"It is an honor to meet the three of you," the woman said lightly, her voice calm and unhurried.
"Your names have been circulating quite... enthusiastically as of late."
She sat at the center of the room, posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, fingers loosely wrapped around a porcelain teacup. Steam curled upward, slow and delicate.
The district leader of the thieves’ guild.
Leisurely sipping tea, as if this were a friendly afternoon visit rather than a clandestine meeting that could shake half the city.
I tilted my head and let a small smirk tug at my lips.
"Isn’t it a bit rude to invite us to a private meeting without even showing your face?"
All we could see was a wide-brimmed hat, black cloth draped down from its edges like a veil. Not a single inch of skin visible.
Against the stark contrast of her pure white jeogori and skirt, the concealment only made her presence more striking—almost theatrical.
She chuckled softly.
"Please forgive me," she replied. "The head of a thieves’ guild lives under constant scrutiny. Revealing oneself—face or voice—rarely leads to anything good."
She lifted the cup slightly, as if to emphasize her point.
"Even this much," she added, tapping the rim, "is already a considerable risk for me."
I shrugged.
"Well, do as you please."
Without waiting for permission, I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, eyeing the neatly arranged refreshments. I picked one up and popped it into my mouth.
Crunch.
A rich, nutty flavor spread across my tongue, sweet without being cloying, layered with something faintly aromatic.
Honestly? Better than anything I’d ever snacked on back in the North.
Before I could reach for another—
"Are you insane?" Amelia hissed, grabbing my wrist. "What if it’s poisoned?"
I swallowed and raised an eyebrow.
"What a grim imagination. Relax."
The woman laughed again, this time more openly.
"You live on trust," I continued casually. "If she poisoned us here, she’d gain nothing and lose everything. That’s not how people like her operate."
"...People like her?" Amelia muttered.
The veiled woman set her teacup down with a soft clink.
"You’re perceptive," she said, sounding amused. "Most would hesitate far longer—if they dared touch the food at all."
Her hidden gaze shifted toward Amelia.
"And you," she added gently, "are cautious. As expected of someone raised in a noble household."
Amelia stiffened.
"...You did your homework."
"Of course," the woman replied smoothly. "Information is our trade."
Silence settled for a moment, thick but not hostile.
Excluding the North and the West, the balance of power across the continent was... delicate.
In most regions, the nobility and the underworld existed in a tense, unspoken truce. They avoided stepping on each other’s toes, not out of goodwill, but because upsetting that balance meant chaos—for everyone.
Which was exactly why this situation bothered me.
Would the underworld really dare threaten people of our standing?
Emma was a duke’s daughter from the West.
Amelia was tied to the North.
And I—well, even setting titles aside, I wasn’t exactly disposable.
’Unless they’re planning to flip their own table,’ I thought, ’there’s no reason for them to make such a move.’
And more importantly—
The woman I knew wouldn’t stop at poison if she truly wanted someone dead.
Poison was hesitation.
She was not the type to hesitate.
Still, caution won.
"Here," I said, pushing the plate of refreshments slightly forward, "I already checked them. No poison. You can eat without worrying."
The faint clink of porcelain echoed in the quiet room.
...
No one moved.
Emma stared at the tea as if it were a coiled snake.
"Forget it," she said flatly. "Even if you say that, it still bothers me. I’ll pass."
"I feel the same way," Amelia added without hesitation, nodding once.
They remained seated on either side of me, rigid, alert—hands close, eyes sharp—neither of them sparing even a glance at the refreshments.
I sighed inwardly.
’So much for easing the mood.’
"As I said before," Emma continued coolly, folding her hands on her lap, "I’m only here for my own business. Once that’s settled, I’ll leave."
Her words were blunt. Honest. Almost impatient.
Across from us, the woman hidden behind the veil of shadow let out a soft chuckle.
"Oh my," she said, her voice smooth and unhurried. "Then I can’t help but wonder..."
She leaned forward slightly. The candlelight shifted, casting subtle shadows that traced the curve of her lips. Even obscured, the shape alone was enough to draw the eye—dangerously so.
"What could a young lady of the Duke’s household from the West be so curious about?"
Emma blinked.
"I am...?"
For just a moment, the tension slipped.
Swept up by the rhythm of the conversation, by the deceptively gentle tone directed at her, Emma opened her mouth without thinking—her guard lowered by half a breath.
Naturally, the truth was right there.
The whereabouts of the one who had murdered her mother.
Her fingers tightened.
"Ugh—!"
The sound cut off sharply.
I had reached out and pinched her arm—lightly, but with purpose.
Emma flinched and shot me a glare sharp enough to draw blood.
"What was that for—!?"
I leaned closer and murmured under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.
"Not here," I said. "Not like this."
Her expression shifted.
Anger first.
Then realization.
And finally—restraint.
She exhaled slowly through her nose and leaned back, lips pressing into a thin line.
"...Tch."
Across the table, the woman in shadow tilted her head, the brim of her veiled hat casting ripples of darkness across her face.
"How interesting," she murmured. "It seems I touched something sensitive."
Her voice carried amusement—lazy, confident, the kind that came from someone who had lived long enough to stop fearing threats.
I ignored her and turned back to Emma instead.
"We need to be clear about the terms," I said calmly. "You can’t just hand over the information for curing Hanhyul Syndrome and expect this to end there, can you?"
Emma stiffened slightly.
"...Didn’t you come for that information in the first place?"
"That’s part of it," I replied without hesitation. "But this is also an opportunity. And opportunities shouldn’t be wasted."
You take everything you can get.
The more you gain in exchange, the better.
—Snicker.
The soft sound came from the woman in shadow. She raised a gloved hand to her lips, clearly entertained.
"Very well," she said lightly. "Then propose your terms first. But understand this—if I find them unreasonable, I will refuse without regret."
I met her gaze, unfazed.
"Isn’t your life on the line?" I asked. "I don’t see how you can afford to be picky."
Amelia flinched beside me at the bluntness of my words. The mention of the district leader’s condition—of Hanhyul Syndrome—still weighed heavily on her conscience.
I shrugged.
It was an incurable disease. A death sentence.
If information could save even one life, then everything else was secondary.
"After my death," the woman said calmly, "the thieves’ guild will continue its work—buying, selling, trading information, maintaining its lineage. If your request threatens that foundation..."
She paused, then continued with quiet resolve.
"...then it would be better for me to die here, insignificant as a weed in a field."
Her tone was unwavering. Not dramatic. Not defensive.
Certain.
’So that hasn’t changed,’ I thought.
That stubborn pride. That absolute loyalty to the guild.
I hadn’t planned to push this far—but it seemed necessary.