"Are you satisfied now?"

An old and calm voice came from the phone — a bit consoling, a bit firm, and commanding. A foreign mixture of the three distinct ingredients created a vague taste of bittersweet flavor.

"Thank you so much for granting me this opportunity." Answered the receiver. Polite yet reserved, grateful yet ambiguous.

The line cut short, leaving behind a fleeting trace of solitude and uncertainty.

The receiver's gaze lingered on the small lit screen, lost in stillness. Lips sealed.

When the dim light of the phone screen died, the darkness enveloped the environment, interrupted only by the quick shimmering light from the road.

Through the closed car window, the profile of his face resting on the cold glass, flashed then faded, one time after another, accentuating the contrast within his thoughts.

Steady and swift, the silence continued as the car sped, in what it felt; an endless road.

"How did it go?"

Another question cut through his barriers...

He lifted his gaze toward its source...

How did it go?...

Reverberating like the remains of weak echoes between deserted mountains.

He needed a few minutes to smash a sense into this question.

That handshake reproduced within his vision, with all the sensation, the applied pressure. The words that accompanied them, even the bitty details, were still fresh in his mind. However, how did it go?...

He, himself, mulled over the outcome of this dangerous gamble, or perhaps this glimmer of hope, as he thought of it before he met him.

Now, after the brief meeting that barely lasted five minutes...

"We should leave soon..."

Without further explanation, a picky stare fixated on him through the rearview mirror.

He didn't feel the need to give more, yet emptying his thoughts reservoir of his, a little, may help in sorting out the available better options.

"Perhaps I was a bit optimistic in my expectations."

Even more curious stares reached his seat. But this time, they won no additional elaboration.

For more than an hour, the car's wheels rolled tireless, matching the cool night breeze speed.

In the barren land stretching beyond, glittered the colorful gate of the silver knights resort, the nearest place accepting reservations from outsiders.

Albeit not in a strategic location, about a 3-hour drive from the airport and 2 hours from the train station, here, found the only hotel accepting reservations from those who have arrived from the west.

The only two reasons Emery Cromwell could enumerate enclosed: a high demand, and tight security measures.

He breathed out the murky air stuck in his lungs. The fact he managed to attend the funeral and offer his condolences accounted for one year of good luck and equally measured wealth. He shouldn't be greedy for more, at least for the time being.

Upon entering a side road, The car‘s speed decelerated till it finally stopped in the parking lot.

In a calm and swift movement, Emery's hand ended on his driver's shoulder, alerting him to not get out just yet.

The night cast down its black robe around, enforcing its murkiness with, a moonless, starless sky. A mere few moments later, two black cars made their way to the same parking lot.

With an eagle-like gaze, he observed their passage, then their parking in the not-so-far spots from his.

"Are you sure we didn't get followed?"

Likewise, his driver's eyes never nudged astray, the shadows of cars passing over them.

"No..., But we should have brought a few more men with us."

The doors swung open, two shadows disembarked.

Despite the close proximity between the cars, the visibility was anything but good.

One shadow worked on the rear passenger door; meanwhile, a few more shadows slid out of the second car.

The silence of the night returned once the last pair of heels stamped out the parking lot exit. Yet, Emery chose caution over frivolity. As he grew certain of their departure, he pushed open the door.

His driver ran after him flustered, setting up a foldable knife. Only to be paralyzed by a low soft hum, tailed with a decisive order. "No need."

Emery walked towards the cars, checking their license plate number, and further elaborating, "If they were really in our track, they wouldn't find a better location."

At this time, it just never occurred to Emery the accuracy of his initial guess and the faultiness of his late deduction. There were just numerous approaches to trap a man.

The morning arrived fast. As quick as the clock ticked, as relaxed as Emery's nerves got.

Separated only by the breakfast period, his departure dangled finally around his head.

To honor this reckless venture of his, he took an oath to make merry of every lasting minute before his departure. Who knew, he may never return to the east, to the city of his ancestors, again?

In prudent leisure, he strolled near the training fields. Much alike, humans and horses, reunited in pleasurable harmony. Coaches and trainees moved in a sequential cadence. Cheers and laughter rose from the viewing seats. An estranged world unlike his, completely different.

Near an open sandy field without fences, he stopped enjoying the dressage performances of riders and their mounts. One after the other, grading their demonstration based on his limited knowledge of the activity and, of course, on the elegance of the rider and his mount while occasionally checking left and right.

His driver rushed towards him. Serious and vigilant.

The look on Emery's face flip-flopped to the opposite end of tranquility. Feigning the need to know the time, he glanced at his wrist and then retreated. Unbeknownst to his tied-down mind that the neighs scratching the edges of his ears belonged to what seemed an out-of-control mount heading after him.

The face of his driver grew uglier by the second, while Emery's nerves pulsated with the expected gravity of the bad news waiting for him.

A pair of hooves thrown up as high as possible in the air. Preceded by powerful thunder striking neighs. Emery's body turned to uphold the majestic posture that going to crush him. Dust everywhere. People screaming joined the event.

Was it deliberate, or was it an accident, Emery Cromwell couldn't decide until months later.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Are you sure you didn't get hurt?"

Clad in perfectly fitting riding apparel and a soft, apologetic, melodic voice accompanied by cute, flustered expressions, the rider exclaimed, "I assure you, I rarely lose control, but this stallion temperament."

Emery smiled. Aside from a few scratches on his forehead, and a dull pain in his left shoulder, he comported indemnity of any serious injury, "Don't worry, my lady. I am certain if it weren't for your talented commending skill I would be dead now."

"No... No... I should take you to the hospital for checking; the medical team here doesn't have performing equipment. They may have missed something."

Evelyn noted him glancing at his wrist again and again; she seized the hidden opportunity and adjusted her earlier suggestion. "Or maybe you can stay here, in the infirmary for observation."

As he stretched his right hand towards his suit jacket, he cracked another smile, " I must apologize for your wasted concern, my lady. Rest assured that I am not fazed by the accident, and the reason for my hastiness only because of a flight I desperately need to catch up to."

He exuded a relaxed air as he casually draped his jacket over his shoulder, embodying an effortless sense of comfort before he loped beyond the infirmary door.

Unlike the first trip, this time, the drive to the airport lacked the initial anticipation, stripped down from the stressful atmosphere. Only a small number of worries nestled inside Emery's thoughts.

"So, did you manage to find out the identity of the individuals we encountered last night?"

"No, not exactly... But I have found out the owners of the car."

Travis said as he glanced over his boss's reflection.

The latter seemed totally in another world. Not just now, but since he came out of the infirmary.

At first guess, Travis traced back the reason to the near-death experience his boss had just gone through. However, now, after much more contemplation and the fact behind the constant phone screen kissing, as well as the pleasant grins, Travis discovered the real reason behind his boss, head in the clouds; behavior.

He must have gotten her number...

"The number plates on both cars are registered to Fry Security Company.."

Travis wondered about the cause of his boss's delight, how the hell he is going to meet her for a date. The distance separating them extended long and wide. With him residing and working in the west while she resided in the east, hundreds of kilometers away.

Will he risk traveling back to the East? Out of the question for the time being as well as considering the ongoing power struggle. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that the young lady would venture to follow him into the West.

Regardless of her privileged background and the nature of her upbringing, the Eastern region is conservative anyway. It seemed improbable that she would be able to go against societal norms and meet him without facing consequences such as leaving her family or being involved in a scandal.

"Fry security...?" His boss's agility picked up instantly. "Were they escorting someone?"

"Most likely."

"Mmm."

At last, Emery put aside his phone, his left hand supporting his shin as he gazed out the car window. His habitual posture when he engaged in careful and detailed reasoning.

"As per the laws, the military has a restricted ability to intervene in civil matters, aside from being attacked by the military council, General McCarthy would tarnish his reputation if he mobilized his troupes to assure security during the funeral, It would be more appropriate for him to hire a security company to arrange things to his liking."

"You mean Fry security." Travis elaborated.

"Yes. However, what are the members of the company doing in a resort two hours away from their work site, they must have a crazy load of work to do."

"Maybe they were escorting a family member or relative or an important guest or an ally."

"To a resort?" Emery couldn't digest the thought, besides he had not observed any unusual conduct or strict protocols or any other peculiar behavior from the hotel staff.

Travis stated, defending his standpoint, "Well, everything is possible, the news of the youngest son of General McCarthy being absent from the funeral is storming the media."

"What?, really?, What an ungrateful brat."

*** *** ***

Dealing with the aftermath of a big funeral had its share of stress and fatigue. After a long day, Alfred finally was able to return home. Albeit the late time, his mind filed by a certain inkling, sleep won’t approach him if he did not inquire about it. Thus the first action he took was to irritate Evelyn by requesting a midnight meal.

With half-closed eyes, she dragged her way to the kitchen, groggy from drowsiness. Regardless of their compatibility, she mixed whatever ingredients she found in the fridge. The observer might believe she was concocting poison rather than a meal.

In the thrill of the invention, the real talk began without introductions.

“Hmm, how did it go? Your adventure?”

The drowsiness fled Evelyn's eyes and legs, she also stopped adding more salt. Conscious of the mess she had been preparing, an urge for accomplishment pushed her to start over.

“Well, for the start, you promised to explain why it has to be me to execute your honey trap.” At the tip of her tongue, she tasted the mixture after some adjustments.

“Honey trap?” Alfred swallowed a pleasant smile.

“That person certainly wasn’t your average businessman from the West as you have said, There was an air of danger subtly oozing all around him.” She turned to face him, the spoon in her hand used as a weapon threatening him, "Are you confident he isn't a gangster, possibly a military deserter, or even a hired mercenary?"

Alfred couldn’t hide his smile anymore.

“Since you have involved me now, you should tell me everything.”

“How in the hell did you approach him to build this impression of him?” Alfred's pleasant smile transformed into chuckling.

With a complete unimpressed look and pouted lips, Evelyn crossed her arms and said, “You must have already found out.”

“Well, since you acted that way, you must have your own theory.”

Unexpectedly the quick meal Evelyn prepared wasn’t that terrible, the rescue attempt succeeded as well as the debriefing between the two of them.

Evelyn meditated for several moments, her gaze locked into observing Alfred's bad eating habits, her mind drifting through her thoughts, perhaps adrift in a whirlpool as she pieced together all the information her older brother shared with her.

“Someone must have helped him join the funeral proceedings, even enabling him to approach my father and exchange a handshake while offering his condolences… Who is he? Who is the one helping him?”

Alfred gulped down a half glass of carbonated beverage, his features did not suggest worry or anxiety. On the contrary, he radiated elation and excitement akin to a kid getting his new toy, unconcerned for the late time of the night.

He stood up and said: “That is exactly what we are going to find out,” a large grin dressed his lips, ego inflated all over his body language.

Evelyn watched him closely, feeling a sense of cringe within. She considered sharing Emery's phone number even if it wasn’t his main number, maybe also the car's license plate he had driven, and even the pictures she had captured of his driver. However, she quickly reconsidered, at least for the time being. She feared if he gained access to this information, God forbid he would rest peacefully this night, nor would he allow her to do so.

As if he had forgotten something crucial, Alfred turned back before reaching the kitchen door. “Especially don’t tell about this operation, I don’t want Jacob to know anything about it, or about anything else.”

She followed in his footsteps, closing the kitchen light when a forgotten insight popped into her head, she hurried toward the stairs calling him in a toned-down voice, “you have yet to explain why me?”

He faced her in an equality-toned voice, “he wants to make an acquaintance with the McCarthy? Why not?”

“Still doesn’t explain why me?”

“Oh, well,” he contemplated, more like he searched for the best way to lay it down, “You know how it is with men. They tend to become more open and less guarded when in the company of a woman.”

Though she refrained from vocalizing her thoughts. The expression "stupid jerk" was vividly portrayed on her face. Impossible for the keen Alfred to not notice and decipher it. He contented himself with a repressed weak smile unable to trace his lips.

The both of them shifted their attention upstairs, toward a slow-moving silhouette that stole their concern.

They watched in silence as their eyes locked on the languid and unsteady motion. In their neutral features expressed a kind of indescribable pity, sympathy, and concern.

The gloomy silhouette passed across them as if they didn’t exist, lost in its own dark reality and chained by invisible restraints.

Alfred sighed, then asked, “How is he?”

“Not good,” Evelyn answered in reflective pain, “Not good at all.” Her inability as a psychiatrist to help him weighed down on her consciousness twice.

A soft touch patted her shoulder: “Don’t worry, he is doing well and he will get better.” she moved her gaze to the last trace left of Kieran's shadow. Thinking about the successive blows. Her young brother endured the missed promotion, the expulsion from the military school, the unnatural passing of their grandfather, and the most distressing of all, shouldering all the blame for each of these trials himself.

In a muffled voice, she preyed for Alfred's words to be true. “I hope so.”

Less than two months later and as if fate was determined to smash all of Travis's meticulous reasoning, Evelyn traveled to the capital of the Western region. Of course not to meet Emery Cromwell exclusively, but because of a certain worry for a certain someone and for a certain scheming to begin laboring behind the shadows.

Back then, a notorious rumor swept across the entire nation, like wildfire consuming dry timber, General McCarthy had disowned his youngest son and removed his name from the family records.