Panthonia reached out his right hand and touched a small landscape painting nailed to the wall. The frame was barely larger than his palm, and the greenish-gray pines on the canvas appeared lazy. There were two more paintings of the same size on either side: one of a mountain and one of the sea. They were almost purely decorative, meant to enrich the wall's color. The sky outside was filled with clouds, possibly heralding rain; Panthonia closed the previously open window.
This was a room in an upper-middle-class inn in the inner city, where Hilsbeth was staying. The room had been recently renovated, making it difficult to feel anyone had lived there. It was the ninth afternoon after Dennisen's funeral, and Panthonia had come to this room for the second time. The first time was when he chose it as Hilsbeth' temporary residence; he hadn't entered the room when he brought her here that day.
Although he had returned to his normal work, his superiors, anticipating changes, had not assigned him a new partner or any long-term, complicated cases, reducing his workload by almost a third. This gave him time to come here during the day, but for some reason, she was not in.
The matter of the independent intelligence agency was no longer a secret to anyone. Before the decisive council meeting, Koen had moved from persuading officials to winning public support. The most compelling point was Salvaney's downfall. In public speeches and newspaper articles, he never mentioned Panthonia or Dennisen by name, instead emphasizing that under his guidance, some brave security officers accomplished this arduous task. This was a fitting strategy, as praising a few unknown investigators was far less effective than enhancing his own authority. Another strategy was to vaguely describe the intelligence agency's operations to the public as "more professional, more efficient use of information," deliberately avoiding the topic of how intelligence was obtained. The head of the Security Bureau also expressed support and promised to "provide the best talent." Panthonia was no longer questioned about the details of that raid. Doubters surely still existed, but they understood it wasn't the time to seek the truth—or perhaps someone else had ordered them offstage.
The situation seemed much safer. But Panthonia didn't come to this room for safety. He remembered Hylan's words... the only person who had blessed them. Since sending Hilsbeth out of his home, Panthonia felt as though he'd lost a part of his memory—what had he done every day after returning home during his solitary or woman-juggling days?
The concept of time had changed too. During that period, time was divided by whether Hilsbeth was around. Now, each day became a whole again, then blurred into yesterday and tomorrow, like a smooth but boring rectangular piece of wood, abandoned in an empty warehouse of time. He had stayed overnight at the Security Bureau for several days because it was easier. Hilsbeth hadn't returned to the church, meaning she had quit her job as he had requested. So what was she doing? He had told her to stay quietly, but what was the reality? Panthonia recalled that Hilsbeth had always been a very busy woman, rarely idle due to circumstances or her own nature. The heavy smell of paint in the room covered any human scent, and the neatly made bed had an inconspicuous wrinkle on the right side. He placed his finger on the wrinkle.
Someone was coming. Footsteps approached the door. He quickly withdrew his hand into his pocket and turned around. The door opened. It was Hilsbeth. She entered the room, frowning at him, her right hand slightly twisted back at the door frame, taking a moment before pushing the door shut.
"You came," she said.
"Where were you just now?"
"Elsewhere."
"Explain."
"Just elsewhere."
After saying this, she lowered her head, sat on the bed, and immediately stood up, as if it wasn't her own room.
Panthonia walked up to her. He took a breath, recalling the times he used to lift her face with one hand and make her look into his eyes, but he didn't do it.
How have you been these days?—This thought crossed his mind for a moment before he dismissed it.
"Has anyone from the council approached you?" he asked.
She turned her face away and shook her head.
"Answer me."
"No."
"Seen any suspicious people?"
"No."
Except for the moment she entered the room, she had avoided looking at his face; her eyes were full of urgency and restlessness, like someone forced to walk home in a downpour. For some reason, she sighed deeply, tried to speak but bit her lip instead, her chest heaving. She must have something on her mind, and Panthonia found himself at a loss for words. In the silence, he looked at the curve of her neck, smelled the familiar scent, and felt a surge of desire. He kissed her; she gently kissed back once before avoiding him. He pressed her shoulders and laid her down on the bed.
"No," said Hilsbeth.
Panthonia bent down and continued to kiss and touch her. Hilsbeth did not resist, but she kept her head turned away, refusing to look at him. He suddenly felt a surge of anger and raised himself, saying, "Look at me, Hilsbeth."
She still stared to the side, her lips tightly closed.
"Did you hear what I said?" he repeated, more forcefully.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
Hilsbeth finally looked at him, tears welling in her eyes.
"I have your child. Right here," she touched her abdomen lightly with her left hand. "Do you understand?"
Panthonia slowly released his grip on Hilsbeth and straightened up. She turned her face away.
In Southshore, Panthonia had once gotten a woman pregnant. For the eighteen-year-old him, it meant nothing but burden and possible ridicule from Jorach. The woman offered to clear the matter for thirty gold coins, he bargained it down to twenty-one, and it was over. But in this moment, it felt like the first time he truly heard the word. It wasn't gentle; it was like a knife stabbing into his spine, not causing bloodshed but altering his perspective. The woman before him was undoubtedly Silbes—her hair, face, fingers, breasts, waist, hips, calves, heels were all intimately familiar to him; yet a sense of unfamiliarity rose from her body, enveloping her like a mist, making her more beautiful and more vulnerable. Seeing her unsmiling tears, Panthonia suddenly felt an unknown, slowly encroaching pain. He felt his limbs shrinking, losing substance, but his desire to touch her grew a hundredfold.
Hilsbeth stood up unsteadily. "You asked where I went," she said. "I just came back from the hospital."
"You just confirmed it," he said.
What a meaningless and ridiculous statement! Panthonia thought, but he didn't know what else to say. Fortunately, Hilsbeth responded; she nodded.
A few days before leaving Pansonia's house, Hilsbeth had a premonition of her condition. In the days before moving here, since he had emphasized staying indoors, she complied. But this matter couldn't be ignored. Her anxiety and worry accumulated every second. When she received the doctor's confirmation, she couldn't think for a while, even forgetting how she exited the hospital. She had imagined having his child... but not under such circumstances. She couldn't be a mother driven into exile.
Now, Hilsbeth looked into Pansonia's eyes. She knew he was thinking, choosing his words. He was actually confused. He was actually hesitant. At any other time, Hilsbeth would have been comforted by this sight.
Many fragmented sentences swirled and broke apart in Pansonia's mind, but he couldn't find a suitable one to utter. After experiencing unfamiliar pain, he felt all his cells becoming active, as if each breath brought something soothing to his brain—joy. Why joy? He, Panthonia Shawl, never considered raising a child with a woman because it seemed as foolish and socially exposing as having to eat together daily. But he recognized this was indeed joy. The sense of accomplishment and satisfaction after a major task couldn't compare to this feeling. The source of joy was her, only her, the one and only. He discovered the reason for this new feeling, like uncovering an unexpected treasure. No, no, no! The sudden surge of boundless affection for the woman carrying his child was just a weak person's illusion. Thus, it was both surrender and rebellion against everything he once believed. But this wasn't any other woman; it was Silbes—
"Don't you have anything to say?" she asked. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"I came to see you."
"You've seen me now. You're not going to talk about this, are you?"
"We..."
Ten seconds passed without him finishing the word.
"We what?" she said. "What?"
"Now isn't the right time."
"Funny. Timing isn't something I can control. Do you regret not kicking me out a month earlier?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then I don't understand. I never understood what's going on in your mind anyway."
"Don't cry."
"I'm not. You... damn it!" She raised her right fist and brought it down, striking the side of his neck. "At least say something useful. This is our child."
He grabbed her wrist. Maybe he used too much force, because a hint of fear appeared in her eyes. This suddenly made him unable to bear himself.
"Next month. After the council matter is settled... I'll bring you back. You shouldn't stay here."
"You personally chose this place for me. You said it was for my benefit."
"You staying here is just a temporary measure. You will soon come home with me."
"Why? You didn't make such promises before kicking me out. I regret telling you about this. Think back to how you spoke to me when I first walked in. You only care about your plans... you came here just to see if I've ruined things for you. Now that you know I'm pregnant, you want to change tactics to keep me in check..."
"No. I'm saying this because I love you, Hilsbeth."
Panthonia didn't know what kind of response to expect. He understood that to an outsider, suddenly saying this in the current situation was not only abrupt but also somewhat ridiculous. But he had no other way. He was always good at instilling fear in people, not dispelling it; aside from using some lies, he had zero experience in this aspect. Was this a lie? He felt it wasn't, because lies needed to be premeditated.
Hilsbeth's eyes shimmered with a fragile light. She wished she could become positive upon hearing these words, but she couldn't. Before moving out, she had always followed Pansonia's lead, and now she felt she should naturally respond with, "I love you too." However, for the first time, she felt an urge to refuse. The time for such dialogues had passed. She firmly believed she was not another Aretta and had persisted long enough on her own — Panthonia had never taken concrete actions to solidify her faith. She once again became the little girl who woke up alone in the dark forest, relying on her own strength to find the road away from the beasts. If the man before her was merely bringing a lamp that would eventually burn out, rather than being willing to stay with her, she couldn't feel grateful and dependent on him.
"After treating me like this?" she slowly shook her head. "I don't believe you. No one would."
Panthonia let go of her hand. He took a step back.
"I will give birth to him, even if I have to raise him alone. I will find a job soon," Hilsbeth said, sitting on the bed with her head down, hugging her arms.
"Hilsbeth."
"Can you leave? I really don't want to talk anymore."
"These aren't your true feelings. Don't complicate things. I know what you're thinking, but I won't beg you to confess."
"Of course, you know this and that..." After a moment of silence, she said, "I don't want to hear anything. I just want to see action. So don't say anything to me, just leave now, and let me be quiet, okay?"
Panthonia stood there for a moment, then walked to the door and placed his hand on the doorknob.
"Remember... I will come to get you soon. Don't go anywhere else."
She didn't respond.
Panthonia left the room, went downstairs, and instructed the landlord to keep an eye on Hilsbeth before heading back to the street. He couldn't stay in that room any longer because those words seemed to have drained him of everything. He hadn't walked far before he suddenly wanted to turn back, hold her hand, and tell her not to worry about anything; to dispel this thought, he quickened his pace, trying to let his usual rationality regain control of his mind. Whether it was the intelligence agency or this woman's matter, he would handle it. There would be a reasonable way, a reasonable future, even if he no longer trusted his ability to predict the future. When he left Southshore, he didn't foresee that he would struggle as an ordinary person in Stormwind City for nearly ten years. When chasing Salvaney, he didn't foresee his dagger would end up in Dennisen's neck. Before meeting Hilsbeth today, he didn't foresee he would say those words to her; and at this moment, he naturally didn't know that for the rest of his life, no one would ever hear him say those words again.