Dear Winchester

Eve felt herself falling into this man's rhythm. She placed the iron cabinet atop the metal frame. He tested the pulleys; they moved smoothly enough.

"What are you going to do?"

"Get out."

Tearing down a white coat hanging in the corner, Lorenzo used it to secure the two together.

"We can't get out by simply running. The fire will ignite your clothes first, the heat will melt your eyes, and then, with one panicked breath, air hundreds of degrees hot will rush into your airway and then your lungs. Think about it, Detective. It won't feel much different from swallowing burning coals."

Lorenzo described that horrifying death, then moved the assembled metal cart to the wall.

"So we need this thing. We'll shoot out like we're riding a skateboard. I remember the route we took. It's a straight line."

Pointing into the grim iron cabinet, Lorenzo waved a hand.

"Ladies first."

Eve was a little stunned.

"You want me to crawl in there with you?"

She began praying that her family would never find out about any of this. Being alone in a room with an unfamiliar man... even if it was a morgue, would be enough to drive her father mad. Let alone such a tiny... iron cabinet.

"We need a certain amount of momentum to rush out. Otherwise, we'll stop halfway in the sea of fire, roasting like two pigs in an oven. You get what I mean, right?"

Compared to what Eve was worrying about, Lorenzo cared far more about staying alive.

First, a steam pipe exploded. Then came the fire. The flames spread through the morgue. It seemed no one had been injured, but it still gave Press a massive headache.

Amid all this, he was looking for Eve. The rookie had vanished since earlier. She had clearly been full of enthusiasm for cases and the like, yet now she was nowhere to be seen.

Press thought this was Eve's true nature, that everything before had been an act. But then another thought surfaced... What if she was at the center of the incident? In the morgue, for example.

That unlucky kid!

Press immediately panicked, but just then an iron chariot burst out of the burning corridor. Lorenzo jumped out before it even came to a stop, and then the blazing cart, with Eve inside, slammed into the wall.

Fortunately, he was dressed thickly. Lorenzo had merely broken out in a heavy sweat, but he had no time to catch his breath. His gaze swept back and forth through the crowd as if searching for something.

They had set fire to the hospital just to conceal Wall's corpse. This was a place under Suaran Hall's special protection, which showed how determined they were. They could not have simply left after starting the fire. They had to make sure no one got out alive.

That person was somewhere in a corner, quietly waiting for the fire to be extinguished.

What would you do now?

Lorenzo slipped a hand into his pocket. There was a tear in it that allowed his hand to reach beneath his clothes. To others, it looked like he had his hand in his pocket, but in truth, his fingers were already curled around the trigger.

Now that there were survivors of this fire, what would you do?

Every expression was reflected in his gray-blue eyes. Lorenzo scrutinized every person. None of them had studied acting; sooner or later, someone would reveal a flaw.

So what would you do? Leave now, or kill me?

No one would think a sailor's death had anything to do with a sudden hospital fire. The difference in significance between the two was simply too great.

Press went through a great deal of effort to pull Eve out of the iron cabinet. The girl looked utterly bedraggled, but her face was full of excitement. She seemed completely unaware that if she had been even a little later, she and Lorenzo would have become grilled meat in the blaze.

At last, she felt the joy of being immersed in her dream career—the urgent, real sensation of it.

Pushing aside the hair blocking her view, utterly unconcerned with her appearance, she wiped her face with her sleeve and struggled to her feet.

The scene was chaotic. This was a hospital. Though there were no signs that the fire would continue spreading, it was enough to throw everyone into panic.

Lorenzo watched it all closely.

The crowd moved about slowly. Once they saw how the fire was doing, they would leave. Naturally, a few people who loved a spectacle remained where they were.

Doctor?

There were not many white coats in the crowd. Most doctors merely glanced over before returning to their posts. Some nurses were also working hard to fetch water and contain the fire.

Patients?

Most of the onlookers were family members, but they were only watching. They gasped in alarm, then prayed.

Lorenzo shook his head hard.

No. His line of thinking was wrong.

That person needed a safe position. He could retreat and blend into the crowd to leave, or advance and observe whether there were any survivors. He had used a large amount of oil to start the fire. Neither a patient nor a doctor could bring such a large barrel of oil inside without drawing attention.

The puzzle shattered into countless pieces, and Lorenzo picked them up one by one, filling in the gaps. The broken mirror was slowly pieced back together, revealing its final image.

Lorenzo tightened his grip around the trigger beneath his coat. He had found that person—the one no one was destined to notice.

A cleaner pushed a cart full of oil. He poured the oil over the floor, then picked up a mop and pretended to work. Whenever no one was nearby, he set everything ablaze.

Of course. No one would notice a cleaner, much less investigate his filthy bucket.

With the identity confirmed, the location was easy to determine.

He was at the corner ahead of Lorenzo. All he had to do was stick his head out to see this place, and one step back would let him rush into the lobby and blend into the crowd.

"Please make way!"

Lorenzo suppressed the excitement in his veins and moved toward that spot. Seeing Lorenzo leave, Eve immediately shouted at Press.

"There's something wrong with him! Don't let him leave!"

Hearing that, Press immediately drew his pistol and shouted.

"Sir, please cooperate!"

Though he did not know what Eve meant by "something wrong," the strange feeling Lorenzo gave off made him suspicious. It felt as though he had seen Lorenzo somewhere before.

What a nuisance!

Lorenzo cursed inwardly, then rushed into the crowd in great strides. He knew exactly how accurate these detectives were. With him in the crowd, they would not dare fire.

As Lorenzo ran, the crowd immediately stirred. Everyone was frightened by this man who had escaped the sea of fire yet wore such an eerily excited expression. They instinctively backed away and opened a path for him.

That person still panicked. Seeing Lorenzo rapidly closing in, the cleaner could not suppress his fear and chose to retreat. Once he rounded the corner and began sprinting, Lorenzo would not be able to catch him. With the hospital's huge flow of people and the guards rushing over, Lorenzo would never get another chance.

Then it was time for Rule Seven of the Lorenzo Holmes Detective Code. Lorenzo had always felt his book ought to be included in school textbooks.

What should you do if a suspect runs? Shoot him in the leg before he leaves your sight!

Winchester suddenly rose beneath his coat. Lorenzo's hand had been resting on the trigger the entire time. He was a drawn bowstring, ready to strike at any moment.

No one expected this man to be hiding a shotgun beneath his coat. The deafening blast made everyone's eardrums ache. Dust flew and fragments scattered. Before the fleeing figure could even get moving, he staggered and collapsed.

This was within Winchester's effective range. The pellets tore through and shattered his calf, and great patches of blood immediately spread across the floor. Before he could even scream, he could only whimper and continue crawling along the ground.

Lorenzo would not let him escape so easily. Hooking the trigger guard, Winchester spun gracefully through the air. As a lever-action shotgun, it spat out the scorching shell casing, then finished chambering another round with a crisp, intoxicating click.

I love this gun.

The shotgun had a short grip. Only that way could its length fit perfectly beneath Lorenzo's coat. Of course, there was a deeper reason that no one else in this world could possibly imagine.

"Stop running, my friend!"

Lorenzo sprinted forward, but just then, a burst of dense gunfire rang out.

The shots came from outside. From the cleaner's position, he could see the lobby, and the people in the lobby could see him too. He had not been acting alone. Now that the mission had failed, his companions had decided to sacrifice him to conceal everything.

Bullets pierced his skull. The man crawling on the floor stiffened and died, filthy blood spreading across the ground.

That was not the end. An even denser barrage pinned Lorenzo down, preventing him from getting close to the lobby.

Honestly, Lorenzo was becoming more and more curious about what exactly the Silver Fish had transported. What sort of bizarre thing was inside that mysterious iron box?

He took a deep breath. They were probably not a group of well-trained soldiers, merely thugs paid to risk their lives for someone else. That meant they would not be smart enough to fire in rotation, so this uninterrupted curtain of bullets would eventually break.

Just as Lorenzo expected, amid the background of the crowd's cries, there was a gap in the gunfire.

It was a fatal mistake. One of the most important lessons taught in any army was alternating fire. One group fired while another reloaded, taking turns to create continuous suppressive fire.

In that precious opening, the great detective sprang out.

Winchester roared like thunder. The lingering scent of black powder filled his nose; it was more intoxicating than any hallucinogen.

The dense pellets shattered one man's chest, spraying a curtain of blood from his back before the force knocked him stumbling backward.

He had expected some counterattack, but there was none.

They were not reloading. They were retreating.

This was Lorenzo's oversight. The moment the fire broke out, reinforcements from Suaran Hall had already been on their way. At the speed of those mounted police, they would arrive within ten minutes. The men did not want a prolonged fight. Once the mounted police reached the scene, things would be beyond their control.

Outside the lobby, horses whinnied one after another, then galloped away amid hurried hoofbeats.

Lorenzo was too late. He shoved through the crowd, stepped over the corpse on the ground, and chased after them. More gunfire greeted him, but fortunately, it was only meant to intimidate him; they were not aiming at all.

But by now, those people had already accomplished what they needed to do. Lorenzo could not catch them. He could only watch them gallop away. Lorenzo was merely an ordinary man. He could not catch those damned bastards.

Just as he was at a loss, a piercing whistle sounded. As if heaven itself had sent help, it sped toward him not far from his line of sight. Every signal light along its path turned red to clear the way.

Iron Snake came roaring down the tracks beneath his feet, billowing steam like white mist.