Arnchester's Central Intelligence building was an inconspicuous building in the middle of the city's business district. It held none of the sheer size of the city's 5 encampments nor the grandeur of the military's headquarters, but the importance of this one building was not to be understated. Even the finest blade would never draw blood if it failed to find anyone to cut.

  The smell of tobacco clung to the air in the building, his colleagues ripping dart after dart as they continued to work on their own cases as lines of smoke slowly rose into the air like a miniaturized version of the industrial districts, Melton watching from the stairs. Murderers, tricksters, fraudsters and scammers, all throughout the empire; There was probably a large file documenting their lives down to their breakfast on any given day for any one of these criminals.

  Melton found it extreme, but he had firsthand experience on how simply knowing when people left their houses would kill a criminal. Once, he observed a senior colleague 'apprehend' an infamous serial killer by stomping his head into the ground the moment he left home to attend church.

  "With all due respect, wasn't that unnecessary?"

  "It's a blessing in disguise, kid. What the interrogation team will do to him is going to make him wish I killed him right here."

  "He was just heading out for his weekly prayers."

  "As they say, there's no rest for the wicked. If you're not willing to take the few advantages we have against these criminals, then I'm afraid you're in the wrong line of work."

  Melton knocked on the oak doors before him.

  "Come in."

  Sergal was once a common-born boy turned a highly renowned spy and military combatant for the empire's army. There was quite a legendary story where he was once captured and tortured for state secrets, but butchered his own arm from the shoulder and had a miraculous escape.

  He was a good person that seemed to only ever wear an unchanging smile on his face, but by god was he an awful teacher. He would know as a former student.

  "How have you been, captain Sergal?"

  "Give me a break, sheesh. I keep telling you lot to stop calling me 'captain', but it feels like I've only heard it more when I started asking. You're all doing it on purpose, right?"

  "...No comment."

  With a curse under his breath, Sergal’s mechanical arm whirred and clicked as he reached for a leather case in rose gold trim.

  "How's the case? Anything new?" A cigar rested between his steel fingers, the other hand working a knife, trimming down the end of his cigar as brown shavings of tobacco leaf fell to a bin by his side.

  "Nothing concrete, but I've got a lead. I'll update the dossier by the end of the week."

  "Excellent work. To scrounge up something from nothing; quite the resourceful lad you are." With a flick of the wrist, the case of his lighter snapped open. The cigar ignited into a plume of smoke, accented by the oranged and yellowed hues of the burning end of his cigar. A jet of grey shot into the ceiling as Sergal upwardly puffed into the tobacco.

  "You are too kind. Though I doubt you called me here just to chat about the case."

  Smoke escaped Sergal's lips as he spoke.

  "Melton, I know it’s work and there’s no saying no, but are you sure this is really what you want to do?"

  It's a question that he'd heard time and time again. His family and friends, acquaintances and peers had all asked him to reconsider joining the reconnaissance unit. But his adamance had never once wavered on this decision. He'd surpass his brother in the manner of his choosing. Only then might he acknowledge him.

  "You know my answer to that question."

  Sergal tilted his head down, the smell of tobacco beginning to envelope the room. Wisps of smoke trailed from the end of his cigar as he tapped the burnt ends into the ashtray.

  "...I understand. If that's the case, then make sure you see it through."

  "I intend to." Melton gives Sergal a nod before leaving.

  The captain took another long drag of his cigar, his gaze fixed on something far beyond the ceiling of his office.

  "Nathaniel, your poor kid's in for a rough time..."

  "Come in, you're late. Don't just stand at the door."

  "What happened to your face?"

  "Ah, I had a slight scuffle with a customer. No big deal. He's probably in some random backstreet now. Probably." Elisabeth rubbed her cheek, hoping to ease the pain, even if it didn't really help.

  "And Patricia wasn't around to help you?"

  "Chewed her out already. I've sent her to help out the sisters when you're around."

  Melton’s head tilted in slight confusion. "She can't be around?"

  "It sours the mood. By the way, you gave her a pretty nasty mark on her neck. Some sisters thought it was a hickey."

  "Ha ha. Very funny. You and her both ought to be more careful."

  "I know you haven't the guts to make such a move on me anyways." Elisabeth sighed as she reclined into her chair. Today, she wore a similar outfit to when he first met her; a simple white one-piece dress with her hair let down, but this time her veil was missing. Her faint eyebrows narrowed as she glared at Melton.

  "You're staring." Hints of annoyance carried on her voice.

  "You're pretty. You're staring too."

  " 'Cause you're good eye candy." And the room quickly turned awkward with the conversation dying right there.

  Resuscitating the conversation, Elisabeth cleared her throat and asked, "So? What kind of story do you have for me today?"

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  "Once upon a time, there was a tortoise and a hare."

  "What kind of story is this...?"

  "You've never heard of a fairy tale?" He began to lean forward.

  "What's a fairy tale?" Melton had a rather unbreakable poker face, but this singular remark scattered it into the wind, a face of shock plastered onto him before he could regain his composure.

  "...They're little stories told to children to teach them things in anecdotal stories. Kids read them all the time."

  Laying back into the chair, the tips of Elisabeth’s fingers rubbed the bits of purple ends in her hair together as she thought of a good response. "Mom or dad never read to me. They'd get me to recite a ton of scripture though."

  "Well, then I'll read you one every week. It counts as a story you've never read, doesn't it?"

  "So what's up with the tortoise and the hare?"

  "The hare is as fast as he is overconfident, and the tortoise is slow, but never wavers. The two of them have a foot race and the hare shoots off to a seemingly insurmountable lead, taking a nap halfway through. By the time the hare wakes up, the tortoise has since crossed the finish line and the hare tastes bitter defeat. The end." Melton took a deep breath after having read the whole story in a single breath.

  "...That's it?"

  "Yep."

  And her cheeks grew, puffing in anger.

  "Cheater..."

  "What? You said to tell you a story you've never heard of every week. I don't even know what I get in return."

  Elisabeth refused to meet his eyes, averting his darting gaze, “And here I thought you'd be telling me some epic tale of knights and swords and stuff..."

  "What makes you think that? Those stories are exaggerated and untruthful. You hate liars, don't you?"

  "But they're fun. Crappy lies told by men with hidden agendas are repulsive and no fun."

  An exasperated groan leaked out of Melton’s equally exasperated expression, "What difference does that make? For all you know, Arthur of the Round Table could've been a man with a hidden agenda. Would his lies make his stories about the Round Table crappy?"

  Another retort was about to leave Elisabeth's lips, but the complaint died in her mouth, an annoyed frown creasing her forehead as Melton grilled Elisabeth for something back.

  "You ought to give me something in return, no?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I probably should. Should I read you a story of my own? Bet you you've never heard of this one."

  "Alright."

  "There was once a devout nun that lived in a monastery in the capital. One day, a young prince visited the monastery during an official visit. The prince fell in love with the nun, and offered his hand in marriage, but the nun was to devote all of herself to her god, and the royal family would never accept such a ridiculous proposal. The king, eager to punish his son, denounced the nun's religion, their proselytes no longer permitted to spread their word in his kingdom. In a fit of rage, even though the nun had done nothing wrong, she was executed by the command of her head bishop, unbeknownst to the prince. It was only years later when the prince held the reins to the throne did he finally discover the truth, taking his life to join his one true love. The end."

  "Awfully grim."

  Melton’s eyes caught a glimpse of a solemn expression that clouded her usually cheery face. Words snuck out as a whisper between lips that barely moved, "It's not just a story, you know."

  "Sorry?"

  "Ahh~, nothing, nothing. I suppose that's the end of the exchange of stories. So what did you think about the fairytale?"

  "Overconfidence is an insidious killer?"

  "Basically."

  "What about you? What big takeaway did you get from the story?" Elisabeth crossed her arms, awaiting his response.

  "Hard to say. Is there even a moral behind this besides a sob story?"

  "It's like those epics you said were a bunch of exaggerations and lies, but with every convincing lie is half a truth, you know."

  Both parties looked away as the conversation died out again.

  "You've brought up your brother a few times."

  "Zeke's my older brother. Everything I do he does better. Not by much, but people say it's better when he does it."

  “Leave it to your brother so you don't screw it up again.”

  No good, the bad thoughts were coming back to haunt him.

  The knight was visibly taken aback when he entered the room, gesturing for him to leave.

  “...Can you have your brother help instead? I apologise for the trouble.”

  Ah, this one was most painful.

  An atmosphere so dense and thick you could cut right through with a knife hung over the room. Drawing breath alone was a monumental effort. Melton remembered that he couldn't so much as lift a finger. The imposing figure before him was the 32nd family head of House Tasselt, Nathaniel Tasselt, his father. And he uttered a phrase no son should ever hear from his father.

  “If only Zeke was there instead of you...!”

  White knuckles pressed into his lap as he tried to swallow down those revolting, vile memories from the depths of his mind. Then a voice, like chimes in the wind, pierced his thoughts.

  "Whatever, I think I like you better. You tell some interesting... Fairy tales? That's what they're called, right?"

  "It would be nice if you could come by again with a different one next week."

  A radiant, gentle smile stole away Melton’s breath and freed him from the dirty muck of recollection.

  If only I could keep that smile all to myself…

  But Melton dismissed the disgusting idea as soon as it floated into his head. Glancing at his watch, he rose from his chair, ready to end the day here. Elisabeth deflated, like a child who got told they couldn't have desserts for breakfast.

  "If only you weren't so late, maybe we could've talked more."

  "I'll make it up to you one day. Promise."

  Her pinky extended towards Melton.

  "Pinky promise. I'll be really pissed if you're late again."

  Dry laughter filled the room before he hooked his pinky finger around hers, lightly shaking it. Who even made promises like this at their age?

  "I'll swallow a thousand needles if I break the promise."

  "And you're doing me a favour."

  "Fine, fine."

  "You won't be if you break the promise!"

  "Alright, jeez. I'll come back with more stories then."

  "I'll be waiting."

  And the door closed behind him.

  The elderly lady at the counter called out to Elisabeth, beckoning her to come forward right after the man had left.

  "Yes, Gramma."

  The young man has since left the premises. Only the two of them remained.

  "Any progress with him?"

  "He's tough. Nothing ever slips."

  "Keep trying. Squeeze him for all he is worth."

  "Yes, Gramma." The responses were more artificial than the lies the building was made to sell.

  "And one last thing, Ms. Monia."

  "Yes."

  Her grandmother’s gaze met Elisabeth’s, radiating with naught but hatred, painted a sickly purple within her irises. "The hypocrites in those churches may have long since disappeared, but their kin and disciples still roam the land, speaking of virtue they do not embody. You understand why I despise them so, yes?"

  "I do."

  "I'll allow him to enter and exit at any time, and the same will go for you. Take all the time you require to ensure that he tells you everything he knows. Elisabeth, you must do well. So that every trace of their foul legacy shall be forgotten to all. "

  "I understand, Gramma.”