The river was always shrouded in cold mist before dawn. Streetlamps standing along the banks cast orange-red light, tinting it into the multicolored haze from Monet's paintings. Thick carpets covered the glass-and-wood viewing room, while heated floors and air allowed those inside to comfortably enjoy the beautiful scenery without caring about anything beyond the room. Low temperatures, torrential rain, and snowfall merely offered the viewers within a greater variety of sights.
It was a luxurious experience, so when the room temperature dropped to a level that felt cold, the heating system automatically activated. Even though the estate had its own power-generating facilities, its monthly gas bill still amounted to the salary of an ordinary London middle-class worker. This large viewing room, decorated in an extremely modern style, was connected to the main estate by a corridor. One section served as a garden conservatory for afternoon tea, while another was a private area accessible only to the owners. Unlike the visual impact of blooming roses in the garden conservatory, the private area followed a minimalist, austere style. Its gray-black carpets and white walls were as cold as British weather, while its enormous terrace looked down upon the calm waters of a River Thames tributary.
Dressed simply, Salomon sat cross-legged on the thick carpet with a cup of hot black tea sweet enough to make one's throat hurt. In the dim light provided by the room's concealed fixtures, he watched the river flow quietly by. His back, chest, and abdomen were exposed to the warm air, scars crisscrossing his body. Some had even pierced through his chest and waist, but none of those injuries had taken his life. Instead, they had made him stronger. "I'm starting to regret insisting on installing streetlamps along the stretch of river passing through the estate. Now