Before Marcellus could say anything further, Alia drew a slow breath, her expression tightening as though pressing down the ripples in her heart. Then, without preamble, she began recounting her conversation with Edgar.
She omitted nothing—not a single detail. Even Edgar's fleeting pauses between words, the barely audible shifts in his breathing, the flickers of light in his eyes at certain moments—Alia relayed them all with painstaking precision. Her tone mimicked his so vividly that, within the quiet of the room, it felt as though Edgar himself were standing there: cold, suspicious, yet tinged with that barely concealed thrill of anticipation.
This near-ruthless reproduction was not only to ensure Marcellus understood; it was as though she was forcing herself to relive each moment, making sure no crack, no possible flaw, had been overlooked.
Watching her furrowed brows and the way her gaze sharpened with deadly seriousness, Marcellus felt a faint ache in his chest. Just moments ago she had bared her heart in fragile tenderness, and now—just like that—she had tucked it all away again, transformed once more into the calm, cautious woman who could make life-or-death decisions in the blink of an eye.
He parted his lips, wanting to say something, yet in the end only watched her silently, choosing instead to listen. After all, as Alia herself had said—every feeling, every entanglement—must wait until the dust had settled.
When her recounting ended, the room fell into brief silence. The night seeped through the gap in the curtains, casting their faces in a pallid shade of gray.
Alia turned to him, tension and a flicker of expectation in her voice. "Well? Do you think Edgar believed what we told him?"
Marcellus's brows drew together. He nodded slowly at first, then shook his head with equal care. His gaze grew heavy, as though weighing each word before he spoke at last:
"From his behavior and his words, yes—he accepted the surface of our cooperation. But I know Edgar. He will never believe completely. Suspicion is his nature, his instinct. He will be guarding himself in the shadows, waiting to see if we slip."
He paused, and a complex gleam passed through his eyes. "But at the same time, he has no better choice. Even if he harbors doubts, he knows only cooperation will lead him to success—will help him achieve his goal. And besides, our reasoning was flawless. He may doubt, but he has no grounds to refuse."
Hearing this, Alia finally released a long breath, the tension in her chest loosening. She leaned back against the chair, closing her eyes for a moment, as if shedding a heavy burden.
"And what's our next move?" she asked quietly, though her voice carried a sharp edge of urgency. In the dim light, her gaze cut like a dagger, fixed unyieldingly on Marcellus, as though she could peel away every secret he held with just that stare.
Marcellus pondered for a while before answering slowly: "We continue cooperating, of course. We let slip, strategically, that we are pursuing another fragment. When he finally brings out the one in his possession, we'll do the same with ours." His tone was calm, deliberate—like a man moving pieces across a chessboard toward a checkmate he had long foreseen.
"You mean the pedestal?" Alia's brow arched, her voice edged with both doubt and subtle probing.
"No." Marcellus shook his head gently, a glimmer of something complicated flickering in his eyes. "I mean the fragment I once had. I've uncovered new leads… Perhaps, this time, I can truly recover it."
His words had barely landed before Alia let out a cold laugh. The smile that curved her lips was sharp as a blade, slicing clean through the taut atmosphere between them.
"How much more are you hiding from me?" she said with cutting irony, her mouth curled but her eyes blazing with anger and distrust. Stepping closer, her gaze bore into him with searing intensity, as though demanding an answer he could no longer withhold.
The air seemed to congeal, heavy and unmoving—save for the faint stir of the curtain at the window, swaying with the night wind, carrying in a touch of chill.