As she spoke, Vermouth pressed the send button, then picked up a dart from the table and casually tossed it at the wall.
With a thunk, a streak of silver flashed past, and the dart hit the bull's-eye dead center.
A round dartboard hung on the wall. Three photos were pinned to the target with thumbtacks: one was of a lively, adorable high school girl, another was of a glasses-wearing elementary student with his head lowered as if deep in thought, and the third looked completely out of place beside the first two—it was of a young woman in a lab coat. She had short reddish-brown hair and an extremely distinctive mixed-race face. Unfortunately, at this moment, someone had drawn a huge X across her pretty face with a black marker.
And that dart was firmly embedded right in the center of the X.
Vermouth looked at the photo, stared at it for a long time, then picked up her phone again.
On the other side.
Gin had, for once, gone to bed early today, lying down at two in the morning. Yet he had only slept until three when his phone buzzed, bringing in a message.
"..."
The Organization Cadre, who slept fully clothed, picked up his phone and silently decided that if the person sending the message had nothing urgent to say, he would shoot them and teach them the consequences of disturbing someone else's rest.
...Then he saw a rambling, long-winded piece of spam that went on and on without any point at all.
Gin: "..."
A cadre wreathed in killing intent silently clasped the handgun at his waist.
Unfortunately, however, the person who had written in was deeply connected to "That Lord." Without a sufficient reason, laying a hand on her would probably be somewhat