Seeing that Ophelia didn't understand, Xia'an had no choice but to speak more plainly.
“Mr. Rockland isn't a connection. He's a disaster.”
“If the wrong people find out you're pretending to be his friend, it'll easily trigger a second disaster.”
Ophelia stared at her, her breathing still not fully recovered.
The chase just now had drained a lot of her energy, leaving her chest tight and her torn skirt covered in mud.
Yet, her eyes remained wary.
“That still doesn't prove you aren't enemies.”
“Which is why I'm not asking you to believe me right now.”
Xia'an glanced toward the mouth of the alley.
The Wayland security personnel she had diverted earlier had already realized something was wrong, and the faint sound of hurried footsteps could be heard in the distance.
Those men had only been shaken off temporarily, not vanished into thin air.
“But Wayland's people will be back soon.”
“You only have two choices now.”
“Come with us, or wait for them to arrive.”
Ophelia fell silent for a moment, raising her wrist to wipe the sweat from her brow.
“I want to confirm Mr. Hawthorne's safety.”
“Fine.”
Xia'an agreed without hesitation.
She retrieved her Origin Web communicator from the inside pocket of her coat and channeled spirituality into it with her fingertips.
“Target found.”
“Five men from the Wayland Security Department are here, carrying tracking mediums and a police warrant.”
“There is also a civilian on-site.”
“Requesting backup.”
The other end was silent for only a second.
Ms. Cecil's voice immediately followed.
“Wait in place.”
The communication cut off.
Ophelia frowned.
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
Xia'an put away the badge.
“We aren't the ones who need to worry next.”
The footsteps outside the alley drew closer and closer.
The leader of the Wayland Security Department was the first to show his face.
He had waited on the carriage road for a long time, but instead of Ophelia, he only saw two coal carts blocking each other.
At that moment, he realized he had been played again.
The man's face darkened. Just as his hand moved toward his waist, the rhythmic clatter of hooves suddenly echoed from the intersection.
A black carriage bearing the emblem of the Old Palace Yard pulled up across the intersection.
Followed immediately by a second.
And a third.
The doors opened simultaneously.
Over a dozen tactical personnel in dark uniforms quickly disembarked, sealing off the mouth of the alley, the fish market, and the exit to the carriage road.
The arrest went incredibly smoothly.
All of the Wayland security personnel were apprehended.
Watching the perimeter quickly establish around him, the leader's expression finally changed.
“What are you doing?”
“We were assisting the police in pursuing a nationwide fugitive!”
“You used supernatural means to track a target without authorization, refused to obey on-scene command, and nearly sabotaged the arrest operation.”
Xia'an walked out of the dead end, her tone calm.
“You are now suspected of obstructing an arrest.”
Dabu stepped up to him, using his powerful transcendent strength to grab the man's wrist and twist it behind his back.
Click.
The handcuffs snapped firmly into place.
The man struggled for a moment, only to realize he was completely powerless to resist.
“I will file a complaint with the East Port District Police Chief!”
He could only vent his impotent fury.
“I suggest you write directly to the King.”
Dabu cuffed his other hand as well.
After a brief thought, he added with absolute sincerity:
“It's best to use a red envelope, and underline the title twice.”
The leader was left completely speechless.
Dabu was highly satisfied with this.
Another team of tactical personnel had already entered Hawthorne's low-rise house.
A moment later, an investigator came out to report.
“The homeowner is safe and unharmed.”
“No other ambushes were found around the premises.”
Only then did Ophelia's tense shoulders relax slightly.
She looked up at the second floor of the house.
The curtains parted slightly, revealing Hawthorne's wrinkled face behind the glass.
The old man looked at her, nodded, and then quickly drew the curtains shut again.
He moved so quickly it was as if he had never known anyone named Ophelia Moore in his entire life.
This was for the best for both of them.
At least on the surface, the Old Palace Yard had merely captured a nationwide fugitive here.
As for why she happened to be in the alley behind Hawthorne's house, that was for Wayland's people to guess.
“Can we leave now?”
Xia'an asked.
Ophelia looked toward the mouth of the alley.
Wayland's men were all detained, and Hawthorne was safe for the time being.
With no other choice left, she extended both hands.
“Cuff me.”
“No need,”
Xia'an said.
“We have to make the act look convincing.”
Ophelia looked at the leader being escorted away.
“He'll definitely look into this when he gets back.”
Dabu pulled out his handcuffs.
“Makes sense.”
Before Xia'an could stop him, he had already cuffed Ophelia.
With a clean click.
It was extremely swift.
Xia'an suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her and decided not to comment.
The “captured fugitive” was quickly escorted into a closed carriage.
The windows were covered with black curtains, and two tactical officers stood guard outside the door.
The Wayland Security Department personnel watched her get taken away with their own eyes, unable to find any fault with the process.
None of them would have guessed that after circling two streets, the carriage slipped through the back gate of the Coast Hotel and into its courtyard.
Ophelia removed her handcuffs and changed into an inconspicuous gray coat.
She followed Xia'an and Dabu into the hotel, bypassing the lobby and taking the employee stairs.
No one questioned them.
No one even spared them a second glance.
The entire hotel was abnormally quiet.
Ophelia keenly realized that this place had been taken over by some kind of power.
Her newly relaxed nerves tensed up once more.
Even when the door to the top-floor suite opened, she maintained a posture ready to turn and bolt at any second.
Only this time, she glanced behind her first.
Dabu was standing right there.
The young journalist silently abandoned the idea.
As far as running was concerned, she could officially declare her attempts over for the day.
Inside the suite, a strange woman wearing a black trench coat was waiting for her.
The woman leaned against the window, unarmed, with only a few documents resting on the table.
Yet Ophelia could tell at a single glance that this woman was the one truly in charge here.
“Miss Moore,” the woman took the initiative to speak.
“I am the person in charge here.”
“I don't know you.”
Ophelia stood at the doorway, refusing to step any further inside.
She didn't accept the invitation, nor did she sit down.
She even deliberately kept herself half a step away from the door.
If things went south, she could at least try to make one more run for it.
Even though her actual performance today had proven her success rate was rather dismal.
“It is only natural for you to be suspicious,”
Ms. Cecil didn't mind.
“If you showed no suspicion at all, I would have to wonder how you managed to smuggle Wayland's documents out in the first place.”
Ophelia didn't respond.
Her gaze swept across the room.
The windows, the side door, the fireplace, the shadows behind the desk.
“Mr. Rockland only mentioned to me that a journalist had returned to Hastings Port with evidence regarding the lighthouses.”
Ms. Cecil continued,
“He didn't tell me what the evidence was, nor did he say where you would go.”
“Otherwise, my people wouldn't have had to search your luggage and chase you across three blocks.”
Ophelia had still been wondering if she would even survive after being brought here.
However, Ms. Cecil's words shook her resolve.
Very few people knew about the lighthouse evidence.
Even fewer knew she was in contact with Mr. Rockland.
But she couldn't bring herself to trust a stranger based on a single sentence.
Just as she was agonizing over whether to trust them, Ms. Cecil spoke again.
“It's perfectly fine if you don't trust me.”
She raised her right hand.
A wisp of spirituality emerged from her fingertips, rapidly weaving together in midair.
Wings, talons, and a sharp beak took shape in turn.
A few seconds later, a spiritual crow landed on the edge of the desk, tilting its head to look at Ophelia.
Its eyes glowed with a faint blue light.
“You can ask him yourself.”
With that, the crow vanished into thin air.
Ophelia watched this, secretly astonished.
This was the first time she had witnessed the other side of this world so directly.
Meanwhile, twenty nautical miles away.
Elias was walking among the reefs with a canvas bag, beachcombing while supervising Jack, who was out at sea checking the alchemical buoys.
The tide had just receded, leaving the slippery crevices in the rocks filled with crabs, sea snails, and driftwood washed ashore by the waves.
Not far away, Jack rowed his small boat to a buoy, using his tools to inspect the spiritual circuits at its base.
Elias squatted beside a puddle, reached down to pick up a silver-rimmed cap, and tossed it expressionlessly into his canvas bag.
There were already over a dozen in the bag.
Ever since Jack had spotted him picking up these useless things, the young man kept asking if they were ingredients for some special secret potion.
To preserve his persona as a seasoned senior, Elias had simply kept telling him, “The quantity isn't enough yet.”
Consequently, he had to keep picking up silver-rimmed caps while searching for sea mirages.
He had been doing this for days.
As for what they were actually used for, he hadn't thought up a lie for that part yet.
This also meant that whenever Jack saw him tirelessly collecting these silver-rimmed caps, he would look at him with deep reverence.
Right then, a faint ripple of spirituality spread out around Elias.
A tiny rift cracked open in the air.
The spiritual crow crossed the spirit world and landed on the windowsill of the wooden cottage.
Elias stood up and looked over warily.
Immediately after, a familiar voice echoed from the crow's mouth.
“We—Mr. Rockland?”
Elias froze for a moment.
“Miss Moore?”
“It seems you've already met Ms. Cecil?”
Far away in the Coast Hotel, Ophelia stared at a crystal ball on the desk.
“Yes.”
“I have a question for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“What pen name did you suggest I use when we were on the Nightgull?”
“Irene Adler.”
Elias blurted out.
Of course he remembered the joke he had made.
“Why are you suddenly asking this?”
“Oh—”
He suddenly realized something and let out a playful, teasing cry.
“Le’s see. It seems our special envoy has yet to earn your trust.”
Hearing that name, most of the doubt in Ophelia's heart finally dissipated.
She glanced at Ms. Cecil, turned her head slightly, and lowered her voice.
“Is she one of those legendary secret police officers of the Kingdom?”
“You actually guessed that?”
Elias feigned surprise.
“But lowering your voice won't do you any good.”
“Don't bother doing something so pointless.”
As he spoke, he fished a few more silver-rimmed caps out of the puddle and tossed them into his bag.
The shells clattered together, making a crisp sound.
Jack rowed past, and hearing the noise, cast another look of deep reverence from the sea.
Elias straightened his back, trying his best to look as if he were performing an essential mystical harvest.
As long as he didn't explain, his secret would never be exposed.
Probably.
“What do you mean?”
Ophelia asked, not quite understanding.
“I mean that no matter what you're holding, that lady can hear you gossiping about her.”
“Don't do something entirely redundant.”
The young journalist's face flushed red at a speed visible to the naked eye.
“Huh?!”
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