INWY~16

Chapter 16

Damn it, something feels off.

The moment Evan stepped into the office and saw Dante’s face, he swore inwardly. 

Even with his arrival, the Duke only tilted his head in acknowledgment, legs crossed as he leaned lazily against the sofa. 

His arrogance, Evan thought bitterly, could scrape the heavens.

Dante lit the cigar between his lips, his golden eyes fixed on Evan, who still stood awkwardly. 

Then, without preamble, he spoke.

“We’re both busy men, so let’s get straight to the point.”

Evan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Those eyes—sharper, more dangerous than when they’d first met in the rain—made the air itself feel heavy. 

He clenched his fist tight against his knee to keep steady.

“Y-yes. First of all… I apologize for barging in so late last night. The matter was too urgent to delay.”

“I see.”

Dante’s curt reply made it clear he wasn’t interested in apologies. 

Evan forced a wry smile, then pulled out his notebook and pen.

“Before I proceed… I have a few questions to confirm. May I?”

“Ask.”

“You’ve heard my report about the coachman and carriage. But before this, have you ever experienced a similar incident?”

Dante’s eyes closed and opened slowly, his answer firm.

“No.”

“Then… have you made any enemies who might bear you a grudge?”

Dante let out a short, cold laugh. 

A grudge? He had more than he could count. Even members of the royal family were among those who wished him harm.

“Well… who knows.”

His faint smile was noncommittal, his answer deliberately evasive.

Evan narrowed his eyes. So, the Duke had no intention of being forthcoming. 

Still, nine years in the field had honed Evan’s instincts. 

He knew when someone was hiding something.

He’s keeping something from me.

Certain of his deduction, Evan pressed on with one last question.

“Then my final question, Your Grace. Who exactly was in that carriage?”

The room fell into a strange silence. 

Dante’s golden gaze, cold and unreadable, gave away nothing. 

Evan shifted uneasily. 

As the seconds stretched, he prepared to backtrack and reframe the question—when Dante finally spoke.

“Are you capable?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Capable of catching the bastard who dared pull a stunt like this. Do you have the confidence?”

Dante’s voice was a low growl.

Evan stiffened, a bead of cold sweat sliding down his spine. 

His lips parted, but no words came. 

He was a detective, yes—but most of his cases had been simple. 

Missing citizens. 

Petty thefts. 

Drunken brawls. 

Common crimes among common folk.

This was different. If the passenger in that carriage was who he suspected… this wasn’t just a crime. 

It was attempted regicide. An attack on royalty. High treason.

The realization hit him hard. 

If he misspoke here, his career—and his life—would be over. 

His hand clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.

Dante sneered at his hesitation.

“What’s wrong? Lost your courage now?”

“…I’ll do my best.”

“‘Your best’ is something anyone can promise. I prefer certainties.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dante drew another cigar from his jacket, lit it, and exhaled the first curl of smoke.

“Bring them to me, Inspector Reims.”

***

The Behern train station bustled with crowds, alive with chatter and movement.

With Henry’s scarf pulled high to hide her face, Riena stood at his side in line for tickets. 

She tapped his arm lightly, drawing his attention down.

“What is it?” he asked in a low voice.

“Lieutenant… what if we can’t get tickets?”

“That won’t happen. Don’t worry.”

His reassuring smile calmed her, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes.

“Still… just in case, would you mind if I held your arm? As naturally as possible.”

“…My arm?”

“Yes. Closely.”

Puzzled, Riena nonetheless did as he asked, looping her hand around his arm. 

She didn’t understand how this would help with tickets, but she hoped it would.

At last, their turn came. 

Henry leaned forward and offered payment to the clerk.

“Two tickets for Florian, please.”

“Of course. May I see your identification?”

Identification.

Riena’s grip on Henry’s arm tightened instinctively. 

In Bermark, no one could buy a train or ferry ticket without proof of identity. 

She had lost nearly everything in the accident—everything except the trunk Henry had managed to recover, the one holding her medicine and identity card. 

Still, the request made her pulse spike.

“…What do we do?” she whispered, wide-eyed.

Henry looked down at her with a calm, reassuring smile. 

He handed over his own identification card.

“I am an officer in the Bermark Navy. I’m returning to duty and relocating with my wife, who is expecting. Unfortunately, she lost her identification this morning.”

W-wife?!

Riena’s head snapped up in shock, her eyes wide. 

So this was why he’d told her to cling to his arm.

The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. But without proper identification, I can’t issue a ticket. It’s against regulations.”

“I understand. But surely you can see my credentials are legitimate. I’m due to report tomorrow, and I can’t possibly leave my pregnant wife behind alone. Please, just this once.”

“…This is troublesome…”

The clerk’s gaze slid to Riena, who stood silently by, scarf drawn high. 

After a long pause, he sighed heavily.

“All right. Just this once. But make sure your wife has her documents reissued as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

Henry bowed politely, his smile bright as he guided Riena away from the counter with an arm around her shoulders.

“You see? I told you not to worry.”

On the platform, he grinned at her.

“I didn’t think you were capable of lying like that,” Riena murmured, half amused.

“Is that a compliment?” he asked, feigning innocence.

Her laughter spilled out, soft and genuine. 

Watching her, Henry reached to adjust her scarf, which had loosened slightly, wrapping it snugly once more around her neck. 

His ears flushed faintly red.

“It’s a bit stifling, but please bear with it until we reach my hometown.”

“All right. Thank you.”

Riena touched the scarf lightly, her chest tightening. 

Such a small kindness… That was all she had ever wanted. 

Something simple, freely given, without weight or consequence.

“Miss Bronte.”

His voice drew her back. He’d begun calling her by her maiden name, at her request. 

She no longer wished to be addressed as duchess.

“The train is about to depart. Shall we?”

“Yes, of course. Let’s hurry.”

“Take my arm again. The crowd is thick.”

She hesitated only briefly before resting her hand lightly on his arm once more. 

Her earlier sparkle dimmed, leaving her eyes calm, resolute.

Henry’s ears flushed again, but he quickly looked away, feigning composure as they stepped forward together.

It was the seventh day since the carriage accident.