As dusk approached, Iron Cross Street teemed with voices, its bustling street life washing over them. Vendors selling fresh produce and cooked food shouted themselves hoarse, making passersby slow down unconsciously and drift closer.
A carriage would have struggled to move an inch through such a chaotic street, so the Nighthawks had no choice but to leave their hired carriage at the street entrance and proceed on foot toward their destination.
Klein had recovered some of his strength in the carriage. Now, he watched the passing pedestrians warily. Before moving to Daffodil Street, he had lived in an apartment nearby. Even after improving his living conditions, he often came here to buy cheap cooked food. He maintained the proper caution toward the impoverished, chaotic Iron Cross Street.
"Watch out for pickpockets."
He quietly reminded Angel and Leonard, who were traveling with him.
"Don't worry."
Leonard did not seem concerned. He pulled aside one flap of his trench coat, revealing the holster at his waist. The brass frame and fine grip of his revolver showed clearly, along with the highly recognizable Police Badge.
In an instant, gazes filled with greed, doubt, and wariness shifted away from him. The number of people around them staring at the three well-dressed outsiders was cut in half.
"You should be careful too..."
Klein looked toward Angel, who still had not realized it, until she suddenly understood and fastened the hood of her trench coat, blocking the remaining gazes.
But those gazes soon turned toward Klein instead, making him worry that someone might recognize him as "that Moretti boy."
You don't know me. You don't know me...
He repeated the words silently, lowered his head, and followed Leonard, who was taking the lead, and Angel close behind him. He weaved through the street vendors and pedestrians,