Letter

Jorgen returned home to find a stranger in the living room examining documents.

"You're back," Dalia, seated across from the man, greeted.

"Guests?" Jorgen approached.

"Hello, Mr. Jorgen," the man, Prosecutor Ivanov Gallmont, stood and extended his hand. "I'm sorry for the disturbance. I'm Prosecutor Ivanov Gallmont, here on assignment from the prosecutor's office to investigate the financial situation of Mrs. Dalia's charity organization."

"I guessed the prosecutor's office might receive some reports," Jorgen said.

"Most are trivial and lack evidence. I should be done quickly, won't disturb your lives," Ivanov assured.

Impressed by Ivanov's use of "your lives" instead of "Mrs. Dalia's life," Jorgen nodded. "Dalia and I will excuse ourselves." Ivanov smiled politely as they left.

"I've heard something," Jorgen said in the corridor. "A commotion at the charity event yesterday morning. Is it true?"

"A little chaos. Nothing major, don't worry," Dalia replied.

"Next time, don't go alone. I should be there too."

"When will you have time?"

"I'll find time. Now, tell me what happened yesterday."

"A woman came out and said... well, those things. Then it got a bit chaotic, with people trying to take things without paying."

"Was there looting?"

"Not exactly."

"Did people fight?"

"No. It's nothing, really."

"I don't know why you're hiding this from me, Dalia. I heard there was blood and gunfire. I rushed back for an hour; you better not take it lightly."

"Finding an hour is difficult for you. Where's the time to stand in a field with those big boxes?"

They fell silent. Dalia brushed her forehead lightly with her right hand and continued, "It was a frightening disturbance. Do you remember Duke Remington? The one who proposed to me... His new wife arrived, started saying provocative things, and people believed her. I couldn't control the situation. They went crazy, smashing and grabbing..."

"Dalia," Jorgen sighed, holding her close. She leaned against his chest.

"If you decide to do this again," Jorgen said, "I might not always find time to be with you, but at least inform the neighbors first. So, next time, talk to me first, understand?"

"Alright."

"What about the gunfire? Was anyone hurt?"

"No," she pulled away slightly, looking at him. "It was a warning shot fired by Ivanov's guards."

"He was there too?"

"He's here to conduct that investigation, so it worked out conveniently. If it weren't for him, I really don't know how we would have handled it."

"I see. Then I should thank him." Jorgen paused and continued, "But, Dalia, I know how the prosecutor's office works. After all, he's conducting an investigation against you. That's not something to take lightly just because he helped you."

"It's okay... I understand. I'll be careful." She kissed him on the lips and said, "Let's go back. Don't leave the guest alone for too long."

Back in the living room, Jorgen said to Ivanov, "Your Excellency Prosecutor, Dalia told me you were a great help at yesterday's charity event. Thank you very much."

"It's nothing; it's my duty... I think it's time for me to leave."

"So soon? I wanted to have a good chat with you, about the details of your investigation. I could provide you with some useful information," Jorgen said.

"I'd be happy to, but I'm afraid I'm as busy as you are. Mrs. Dalia, I need to take these documents for further research."

"Please do."

"Thank you for your cooperation." Ivanov, holding the files in his left arm, bid farewell to the two and left.

"He left quite quickly." After seeing the prosecutor off at the gate, the two returned to the living room, and Jorgen said to Dalia, "Don't you find it strange?"

"How strange?"

"Like he's trying to escape."

Dalia stared at Jorgen and suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"He might really be trying to escape," Dalia said. "Didn't you realize the look you just gave him? Right?"

"What look? I think everything is normal."

"Oh, don't play dumb." She happily hugged his neck. "See, you're smiling too. You understand what I'm saying."

"Well, to put it differently: he's not running away, just realizing he should leave us alone. Mystery solved, let's talk about serious matters. What documents did he take?"

"Detailed records of orphans received and entrusted over the past year. Of course, related expenses too."

"Why only investigate the past year? I always thought people from the prosecutor's office enjoyed digging up long-neglected account books."

"He said it's related to the reports the prosecutor's office received... that there were issues with my organization, mainly concentrated after the removal of the doorplate from this house."

"That's right," Jorgen thought. Regardless of who the informant was, choosing this timeframe had a clear intention: linking Dalia's eviction by Section Seven to his report. For ordinary people, sudden drastic changes in life could indeed become motivating factors for crime. More crucially, due to their institutional differences, the Prosecutor's Office and Section Seven always had evident conflicts. An uncomfortable inference for Jorgen was that the Prosecutor's Office might be trying to use Dalia as a breakthrough to find evidence against Section Seven—just because the old man had acknowledged the complete severance of ties between Section Seven and Dalia didn't mean everyone agreed; even if some saw the publicized eviction as a protective measure, it wouldn't be surprising.

He didn't plan to tell Dalia this point and hoped she hadn't thought of it for the time being.

"By the way... what's his name? The full name," Jorgen said.

"You're something. Ivanov Galenmant."

"Too hard to remember. But... Galenmant..."

"What is it?"

"I remember that surname. Deza Galenmant, the retired Chief Prosecutor. I heard his only son also entered the legal profession... so this Ivanov must be him."

"What kind of person is his father?"

"No private contact. But if he learned anything from his father in terms of work style, we need to be even more careful. Deza was good at entanglements and caused quite a bit of trouble for Section Seven." As the words left his mouth, Jorgen realized he had mentioned a term he shouldn't have, but Dalia didn't seem to mind much.

"The attitude of others was fine just now, but it suddenly feels strange after hearing you talk," she said.

"There's no way around it. My work has been getting busier, and I can't always be by your side. If there's anything off about him, you must tell me immediately."

"I understand. Let's not talk about it."

After some intimacy, Jorgen said, "I almost forgot something."

"What?"

Jorgen took out an envelope from his pocket. "Sent from Lakeshire Town by Elin."

"Elin? He still writes letters?"

"He used a carrier pigeon originally meant for reporting emergencies. I was wondering how to cover for him. Haven't opened it yet. Would you like to read it?"

"Since it's not opened, how do you know..." Dalia didn't finish her sentence because she saw the small words on the envelope: For Jorgen and Dalia. "Well, I'll open it." She said.

She took the envelope, cut it open, and took out what was inside. One was a pale yellow sheet of paper, and the other was a landscape drawing done with ink. Dalia glanced at Jorgen, then placed the landscape drawing in the middle between them; Jorgen held the other corner of the paper with his right hand. They could see a lake, a fishing platform extending from the leaf-strewn shore into the water, and mountains on the other side of the river. The sky was painted dark, leaving the mountains and the lake blank, but they couldn't determine if it was a night scene—the artist's habit of painting backgrounds dark made it unclear. There was a signature in the lower right corner: Elaine Tias.

They didn't say anything, scrutinized it for a while, then gently placed it on the table. Dalia unfolded the letter and began reading the first few lines. "Really didn't expect Elin to have such nice handwriting."

"He probably has a thousand ways to waste his talents," Jorgen said. "Read it to me."

Dalia cleared her throat and started reading. "Jorgen, Dalia. How are you? Is life going smoothly? Don't bother asking me because I've never felt better. I'm sure you've carefully admired Elaine's artworks. Yes, her theme is Lakeshire Town. Ah—" Dalia deliberately elongated the sound, indicating Elin had added a long dash afterward. "Staying in such a beautiful, imaginative place makes me feel like I can regain the dreams of a wandering poet..."

Dalia laughed, bent down, placed her left hand on her stomach, and pushed the letter toward Jorgen with her right hand. "I can't go on. I keep imagining the expressions he had while writing these things."

"Forget to mention, he didn't waste his talent on writing." Jorgen took the letter and continued reading.

"Elaine loves this place so much; I regret not bringing her here earlier."

"...What does this sentence mean?"

"He might have meant to write 'regret not bringing her here earlier.' Regardless, continue. 'As for me, I almost forgot that I came to investigate a series of murders. With me around, the case naturally became clear. A young man who married into the family lost his job, felt that everyone around him looked down on him, so after getting drunk, he did something he shouldn't have. A real man would never make such a mistake. Of course, there's still a lot of follow-up work to do, but I have plenty of time, so I'm conveniently using this free time to find a house for you two. Jorgen, don't say you haven't told Dalia about this! I've already set my sights on several places, excellent in all aspects, and the price is also cheap, at most, a bit old. You should thank me for not intending to keep this information to myself. The best way is for you two to take the time to come here, although that's temporarily not possible. However, it doesn't matter; I'll take the schematic structure of the house back to Stormwind for you, so you have an idea. Elaine's painting is the scenery visible from one of the rooms; she says she'll paint more so that both of you can see. So, Jorgen, remember to reimburse the expenses for Elaine's trip as agreed earlier. Goodbye."

"That's it." Jorgen folded the letter and found Dalia looking at him without saying anything. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"You're really lucky," her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "To have such a friend."

"Maybe. Perhaps he intends to help sell houses to us and collect a commission." Jorgen fell silent for a few seconds and continued, "I was talking nonsense just now. I think you're right... but," he caressed her face, "luck isn't just for me alone. He did this for both of us."

But Dalia turned her face away, looking at the ground, her left thumb and forefinger pressed against her slightly trembling lips.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, I... We still have a lot of time to prepare, right?"

"These things won't happen immediately, you know. Everything is still being planned." Jorgen moved away a bit, leaning back on the sofa. "And nothing specific is decided. I've considered Lindy's suggestion, and if you don't want to leave..."

"No, I want to, really want to. I have to leave here and wait for you over there." Her voice became urgent but still soft, like rainwater dripping from the eaves in the clear sunshine after a thunderstorm. "And then you have to come as soon as possible, don't let me wait too long. I'll wait forever, but the shorter the better." She took Elaine's painting, holding both sides of the paper with both hands, looked at it for a moment, and then continued, "Maybe right here. In a little while, I'll be standing here waiting for you. Do you hear me? Jorgen, do you hear what I'm saying?"

"Of course, I hear you. I'm right here. Calm down a bit, Dalia."

"What are you saying? Don't ask me to calm down. I don't need your calmness. I really want to leave now..."

Elaine's painting was almost crumpled in Dalia's left hand, but she seemed not to notice, and Jorgen didn't intend to remind her. He held her, listening to the sound of the paper suffering pressure, slowly contracting and then expanding in pain, then heard it falling to the ground. Later that day, Jorgen left; Dalia picked up the paper, spread it on the table, and pressed it with her hands, but she couldn't make out what was painted on it anymore.