk, contrasting her usual poise, reminded Ingrid of how much she had missed living alongside this girl.

  Still, even after she walked up the stairs, opened her room’s door, and got everything ready before surrendering to her bed, she could not share that painfully honest smile.

  As much as she had tried, no matter the angle she approached from, despite so much patience and attention; nothing worked. That which she believed to see so clearly in Edmond’s struggle, still eluded her in Hildegard.