The silhouette standing in the alley outside the window still lingered in her mind. When had that been? A rainy night, the hooded shadow glimpsed from the inn window. The next morning, Leon had found leather shoe prints on the cobblestones. Since then, something had shifted within Alicia. The sense of *gathering evidence* had transformed into the sense of *protecting evidence*. The enemy was ahead of her. She truly understood this only tonight. --- It was the maid Ella who noticed first. Alicia had claimed poor health that morning and retired to her room early. Just as she was about to extinguish the lamp and lie down, small footsteps sounded in the corridor. Two modest knocks. "…Miss, under the door—" Ella's voice was muffled. Confused, tinged with fear. Alicia rose and opened the door. Ella—sixteen years old, petite, her chestnut hair always braided neatly—was on her knees, reaching for something that had been slipped beneath the door. A folded slip of paper, thick and carefully creased. No wax seal. Nothing written on the outside. "I'll take it," Alicia said. She took it from Ella's hands. The paper was substantial, folded with meticulous precision. She told Ella to withdraw and returned to light the lamp. In the flickering flame, she unfolded the letter. The handwriting was neat. Orderly. As she read, the sensation in her fingertips changed. The weight of the paper seemed to increase, as if sinking deeper into her palm. *If you bring the ledger contents to the royal inspector, I will post Alicia Valton's wasteful expenditures from last year in Trene Market Square.* A circular seal was pressed at the end. The moment Alicia saw it, she remembered a name from the previous episode—Feness Galbert. The former steward who had served House Valton for over thirty years. The man arrested for embezzlement. The seal at the letter's end—the impression made by melting wax to mark the document's origin—matched the steward's seal that remained in the ledgers. Alicia was her true name, the one registered in high society as the young lady of House Valton. They were threatening to expose her past spending records using that name. A man who should be in prison was moving letters like this. In her previous life, something similar had happened. Pressure from a superior. An implicit bargain: *Stay silent, and I'll promote you.* That Alicia had turned a blind eye to the discrepancies in the numbers. Just once. It still caught in her throat. This time would be different. She gripped the paper tighter. She needed to show Leon. Now. --- The moment she stepped into the corridor, another voice cut through. "Fire!" A servant's shout. A man's voice, from the north wing. Running footsteps followed. Alicia ran toward the sound, the threat letter still in her hand. When she reached the end of the north wing, at the ledger vault's entrance, orange light was already seeping through the gaps in the iron door. The smoke was thin, but the door was unmistakably hot. She could feel it without touching. The air was different. Three years of copies were inside. Alicia's hand shot toward the door. In that instant, both her arms were seized from behind. A strong grip. "Alicia!" Leon's voice. Low, rough. Right beside her ear. She was pulled backward, stumbling. His chest pressed against her back. Even through the fabric, his warmth transmitted to her. In the smell of smoke, that temperature alone was strangely vivid. "The door is hot. Don't open it," Leon said. His voice was controlled. The words were brief, but steady. Servants rushed past with water buckets. Alicia couldn't move in Leon's arms—or rather, *wouldn't move*, perhaps more accurately. Heat and smoke hit her face. Yet the warmth transmitting from Leon's body against her back held something oddly calming. *(This isn't because of fear.)* Realizing this, Alicia quietly clenched her teeth. By the time the servants' bucket relay took effect, most of the ledger vault's shelves had turned to charcoal. --- The cleanup continued through the night. As Alicia was examining the remains of the charred shelves, Leon approached. His left sleeve was rolled up, and redness was visible on his arm. A burn—from when he'd tried to pull the door away. Without a word, Alicia soaked a cloth in the water bucket and pressed it to Leon's arm. Leon's movements stilled slightly. "…Thank you," he said. His voice was low. Close. Alicia kept the cloth against the wound, her gaze fixed on his arm. She lowered her eyes for a reason—a proper reason. Smoke dust had gotten in her eyes—at least, that's what she decided. --- Alicia went to Trene Market Square the next morning. On a non-market day, the square should have been quiet. The sound of footsteps on stone, the morning birds. On weekdays before the thrice-weekly market, she usually exchanged greetings with familiar faces. But the air was different. Old Gram, who ran a permanent vegetable stall—nearly seventy, sun-darkened skin, muscular, his skill at bundling carrots considered an art form—met Alicia's eyes and immediately looked away. He focused on his hands, his face carefully blank. *Carefully* blank. Hans the cloth merchant hurried past. He'd been mid-greeting. "…We're being watched," Leon said quietly. Alicia felt it too. Not cold stares. Rather, no temperature at all. The will to avoid involvement. Galbert's threat was no longer directed at Alicia alone. When they reached the arithmetic office—run by Nadia Rothfeld, Trene's only ledger management firm—the two stopped before the door. The sign was shattered. Split down the middle by something sharp, like an axe. A single paper was pasted to the door. *"Falsifier's accomplice."* Four characters written in rough handwriting. *Falsifier*—a term of contempt for those who deliberately altered ledger numbers to conceal fraud, treated in this region as synonymous with a criminal deserving exposure. That Nadia was being called this meant she was being publicly condemned simply for being involved in the ledger investigation. --- Inside the office, things were slightly disturbed. Papers were out of order. The inkstone that should have been on the shelf's edge lay on the floor. Nadia Rothfeld was thirty-three, with short black hair and thin-rimmed glasses. She appeared quiet and earnest, but became talkative when discussing ledgers—this hadn't changed since Alicia first met her. Today, Nadia was ashen. She held a single paper in her hands. "It arrived last night. A request to cancel my arithmetic registration with the royal capital," Nadia said. Her voice didn't shake. But her complexion couldn't hide it. Without arithmetic registration—the credential issued by the Royal Arithmetic Academy required to conduct private ledger management—the office would be finished. The three fell silent. Alicia compared Nadia's paper with the threat letter she'd brought. The handwriting was different. But the writing pattern was similar—meticulous, emotionless. The style of an order. "Should I withdraw?" Nadia asked quietly. Not accusatory. Not resigned. Simply, honestly asking. Alicia looked at Leon. Leon's expression was serious. After a moment, he answered. "I think you should withdraw." Alicia and Nadia both looked up at once. "…What?" Alicia said. "I mean—temporarily distance yourself. Make it appear you've withdrawn on the surface, but continue investigating beneath the water—" Leon hastily added. His ears were slightly red. At the sight of this blood brother saying something outrageous with a serious face, the tension in Alicia's shoulders eased for just a moment. Nadia's eyes widened slightly too. A laugh—not quite bright enough to be called that, just something that loosened the oppressive air slightly. Then it settled back down. "I have copies," Nadia said. She opened a desk drawer. A thin leather-bound portfolio—a bundle of copied documents bound together. "I wasn't expecting the ledger vault to burn, but as a precaution. Not all three years, but… I've secured the main accounting entries," Nadia said. Her face remained ashen, but her hands were steady. Alicia took it and confirmed. Yes. It was there. Several crucial sections remained in hand. "Thank you," Alicia said simply. The words came after something moved in her chest. --- That evening, Alicia returned alone to the ledger vault's remains. The sun was setting, and the north wing of the manor was growing dim. The vault door hung open, the smell of char and ash drifting into the corridor. Only the skeletal frames of the shelves remained, black masses piled upon them. The remains of thirty years of ledgers. Alicia entered and crouched down. She began sifting through the ash with her bare hands. She knew it was meaningless. Most had turned completely to charcoal. There would be almost nothing left with readable numbers. Yet her hands wouldn't stop. It was the same as when she'd turned a blind eye in her previous life—then, she'd told herself *it's impossible anyway* and withdrawn. That regret was moving her body now. Footsteps sounded. "It's futile," Leon said. His voice was quiet, not trying to discourage her, simply stating fact. Alicia didn't turn around. She kept moving her hands. The footsteps drew closer. Leon knelt beside her. The two of them, side by side, hands in the ash. In the dim light beyond the candle's reach, their breathing was audible. Each time ash swirled, the air between them trembled. The distance was close—their arms nearly touching. Alicia was aware of this as she continued moving her hands. Her fingers touched something. Metal. A ledger binding clasp. Wedged beneath it was a thin slip of paper. Half-charred, its edges crumbling. But characters remained. Alicia carefully withdrew it. She brought the candle closer. Leon leaned in from behind, his body angling to look at the same slip. His back pressed against her shoulders. His warmth transmitted to her. In the cold air of the burned-out vault, that temperature alone was vivid. Different from last night's heat. Quiet. Settled. Alicia froze, unable to move. Both their faces were turned toward the same paper. The distance between cheek and cheek had narrowed. Leon read the fragment's characters aloud in a low voice. "…Ash-ring. And silver coin numbers, then… a gray seal in a circle." Alicia moved the candle to see the gray seal. A circle with a scale-like symbol inside. The seal pressed on a ledger keeper's certificate—the gray ring seal of the Ash-ring Merchant League (*Felgrant*), Alicia recalled Nadia mentioning it—a shadowy commercial network based in the five southern territories, controlling grain and timber distribution. The characteristics matched the gray ring seal pressed on their transaction documents. Not Galbert's personal embezzlement. The money had been sent somewhere. To a named organization. --- The two faced each other in the burned-out vault. The vast weight of lost evidence and the heaviness of this single fragment in her hand pressed down simultaneously. Thirty years of ledgers had turned to ash. Yet this one page remained. In Alicia's eyes, a quiet fire kindled. Not quite anger. Something colder, more crystalline. The problem narrowed to two points. The Ash-ring Merchant League—approximately ninety members, controlling shadowy grain and timber distribution across five southern territories—its true identity. And extracting a direct confession from Galbert, rebuilding the foundation from nothing. The fire had stolen evidence. But it had revealed something. Alicia held the fragment between her fingers. Ash clung to her palm. It would wash away. But she had no desire to wash it away now. The path this single page revealed was still long. Still dark. But her hands no longer trembled.