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Chapter XI, Part I

  Time seemed to slow for the two agents, all noise dampened by snowfall and a suffocating tension; the only sound that reached Lynn's pointy ears was the ragged rhythm of her breathing as she found herself on the wrong end of a cocked gun. Across from her, Garreth didn't blink, his disposition mirroring the frigid climate. "I suggest you start talking. Fast," he pressed, tone devoid of mercy. "When you open your mouth, I want to hear nothing but the truth. Got it?"

  Eyes glued to the frost-kissed flagstones beneath her feet, the half-elf's lips parted.

  "I... I-I..."

  "Delay this any longer and I can't guarantee my finger won't slip."

  "I-I swear—I have no idea how—!"

  "I'm not fucking around here, kid. You seriously willing to take this secret to the grave?"

  "Y-you have to believe me!" Lynn blurted, stepping forth. "I'm just as clueless as you are..!"

  And the man raised the steel muzzle a fraction, enough to make her flinch. "You expect me to buy that? That it's all a coincidence? That a half-elf randomly joins the Bureau the same day the factory goes off, and that the mastermind just so happens to know her name?"

  "Coincidence or not, I'm telling you I wasn't involved..!"

  "Know what I think?" Garreth said, glare sharpening. "I think a group with a lot of stock in the machine business planted you in our department. People in the ministry, the trade council, futurists—all of them eager to gut the arcane sector and stuff its corpse into the furnace to fuel their shiny new industrial age. You may be a half-blood, but at the end of the day, you're elven, a visible tie to magicks. You being at the site of the explosion, looking the way you do, wasn't just convenient. It was strategic. They knew what they were doing when they put you in our ranks."

  "P-please, just listen... I..."

  "Name the sum."

  "Eh..?"

  "They must've promised you quite the fortune to sell out your own like that. My guess is your gracious benefactors were the ones who instructed you to escalate things back in the factory. I've no doubt they're the same ones who covered up Holstein's past. Am I right? Well, congrats. Trust in elves is at an all-time low thanks to what you did. I'd wager they paid off the press, too, given how quickly the story spread that a half-elven agent was present at the scene."

  "W-why would I do such a thing..?" the half-elf whispered, stunned by the very suggestion.

  "Because you're an orphan with no roots, no heritage to claim. Your devotion lies solely with the children you grew up beside. That's the family you spoke of earlier, isn't it? You probably figured that if you played your cards right, you'd finally have enough to buy them a better life. Food on the table. Warm beds. All at the expense of every damned elf in this country!"

  By the time the final echo of the man's declaration had scattered in the wind, Lynn froze, struck motionless by the force of what she'd just heard. Her partner's biting accusations, magnified by the cold intensity of his stare, pierced her heart. Before she knew it, the floodgates had opened; her visioned blurred as a knot seized her throat. And softly, in a broken voice, she asked, "Is that really what you think of me..?"

  "Am I wrong?" Garreth snapped back, words clipped and distant.

  And the half-elf wiped the unbidden tears with her sleeve as they trickled down her flushed cheeks. A sliver of dawn's light lanced through the clouds, lifting the darkness from her freckled visage. Gently, she drew a shuddering breath and straightened, meeting the man's gaze for the first time since the beginning of the confrontation. "If you truly mean what you said, then I don't know what else to tell you..." she responded, a trace of resignation in her delivery.

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  And upon catching a glimpse of the expression she bore, Garreth's resolve faltered. It was a face he was all too familiar with. A fire that flared, not in defiance, but in an aching, desperate attempt to be understood; a reminder of a ghost that had haunted him for over twenty years.

  At that moment, Lynn's countenance was a spitting image of his late wife's, the last he ever saw of her before war pulled him away and death kept them apart. In a heartbeat, the half-elf's features dissolved into hers. Flashes of that fateful day played in the back of his mind: Cait lingering on their doorstep, her hands clenched at her sides, trying her hardest not to beg him to stay. And their unborn daughter, whom he never got the chance to cradle.

  As the man fought to suppress such futile thoughts, he hearkened back to Diana's remark.

  "Every time you look at that girl, you're reminded of your wife... Cait, aren't you? She was an elf, wasn't she? Or perhaps you see in her the half-elf child you never got to meet."

  Garreth gritted his teeth, renewing his grip on his revolver, either out of a desire to prove her wrong or the need to anchor himself to the present. Beneath the denial, however, the man knew she was right. It became apparent just how tight his hold had become around the weapon—his knuckles had whitened, trembling with hesitation. While the line between logic and projection blurred through the lens of the past, he steadied his aim and let the trigger choose for him.

  In a single instant, a gunshot cracked across the River Themris.

  Lynn winced, briefly deafened by the ear-splitting bang.

  As the ringing in her ears dulled to a low whine, her eyes drifted downward. She braced herself, every nerve primed for agony, only to realise the bullet had not struck her. It had instead penetrated the leaf-carpeted pavement, wedged in a crack inches from her boot. Garreth had unconsciously dipped the handcannon before firing, diverting its trajectory at the last second. Smoke curled from the barrel as the pistol dangled at his side.

  Shock held the half-elf like a vice, and she watched as her partner stormed over to the wrought-iron railing overlooking the oily swell of Themris. A guttural shout tore from his throat, and he hurled the revolver into the inky waters, the muted splash leaving barely a ripple. Steam fizzled and bubbles rose as the still-hot metal slipped beneath the surface, consumed by the pull of the current. And Garreth stood for some time, chest heaving and shoulders slackened.

  When the man finally pried himself free of the torrent of emotions that grasped him, the blaze in his spirit had reduced to a mere flicker, and he shuffled toward a nearby bench. Slumped against the white-dusted seat, the old slats creaking under his weight, the man fished his cigar box from his jacket. Sliding the lid open, he lifted the bulkiest roll of gloamweed to his lips and snipped its head with the cutter beside it. And with a flick of his cylindrical lighter, he set it alight.

  As he took a lengthy drag from the cigar and languidly sighed, footfalls approached from behind; his partner wordlessly settled beside him. Neither spoke—a stretch of heavy silence interrupted only by the freezing gusts that keened through the stark trees, the calm lap of water against the embankment, and the soft hiss of smouldering leaf. For a while, Garreth stared straight ahead, gaze fixed on the bustling cityscape on the other side.

  Then, without turning, he extended the cigar box her way.

  "Want one?"

  Lynn sat rigid as she meekly eyed his offering. "I-I've never..."

  "Just give it a try," the man said, giving the container a small shake. "Might take some of the edge off."

  After a pause, the half-elf reluctantly accepted, gloved digits brushing the rim of the lacquered box before randomly plucking a cigar from within. And Garreth handed her the cutter, with which she awkwardly clipped the end—crookedly, but well enough. Flipping his lighter open again, the man cupped the dancing flame with one hand and held it out for her. Lynn hesitated, then leaned in until the gloamweed caught, its frayed tip emitting an amber glow.

  "There we go." Garreth pocketed his lighter. "Now, just remember not to—"

  Before he could finish his sentence, his partner drew in a deep lungful and immediately broke into a coughing fit. She doubled over, hacking as the bitter fumes scorched her throat. With a watery-eyed grimace, the half-elf thrust the cigar away from her mouth and gasped for air, waving a hand in front of her face as if to ward off the acrid sting.

  "—inhale."

  "H... how do people enjoy this..?" she croaked, her voice hoarse but steadying.

  "For one, they puff it," the man quipped, shooting the still-burning stogie on the ground a half-lidded glance. "Well, at least you got a taste. If you feel like finishing one next time, though, I'd be more than happy to share my stash with you."

  "A-ah... sorry."

  Eventually, the two lapsed into quiet again, the unease between them now completely thawed.

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