Impersonation

The heavy sound of the door closing was like a tombstone sealing a grave, shutting off the world inside from the one outside.

Inside the living room, silence settled over everything once more. Only the faint city noise drifting in from beyond the window proved that time was passing.

A few seconds after Professor Vanason left, the bedroom door on the other side of the living room opened from within.

Sacia Taylor stepped out, her platinum-blonde hair gleaming like cold metal in the dim indoor light.

Her expression was even more detached than before. Her sapphire-blue eyes swept across the living room before settling on the man who had just impersonated "Officer Clovin."

"Several things you said just now had obvious flaws, Malcolm."

Her voice was cool as she directly accused him.

"An experimental accident caused by a highly classified research project is an excuse that simply doesn't hold up when applied to a professor of historical archaeology. It doesn't stand up to logical scrutiny.

"And you were so eager for him to translate the notes that you even mentioned Jeffrey's true cause of death, a truth waiting to be uncovered. That directly contradicted what you'd said earlier!

"For a scholar frightened out of his wits by the name 'Clovin,' those contradictions could easily sow suspicion once he calmed down."

The man called Malcolm had now shed the indifferent mask of a "cold-blooded officer."

He casually tossed the forged black ID, emblazoned with a sword-and-shield crest, onto the lace-covered coffee table. It struck the wooden surface with a soft clack.

"Something bought on the black market actually came in handy at a crucial moment. But... if the real Clovin catches me, I'm dead." Malcolm shrugged, his manner now relaxed and faintly roguish.

"Sacia, what just happened was more than enough. Fear is the best anesthetic. It can numb even the sharpest mind.

"Professor Vanason will be thanking the gods and feeling lucky just to be able to breathe the air outside his apartment. For a while, he won't dare look back or examine any details too closely.

"Even if he slowly realizes something was off later, by the time he figures it out, we'll have already achieved our goal. Does he really dare go knock on Lepest's door to check?"

He snorted, a trace of smugness in his voice. "Clovin" was the Empire's most useful pass and deterrent. No one dared verify whether it was real or not, especially after witnessing that... utterly "unreasonable" sight in the study with their own eyes.

He and Sacia walked over to the living room's floor-to-ceiling window. Malcolm said, "Now, what matters is the person Vanason just mentioned—Gallo Channing.

"We'd been keeping an eye on the kid ever since Vanason first brought Jeffrey's materials for him to look at."

He looked at Sacia and continued, "Fortunately, the kid's a businessman. As long as we pay, he'll work for us."

Sacia gave a slight nod and walked to the huge window. With her slender fingers, she parted the heavy velvet curtain just a little and looked down. Professor Vanason was just disappearing around the street corner, dazed and unsteady on his feet, like a rabbit frightened out of its wits.

"Yes." Her voice remained steady, though her pace slowed slightly as she spoke analytically. "His ability to learn and remember is far beyond that of ordinary people.

"It's not just his astonishing speed. More importantly... it's how he organizes, processes, and analyzes vast amounts of information!

"From that chaotic box of Professor Jeffrey's field notes, full of personal symbols and leaps in thought, he was able to sort and file everything in an incredibly short time—and accurately identify Jeffrey's own conjectures!"

She let the curtain fall, shutting out the light from outside, then turned around. In the dim room, half her flawless face was hidden in shadow, lending her an air of mystery.

"Our people followed him for several days and confirmed his usual route to Lubo Lane, as well as his home address.

"A desperately poor family, with a seriously ill mother and a young sister!"

Her gaze finally settled on the brown leather notebook Malcolm had casually left on the sofa. Her expression grew solemn.

"Based on what we know so far, Jeffrey succeeded. Something went wrong at a crucial point near the end, but everything we want is in here. If we can just translate it...!"

"Then you'll be the one to get close to him." Malcolm held out the notebook and added, "Be careful, Sacia.

"Don't let the real Clovin catch wind of you!"

Sacia accepted the notebook, her fingertips brushing its cool, fine leather.

She said nothing, seemingly ignoring him as she carefully slipped the notebook into her small-looking handbag.

That evening, Gallo walked home to Valen Street as usual.

The mental effort of the day had been exhausting, and he could clearly feel the strain.

In his pocket was a new bottle of cough medicine. His mother's coughing had eased, but she still needed to keep taking it.

He had also bought a small piece of braised meat and two sausages at the market.

He grumbled that the food was outrageously expensive. The braised meat and two sausages had cost him two Copper Nils.

An ordinary worker wouldn't dare hope for a dinner like that on a day's wages.

But when he thought of how he'd earned fifty-one Copper Nils and three Fensos again today, Gallo felt content, and not even worried about the future.

His high daily earnings had led him to buy meat and fresh vegetables on his way home most evenings over the past few days. His explanation to his mother, Aisha, remained the same convenient line: "The shopkeeper's really pleased with my work, and we've sold a lot of books lately, so he gave me a bonus."

That fictional, generous bookstore owner had become the perfect cover for the income he couldn't explain to his family in detail.

Yet just as he turned onto a relatively quiet street, nearing home, that familiar feeling of being watched, like a thorn in his back, quietly returned.

The sensation was clearer and more persistent than it had been during the day on busy Lubo Lane, and there was a patience to it.

He deliberately slowed down, then abruptly looked back at a corner where discarded wooden crates had been piled. Beneath the dim gas streetlights, the road was empty. Only a few stray cats and dogs rummaged through the rubbish, making soft rustling sounds.

The evening breeze swept past, carrying a chill and stirring up dust from the ground.

Gallo's heart sank slightly. He picked up his pace and almost ran all the way to 21 Valen Street. The feeling of being watched only ebbed like a tide once he stepped onto the familiar, creaking narrow wooden staircase.

When he pushed open the attic door, warm air scented with stew washed over him, dispelling some of the chill outside and unease within. The kerosene lamp glowed faintly, but its light was enough to illuminate this cramped little space, so full of warmth.