There was another person from Panthonia who needed a day to consider.
Dennisen agreed to the plan of bribing the assassin.
Yesterday, during their argument, Panthonia saw a rare anger and anxiety on Dennisen's face, even a hint of resentment. It was a look Dennisen usually only showed when faced with particularly gruesome murder scenes. But today, he had reverted to his usual self, as if the argument had never happened.
"Friend," he said, "actually, after work yesterday, I went to talk to Polunius's daughter. I had to. The result of the conversation was quite unexpected. She's not an ordinary girl. She said she didn't want to use that dirty money at all, working two jobs to support herself. She also said her future ambition is to work at the Security Bureau, so I told her if you come, I'll support you. Of course, I only said we'd freeze the money, not what we'd do with it. So... it's fortunate you suggested this. It's good for us, and for her. Only not so good for Salvaney. I may have been too hasty yesterday, sorry."
"It's nothing," Panthonia said.
"You look like you're not in good spirits," Dennisen squinted slightly. "Didn't sleep well last night?"
"Not really."
"Alright. Well... it seems this is the only way. However, since we've decided, we need to discuss it in more detail. For instance, it's crucial to understand this can't be guaranteed to succeed one hundred percent. What if the guy takes the money and continues working for Salvaney, what then?"
"We'll have to sign a formal contract with him, as we discussed yesterday. If he doesn't comply, we can inform Ravenholt Manor. He'll be in trouble."
"Then, assuming he won't double-cross us, but there's still a possibility of the operation failing. Maybe Salvaney sees through it, or for some other reason. If that happens, we need some backup plan, right? I want to hear your opinion... hey, are you listening to me?"
Panthonia drifted off for a moment. When Dennisen mentioned "last night," his thoughts immediately went elsewhere.
"What plan did you say?"
"A backup plan. In case things go wrong with bribing the assassin, we need a backup plan. Your lack of sleep is really serious."
"We can impose some restrictions on him in the contract. Like deadlines, or specifying when and where he meets the informant... these need to be decided after discussing with him."
"Should we go find him now? Or what? This might not sound good, but I think it's not a good idea for that guy to see you like this... Why don't you wash your face first?"
Panthonia pondered for a moment. "Let him wait a day. We'll talk to him tomorrow."
"That's fine. We need to be prepared. There's nothing pressing to do this morning anyway, you might as well rest and recuperate. There's another raid on the theft ring this afternoon..."
"I'm not going today. You can handle that."
Dennisen looked at his partner, silent for a moment.
"This is quite unusual for you. Must be something... never mind, I shouldn't ask. Anyway, if you insist, there must be a reason. A day off won't hurt, you've wasted enough vacation days already. Well, I'll go do the work. But if you have time, it's best to think about what clauses need to be in the contract with that assassin, because I have no clue about these things."
Dennisen left.
Panthonia understood that, purely from a physical perspective, he had no need to rest today. Many years ago in Southshore, he had spent three days and nights in the bushes waiting to assassinate a highly alert enemy, without even the thought of closing his eyes. Though perhaps lacking in the endurance of his youth, he, as a Security Bureau investigator, was used to working through the night. He made this decision because work thoughts kept interrupting. There were several scenes constantly flashing in his mind about last night and this morning. When she stood up and challenged him. When she wiped a bloodstain from his face. When she pressed on his abdominal wound. In the morning, when she faced the choice he gave her. Dealing with the assassin required constant vigilance, something he knew he couldn't maintain right now.
The worst-case scenario is letting the assassin see that you're thinking about a woman. As a former assassin himself, Panthonia was acutely aware of this.
Of course, he couldn't just sit idle today. After completing some simple filing and paperwork, he left the Security Bureau building. He couldn't entirely trust Dennisen's words because he never fully trusted anyone.
He arrived at the school where Polunius's daughter attended, intending to speak with her. After asking the school staff, he spotted her outside the cafeteria window. She was dressed plainly, ordered the cheapest dish, and didn't seem like someone willing to live off dirty money. But appearances could be deceiving—experience told Panthonia that she might be laying low for now. It was like some criminals who, to completely hide their illegal income, lived frugally on the surface.
She sat alongside some classmates who seemed to be from a similar background. She toyed with the meat on her plate with her fork, as if contemplating where to start eating. Images of Hilsbeth flashed in Panthonia's mind again. That night, when they had dinner together... she seemed to have made the same gesture. Or maybe not. He realized he was overlapping an unrelated woman with Hilsbeth again. At that moment, he made another mistake; the girl noticed his gaze. She looked up, meeting his eyes. She didn't show fear or surprise, just curiosity and a hint of discomfort at being stared at by a stranger. Panthonia once again mixed that gaze with the first time Hilsbeth looked at him. There was no similarity between them.
He gave up on questioning her and left the school.
It was barely past five in the afternoon when he returned home along the riverside path. There was no one in the house, no trace of anyone having visited.
He remembered he had given a deadline of before midnight.
What should he do now?
Wait.
He sat in the living room, glancing at the open bedroom door. Right, yesterday night wasn't the first time he had waited outside her bedroom.
So, do nothing.
He told himself this was the behavior of the weak.
The weak wait. He went to seize.
But, he had experienced the feeling of waiting before.
At the age of six, before his first public violin performance, he endured unbearable anxiety. But at that time, he lacked the ability to analyze his own state of mind and had not learned any means of adjustment. Alone in a small room, he listened to the audience gradually gathering in the hall; every unfamiliar footstep entering his mind increased his anxiety. He wondered if all these guests were talking about him. Would they like his performance? He waited for the answers from all these people. Today, he only waited for one person's answer—over the years, he had hardly given anyone the opportunity to choose. Now, he had given Hilsbeth the chance, and he had to bear the consequences.
Just after eleven, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She came in, using the key he had given her. He approached her.
"Have you decided?" he asked.
"Not yet," Hilsbeth said. "I want you to help me decide."
"I've already said this is your..."
"Just hug me, that's all I need. Maybe then I'll know."
He opened his arms and embraced her. She rested her cheek on his shoulder.
"You're not good at giving others the power to choose," she said. "If you had said I must stay, I would have agreed."
"Panthonia," she lifted her head, looking at him. "Say it again, in your usual way."
"Stay here," he added after a moment. "I need you."
"Not at all like the words you usually say," she leaned on his shoulder again.
It wasn't the first time he had uttered these words to another woman; it was the first time he felt they carried weight, not just for manipulating someone's feelings. He felt an unusual sense of gratitude— he couldn't remember the last time he felt something similar. Pure gratitude, not because of mutual interests, but simply because he felt indebted to her.
Hilsbeth's fingers trembled.
She realized she had done something significant and unpredictable.
This morning, when he said "the key is how you choose," she thought to herself: it sounds simple. Everything is too simple for you. After their heated argument last night, where she poured out her last resentment, abandoning her guilt towards Aretta in the process, she thought that was her final struggle. Hilsbeth didn't know Panthonia had struggled to work almost all day today, otherwise she would have made her decision much sooner.
She had considered that perhaps this was just another one of his tactics; soon she would become another Aretta. But she preferred to believe in something else, just like the first night she spent in this room, believing he stood guard outside to protect her. This time, he would be different. We would be different.
At this moment, Hilsbeth hesitated for the last time. To combat this hesitation, she recalled a dark night many years ago, when five adults left her asleep in Elwynn Forest, setting out without her knowledge. She woke up; there was no moon in the night sky. She could hear the cries of wild beasts in the distance. The fear didn't last long. Eventually, she found her own way to the gates of Stormwind. When she saw the gates, she was more afraid than when she first realized she had been abandoned, because she didn't know what lay beyond the gates, or if her journey so far had been worth it. What if the gates were closed just for her? What if beyond the gates was even more desolate than the empty wilderness? What if behind the gates awaited a journey even more difficult and arduous? Nevertheless, she stepped into Stormwind, living as best she could, all the way to now. No one could deny the choices she made for herself.