The letters on the paper curved fancily as they danced in a line. Seeing this kind of handwriting only present in overly rich High Street aristocrats, I slid my eyes away from the words as naturally as I could.
"The previous acting leader and vice leader, Vincent and Mary. The two of them seem like such incredible people. How did they get caught?"
I flipped the page with my hands, my fingers slowly tracing the list of projects they were involved in. From the corner of my eye, I observed the pencil hover in mid-air.
The cheap thing floated quite a distance from the paper below. It bobbed up and down, and I imagined a small child scratching their head with their hand as they thought up a response. Suddenly, the pencil jerked upwards and flew down onto the paper, scribbling words quickly before falling lifelessly onto the ledge of the bookshelf. The paper then levitated in front of me.
'They let themselves get caught.'
I frowned at these words. However, the note stopped there.
Seeing my expression, the paper was gently placed onto the ledge and abandoned. As I turned my head to search for signs of the system, I saw Oliver close his paper and walk over.
When he reached, the first thing he did was to read the note. With a single glance, I saw recognition flash across his eyes and knew that he had information that his system didn't want to tell me.
"What was Vincent and May's project?"
Tightening my grip on the newsbook, I questioned him as he placed his paper back on the bookshelf. His fingertips paused at the spine of the book covering the papers as his face became shrouded in contemplation. Silently, I stood beside him, watching as the tiny cogs in his mind turned and twisted to decide whether this information was too confidential to tell me.
Staring at him, I suddenly felt a cool touch on my arm and tore my eyes away to look down. Similarly, Oliver seemed to have felt something as well. His concentration was forcefully broken as his mind was brought crashing back to the present and he shifted his gaze to the area between us.
I felt the cold touch tighten, before it softened, as if trying to coax two children not to fight.
"We're fine Ava."
He sighed, a smile slipping onto his face, before he turned to face me.
"Honestly, I can only speak about my speculations."
Withdrawing his hand from the spine of the book, he wrapped them around his chest as he maneuvered his entire body to face me.
"Back when my sister and I lived with Andrew, I spotted Vincent sneaking into the house through the back door several times. At that time, I had only just begun paying attention to the faction, so I didn't recognize him immediately."
"Mary was also there, although she visited much less frequently than Vincent. And every time Vincent came over, Andrew would lead him to his study room where the two would lock themselves there for hours on end. During our time in Andrew's house, my sister didn't trust Andrew very much, not to mention Vincent who was practically a stranger, so whenever she spotted the two of them together, she would lead me out of the house. I doubt she knew what the two men were up to, however, what she did was probably beneficial to them since even though Andrew would make a helpless expression whenever he noticed this, he never did anything to stop it."
Sighing, Oliver shook his head. Then, his eyes sharpened.
"From what little I saw of him, Vincent seemed like a very cautious person. When I heard he was caught for 'conspiracy charges', I was beyond shocked. This charge is an empty one which High Street tags onto protesters or anyone they deem a threat to lock them up or execute them. However, even this shell of a law has to look 'legitimate' and has several 'requirements' in order to pass judgment on its victims. And Vincent and Mary were very good at weaving around these 'requirements'."
His gaze flickered to the newsbook in my hands, and I took a second to glance at the long, long several-page list of projects that Vincent and Mary did in broad daylight against the wishes of those in High Street. Seeing that Vincent had managed to stay alive as the second longest-acting leader of the faction, what Oliver said seemed to hold water.
"This is just my speculation but,"
Our gazes met again as we both returned to stare at each other.
"I think the two of them let themselves get caught by those in High Street. Either to draw attention from something they deemed more important or as a deal with someone from High Street."
I closed the book. If what Oliver said was true, then the newsbook wouldn't give me the signs I wanted. Based on how Oliver described their actions, they sounded very reactionary. And if the former theory was true, there was really only one thing that would be placed above the leader's own life.
"The MDVA drugs."
Whispering this line, I saw Oliver give a slight nod in his head, and the two of us fell into silence.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Crashing through the silence, the sound of pencil scraping on paper rang out in the room and I tilted my head to spot a pencil scribbling across the paper left on the ledge.
'If the two of you want to confirm this, you can ask Mary herself.'
The words on the paper caused us to freeze, and we both gave each other a confused glance. In response to this, the scribbling continued and another sentence formed on the paper.
'High Street doesn't allow the execution of its people. Instead, they're kept in these 'asylums' located in Middle High Street.'
The paper floated down gently onto the ledge, and I heard the pitter-pattering of the system's feet as they swerved around us to reach for the map on the bookshelf. Then, running noisily over to the table, they rolled the map open and held it down using the carvings it had stolen from the bookshelf. With the furry beast, the feathered beast, and their boxes acting as paperweights, the system ran back to pick up the pencil and paper.
Following the system, the three of us gathered around the map and watched as the tip of the pencil seemed to point to an area near the middle of Middle High Street.
'The asylum is around here, and visiting hours are until evening. But you may require at least one person to be from High Street to be let in.'
The pencil then rolled on the table when the system finished their explanation. Looking at each other, the two of us nodded our heads as we thought of one person who was from High Street and would definitely be able to allow us in.
Picking up the paper, I shredded it into small pieces with my bare hands and exited the room to throw it into the trash. Beside me, Oliver retrieved the pencil and made a beeline to the bookshelf.
"Boys! We're home!"
Scattering the pieces into the bin, I heard my mother's voice call out from the front door. Turning around, I spotted both my parents stepping into the apartment. In each of their hands were bags filled with groceries. They must have been at Middle Middle Street Market.
"We bought some snacks for the two of you."
My father held up one of the bags in his hands as he smiled towards me. Exiting from our room, Oliver nodded his head to him as he reached out to help my mother carry some of the bags. Doing the same, we placed all the groceries on the kitchen table as my mother rolled up her sleeves and prepared to keep them.
"What did you two do today?"
Casually asking us with a light smile, my father took out the snacks and placed them on the kitchen table. Gathering the empty bags in my arms, I walked over to a small basket tucked away in the corner and stuffed the bags in it.
"The two of us went to visit Uril's grave after school. Then, we returned here."
Oliver answered back with a superficial smile of his own as he took some of the groceries out of their bags. After he answered, my father made a vague noise as he fixed his eyes on Oliver.
"Nothing else?"
The smile on his face grew faker as he arranged the snacks in order of their expiry date.
"No."
Emptying all the bags, Oliver shook his head as he headed towards me with the bags in his arms. Meeting gazes, the two of us exchanged a knowing glance, and I decided to stay quiet as my father and Oliver exchanged information in the most bizarre of ways.
"Van, stop bullying them and come here."
My mother broke up the intense smiling contest between my father and Oliver. Being right next to Oliver, I could almost see sparks flying as they gave each other surface-level smiles, each more superficial than the other.
"Coming."
Breaking eye contact with Oliver, my father dropped his smile to answer my mother, before bidding farewell to the two of us and walking over to her side.
"He definitely met Jack at the Market."
Oliver muttered while I reached out a hand past several jars of spice to grab the stir-fried flowers. And looking at the snack in my hands, the figure of two children appeared in my mind.
"Mom, how was Jasmine and Cale?"
I took a bite of the snack and smiled as the oily taste spread throughout my mouth.
"Cale's helping Hank out in the store. Hank bought a small stool for him to stand on, so while the two of them cook the snacks, Jasmine attracts the customers."
My mother chuckled as she described the harmonious scene of a big-bodied adult standing beside a small boy on a stool. The boy would furrow his brow in concentration as he carefully cooked the snacks in front of him, while the adult would skillfully flip his produce, occasionally sneaking a glance at the boy to ensure he didn't hurt himself. In front of these two would be a small girl, calling customers over with snacks in both hands as she led them to the stall with a cheerful smile.
"Thankfully, Cale seems to be adapting well to his new family. While buying the fried flowers, I secretly asked Hank about it, and he told me how Cale has gotten comfortable enough to start placing some of his belongings for display in the living room."
Swaying happily as her matchmaking succeeded, my mother passed some of the groceries to my father as she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to cook dinner for us.
"As expected of my wife!"
My father leaned over and pecked my mother on the cheek as he held onto the ingredients. In response to this, my mother playfully slapped him on the chest and the two lowered their voices to flirt between themselves.
"Dan."
Licking my oily fingers, I was on my way to the sink to wash them when Oliver's solemn voice distracted me. When I looked over, I saw him staring at his reflection on the shiny plastic jar that held the spices.
Those obsidian orbs were enlarged on the jar, and the colorful red spice within scattered across them, forming a beautiful starry sky with red glowing stars on the verge of exploding.
Tearing his eyes away from the spices, he narrowed them as he sneaked a glance at my parents. When he confirmed the two were too absorbed in each other to notice us, he heaved a sigh of relief and shuffled closer to me. Leaning towards me, he stared into my eyes with a frown on his face. Urgency was etched onto his features.
"We have a problem."