Trum finished his words and looked down at Cassandra, waiting for the facade to crack. He expected tears, trembling, or at least a flicker of the terror that was consuming his nephew.
However, contrary to his expectations, Cassandra didn’t tremble. She didn’t pale. She didn’t beg.
Instead, she looked at him.
It was a look of pure, unadulterated disgust, as if she were staring at a pile of rotting garbage rather than a powerful noble.
"I thought you were better than that trash," she muttered, tilting her head slightly toward the cowering Ronald. "But it seems like you are even worse than him. At least he is simply stupid. You? You are vile."
She scoffed, a sharp, cutting sound in the damp room.
"And let me correct you on one thing. I don’t rely on the Virellia name. And I certainly don’t rely on the whims of that Crown Prince."
She leaned back against the hard wood of the chair, her posture regally defiant despite the ropes binding her.
"I rely on myself. And..."
A strange light flickered in her sapphire eyes.
A mix of absolute confidence and dangerous promise.
"...my husband."
"If you ever dare to lay a hand on me," she whispered, her voice dropping to a tone that made the hairs on Ronald’s neck stand up, "then you will pray for death. Because what he will do to you... will make your little ’crime of passion’ look like a nursery rhyme."
Trum stared at her speechlessly for a moment.
The chamber fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Ronald’s ragged breathing.
’Hah...’
Trum had to admit, she was really something else.
To be able to lie through her teeth so naturally, with such intense conviction... if he didn’t know better, he would have really believed it.
But he did know better.
He had read every intelligence report on the "Golden Rose" of the capital. Cassandra was a workaholic, a genius merchant who had built her empire from scratch. She was unmarried, unattached, and fiercely independent. There was no "husband." There was no hidden monster waiting in the wings.
This was just a desperate bluff.
A final, theatrical attempt to instill fear in them by inventing a boogeyman.
"Heh."
Trum snorted, shaking his head with a look of mock disappointment.
"A valiant effort, truly," he muttered, turning his back on her. "But I know you better than you think, woman. You have no husband. And no one is coming to save you."
He looked toward the darkest corner of the room, where the shadows seemed to cling a little tighter than usual.
"Sir Mill," Trum called out, his voice echoing slightly. "I can only entrust this to you. Make it look... convincing."
Cassandra’s eyes widened slightly. She opened her mouth to retort, to tell him that his "intelligence" was outdated trash.
"You—"
But the words never left her throat.
"Understood."
A chilling, monotone voice whispered right beside her ear.
Before she could even register the presence, a hand chopped down against her neck.
Her vision instantly went dark.
’A-Aman...’
______
’...’
’...Hmm?’
Shaela slowly opened her eyes, blinking a few times in a futile attempt to adjust to the surroundings. But it was useless; she was barely able to make out some shapes.
’Urgh...’
She frowned, her mind swimming in a sluggish haze.
’Where am I-argh?!’
A sharp, rhythmic throb pulsed at the back of her head, sending spikes of pain down her neck. She winced, and the sensation jolted her memory back into focus.
She recalled the events clearly now.
She had been out shopping with Aida, buying new clothes for the kids and supplies for the orphanage. The streets had been crowded. Then, in a blur of motion, a street rat had snatched their coin pouch and darted away.
She had chased him, with Aida close on her heels, cornering him in a narrow, dead-end alley.
And then... nothing.
Just a sudden impact, a flash of pain, and everything went dark.
"Mmmnph!" (Aida!)
She tried to shout Aida’s name, but only a muffled, strangled noise escaped her throat. Panic flared in her chest. She realized her mouth was gagged, covered tightly by a rough, foul-tasting cloth.
’...Have we been kidnapped?’
She guessed the situation instantly, her heart rate spiking.
’N-not good!’
She tried to move, to spring to her feet, but her body wouldn’t obey. Her wrists were bound tight behind her back, the coarse rope biting into her skin.
She wasn’t tied to a chair, though. She was sitting on the cold, damp stone floor, propped up back-to-back against another person.
’Aida?’
That was her first thought. She leaned back harder, trying to gauge the person bound to her.
But a second later, her brow furrowed in confusion.
The back pressing against hers was too broad. The shoulders were too wide, and the frame felt solid and robust, far too muscular to be a thirteen-year-old girl.
’This isn’t Aida.’
Her blood ran cold.
’Then who is it?’
Just then, the figure behind her groaned low in their throat. She felt the muscles of their back tense up as they also began to stir, jerking against the ropes in confusion.
’Hmm?’
Just then, the person behind her stiffened. They must have sensed her presence as well, or perhaps felt her trying to turn, because they stopped moving instantly.
A second later, an annoyingly familiar voice resonated directly inside her skull.
’Shaela?’
Her eyes widened in the dark. She knew this voice.
’H-Huh? Nolan?’ she projected her thought back, her mental voice shaky with relief and confusion.
’Yes, it’s me,’ Nolan replied. His mental tone was calm, though she could feel an undercurrent of sharp alertness beneath it. ’Are you ok?’
’My head hurts, but I think I’m fine,’ she answered surprised by his worry. ’What... what is going on?’
’I was about to ask you the same thing.’
Shaela quickly explained the situation: the shopping trip with Aida, the thief, the chase into the alley, and the sudden darkness.
’I see,’ Nolan mused grimly. ’So they used a classic bait-and-switch.’
’What about you?’ Shaela asked. ’How did you end up here?’
’I was at somewhere else,’ Nolan replied, his mental voice dripping with frustration. ’I went to inspect a shipment from a new supplier. It was supposed to be a routine check. But the moment I stepped into the warehouse, the doors locked and gas filled the room. I didn’t even have time to draw my aura.’
Silence settled between them for a heartbeat as the pieces clicked together.
’This wasn’t an accident,’ Shaela realized, a cold chill running down her spine. ’We fell into a trap.’
’...Yeah, it seems like it.’ Nolan reluctantly agreed with her.
Shaela could feel the anger rising from him through their connection. The muscles in his back tightened against hers as he tested the strength of the ropes binding them.
’It must be those bastards,’ Nolan cursed, his voice turning venomous. ’The Redhart scum and the Black Dragon Gang bastards!’
’C-Can you sense anything? Anyone else nearby?’ Shaela shifted the topic, her heart squeezing with anxiety. ’I am worried about Aida. She was with me when...’
’...Wait a moment.’ Nolan cut her off. Then he went silent.
Shaela bit her lip and waited patiently.
She knew Nolan was a Mystic Resonator who had recently advanced to Tier 3. His sensory abilities were far superior to hers, an ordinary person; he should be able to scan their surroundings easily, even through walls.
’...Damn it.’
However, a few seconds later, she only heard his frustrated cursing echoing in her mind.
’W-What happened?’ She asked, sensing the spike in his irritation.
’They put us in an aura-blocking room,’ Nolan hissed. ’My senses can’t pass through these walls. It’s like trying to see through a lead box. And as far as I can tell... we are alone in here.’
’Alone...?’
Shaela’s hope sank. If Aida wasn’t here, where was she? Was she hurt? Or worse?
Creak—
Suddenly, the heavy sound of a metal door opening cut through the silence.
Click.
Blinding white light instantly flooded the room, stinging their eyes which had grown accustomed to the pitch black. Shaela squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away instinctively.
’...Or not,’ Nolan muttered grimly.
As their vision slowly cleared, blinking away the spots, they both looked up to stare at the newcomer standing in the doorway.
"You two are finally up, huh."