Dalia sat quietly, her hands resting on her knees. She didn't look at anyone, and Jorgen couldn't discern what she was thinking. Just before they entered the town hall, a townsfolk suddenly rushed toward her but was blocked by the guards. He struggled to stop himself from sliding backward on his heels, his upper body leaning forward, his right hand reaching out and then retracting, caught in the guard's arm, repeating this motion.
"Dalia, please, agree to their request," he said. "I want my son back."
While this person had some misunderstandings about the situation, their impulse was reasonable. Mohnitz's demand was, first and foremost, a test of everyone's moral choices. Regardless of whether they followed his instructions, it would give rise to numerous problems. If, previously, he had centered the Everlock family in the vortex, now involving Dalia, an outsider but with an extremely special status, was an even bolder move. At least, based on the current situation, this move seemed to be effective because when Joseph once again requested that the council members leave, leaving only the brothers and Jorgen to handle the matter, it met unexpected resistance. Although the council members hesitated in the face of the night watchmen's swords, they understood that they couldn't be outsiders in such a crucial matter involving Military Intelligence Seven. In this situation, to avoid council members making biased decisions as much as possible, Jorgen had to suggest discussing all the issues openly: about all the possibilities and interests. In such a meeting, Dalia was naturally indispensable.
No matter how objectively Jorgen analyzed the situation, he couldn't find an absolutely reasonable solution. The key to deciding everything was no longer in his hands, which is why he tried his best to observe something from Dalia's expression. However, Dalia sat quietly, lost in thought, like a grove of trees hidden behind a thick fog. Even if the wind blew, it was impossible to know which direction the leaves were drifting.
"I'll be blunt. What the enemy wants is very simple: to plunge us into chaos," Jorgen said. "When they made the first demand, regardless of whether the events mentioned a year ago are true or not, they wanted to sow discord between the Everlock family and the entire town of Darkshire. This became quite evident during yesterday's meeting, and we've tentatively decided to put the past behind us and deal with the present issues first. I hope this common understanding still exists."
"Wait a minute," a council member stood up and said. "Most of us here are struggling with what the criminals have said. According to him, we've been living in blind admiration for a charlatan for a long time. And this charlatan's son holds two of the most important positions in Darkshire. Frankly, how can I trust that the meeting we're participating in is fair and effective? How do I know that the Mayor and the Night Watch Captain are indeed victims? Let's not talk about dropping unfounded suspicions. I believe many of us here have such doubts, but we're afraid to voice them publicly. Is there anyone here brave enough to honestly admit to any doubts in their minds? I'll give you ten seconds to speak up. See, no one. I had to stand up and seek answers to this question. I can't tolerate someone suspected of involvement in a conspiracy leading a meeting that concerns the entire town. Mayor, Joseph, can you provide some evidence of your innocence? We yielded as a collective council yesterday, but today we cannot afford to do the same."
"This is exactly what Mohnitz wants to happen between us: a waste of time," Jorgen said. "Rehashing all the useless arguments from yesterday is foolish. Right now, I'm not just an observer; I'm deeply involved. As an official investigator, I formally declare this is a serious case that will be documented by the MI7, and it needs to follow an efficient process immediately. Any actions that obstruct my smooth handling of this case will be considered an offense against the MI7. What's your name?"
The man's shoulders trembled, he blinked twice in succession, opened his mouth but said nothing.
"This is the first and the last warning," Jorgen continued. "You can sit down now. Does anyone else have questions?"
He scanned the room. It had quieted considerably.
"Now, I want everyone to listen carefully to every word I say. You can raise questions, but those unwilling to listen can leave, but they will lose the right to interfere with this meeting. The criminals' demands are essentially a double insurance policy: they can retain either Mrs. Dalia or Miss Althea as hostages. 'If refused, kill the other fifty-three children and keep Althea,' what would happen in this scenario? First — as I've mentioned, everything is laid bare — the Everlock family will never escape the resentment and suspicion of those present and the townsfolk. What would this do to Darkshire, we can't predict. Perhaps some here have an idea. Furthermore, both Dalia and I, as representatives of MI7, would be trapped in a similar situation. When we are in internal disarray, making it impossible to establish cooperative trust, Althea remains in their hands. They would have complete control and might even claim that their 'revenge' has already been achieved."
To avoid sounding like he was conceding that Dalia had to agree to the criminals' demands, Jorgen added, "This is assuming that the hostage exchange doesn't occur." He looked at Dalia again, still unable to understand what she was thinking.
Someone asked, "But what would they gain by controlling Mrs. Dalia? Since they claim it's about revenge or getting a ransom, it seems they can't achieve either."
"This is a high-risk, high-ambition plan. Now it's almost certain that they can't safely take away fifty thousand gold coins. Looking back, their hasty proposal for a hostage exchange after giving us a three-day deadline is very unnatural. I suspect there were internal disagreements about how to execute the plan, and the issues we've considered, they've finally considered too, such as how to escape and the value of Althea as a hostage. So that's why they came up with this second plan. They aren't directly demanding a ransom—" He paused before continuing. "As long as they take Mrs. Dalia away, it's like receiving the most substantial ransom. They can leverage her to obtain money or reputation from MI7 and simultaneously create conflict between Darkshire and the MI7. This isn't something that just fifty thousand gold coins can solve. Yes, the risk is great, but these are people who are always prepared to take a desperate gamble. If they only leave with Althea, they get nothing. Althea, once out of Darkshire, is just an ordinary girl. Of course, with less than three days—now it's less than two—the plan gains value. Regardless of whether we agree to the hostage exchange or not, the criminals stand to benefit."
Jorgen saw Allo clench his fist, and his thumbnail dug into the side of his index finger. Joseph's breathing became heavy, a tumultuous turmoil in an otherwise emotionally restrained individual. Throughout this process, neither of them spoke. The others in the room were not faring any better. The only word that could collectively summarize their mental states right now was: dilemma. However, when thinking about the present situation in the cruelest and most mechanical terms, the victim was always Althea because the criminals had tightly linked her to every possible worst outcome. She had become an involuntary scapegoat. This scapegoat would thoroughly tarnish the Everlock name, eventually shifting the focus away from Gondore's character problem.
"Lord Jorgen, about the reinforcements you mentioned..." someone asked.
"They should arrive before noon tomorrow."
"That means we can't guarantee it..." someone murmured.
"So, Lord Jorgen, what should we do now?" another person asked.
Jorgen didn't answer. After analyzing everything, he felt deeply powerless because he couldn't make a decision based solely on analysis.
"Everyone, I need to have a private discussion with Mrs. Dalia," he said.
Dalia stood up without a word. Once they entered the adjoining room, Jorgen dismissed the attendants.
"Did you hear everything I just said?" he asked.
"Yes."
"We—when I say 'we'," Jorgen pointed to the center of his chest with his right index finger, "still have the option to leave now. Don't rush, I know you won't willingly choose this path. But I have the authority to forcibly take you away from this mess. You're worried about Althea; it's written all over your face. But it's impossible for me to agree to send you to the criminals just because of this. We have no backup plan until the reinforcements arrive."
He could see that she was in distress, her brow slightly furrowed, her eyes fixed on her hands resting on the table, her shoulders and back showing signs of fatigue. But this distress didn't seem to stem from the choice between staying or leaving; it was a kind of anguish that Jorgen had not yet fully explored. He continued:
"I just laid everything out to them, and now I need to talk to you, Dalia. First, I also consider finding Althea a stroke of luck. But she is not, uh... indispensable to us," he stumbled over the words. A person? A thing? Nothing seemed appropriate.
"She's not more important than you. In any way."
"Not just her. There are fifty-three other children," she looked at him as she spoke.
To outsiders, this might seem like a crude sense of sacrifice. But Jorgen knew what Dalia had been through, and he knew that her actions were driven not just by sympathy and maternal instincts. Her motivations were far more complex, and she wouldn't admit to any noble intentions for staying. It was about confronting her past sins, with an irresistible tendency toward self-exile.
"Remember, once you agree to the hostage exchange, even if you suffer no harm from the enemy, it will still be my dereliction of duty, the second time. The first was getting bitten by the venomous spider, and the second was caused by your... recklessness, your disregard for the bigger picture. Do you understand?"
This statement was built on the official relationship between them, the task at hand, and the protector's role, cold and unforgiving, without room for a turnaround. But Jorgen said it anyway because he didn't want Dalia to make a choice without a clear understanding of the stakes.
Dalia was more distressed now, her breath quickening, her fingertips aimlessly tracing patterns on the tabletop. In that moment before she spoke, Jorgen's inner thought was, Dalia, say you want to leave. Let's leave this place.
She raised her right hand, palm facing Jorgen, emphasizing the sapphire ring on her index finger.
"Jorgen, this..."
She touched the side of the ring, and a small pin emerged from beneath the sapphire.
Jorgen looked at the sharp protrusion, then back at her.
"...A poison needle?"
"Sorry I didn't tell you earlier..."
"Is it lethal?"
She didn't answer.
Jorgen's thoughts were now intertwined with memories he'd rather not revisit.
"What do you intend to do with it?"
"I don't know why I've been carrying it all this time... but I've never used it, believe me."
"I didn't ask if you've used it," Jorgen banged the table, creating a clatter of teacups and saucers. "I'm asking what you plan to do with it tomorrow."
"When the exchange happens... I'll use it to create chaos. So far, only Mohnitz has been involved, which should mean he's the core of the group. I think if something happens to him..."
She was willing to risk attacking him. Jorgen looked at that tiny silver pin and the contrasting, reflective glint between it and the sapphire, a light that wasn't pleasing but rather a silent glow. Dalia was the same; wherever she went, right or wrong, she always met death somewhere. She had a radiance that commanded attention, but the more radiant it became, the more it exposed the bloodstains and poison ivy around her.