"Although my feelings toward him are… complicated," Alia's voice dropped lower, almost fading into the dimness around them, "the truth is he once saved me. He gave me the skills, the means to survive. Yet at the same time, to him I was nothing more than a piece on a chessboard—something to be discarded at any moment, even killed if it suited his plans."
Her fingertips moved slowly across the hilt of her dagger, caressing it as though it were the only anchor keeping her steady. Her gaze drifted into the void, her eyes glazed with the weight of memories she could never escape. "I cannot deny it—he was not a perfect man. But…" she paused, voice sharpening into reluctant clarity, "…he was a perfect operative of the underworld. A perfect thief."
The words hung in the air like iron chains, heavy and undeniable.
"Perfect?" Elias arched a brow, his tone quiet yet laced with skepticism—and a flicker of bitterness. His stare locked on her, unrelenting, as though he could unearth some hidden truth from her eyes.
Alia let out a slow breath, as though lifting the veil on a secret she had never meant to share. "Yes. He mastered nearly every skill. His combat ability borders on invincible. His disguises… flawless. He even knows a rare art of bone-shrinking—reshaping his own frame until he becomes someone entirely different. In the blink of an eye, Jim can shed his skin and emerge as another man." Her gaze darkened, emotions twisting inside it—fear, respect, and an unspoken loathing. "And beyond all that, he has an enormous web of information, a network that spreads through every alley, every shadow in this city. A web only he can command. In truth, perhaps only I—and a handful of others—have ever seen his real face."
The flicker of torchlight painted Elias's features in stern relief. His expression grew grave as he spoke slowly, carefully: "So in other words… there is almost no way to catch him. Unless—"
"Unless what?" Alia cut in, her voice sharp, touched by urgency.
She fell silent for a heartbeat, her lashes lowering as though she were wrestling with the frailest part of herself. "His only weakness… cannot truly be called a weakness. It is more like the deepest scar carved into his nature. His obsessions run too deep. When he desires something, he must have it—no matter the cost." Her voice thinned into a whisper, barely audible above the hush of night. "And another thing… he never truly trusts anyone. Not even those closest to him."
Her hand trembled, just slightly, as the words left her lips. Her eyes dulled, dimmed by the shadows of a past that would never leave her. She exhaled, a sound more like surrender than relief. "In the end, I cannot deny I still feel a trace of gratitude toward him. But he… he never once trusted me."
The torches sputtered, casting wavering shadows that danced between them like silent specters. Elias gazed at her, offering no immediate reply. Yet within his chest rose a storm of tangled feelings—sympathy mingled with a raw, painful ache he could not name.
At last he broke the silence, his tone measured, deliberate: "Then if there is something—something he must obtain himself, something he would never entrust to another… If we can set a trap around that object, we may have our chance."
Alia hesitated, brows furrowing as the idea coiled around her thoughts. Her lips pressed together, and when she spoke again, her voice carried a weight of worry. "Yes. I know exactly what you're thinking. The Grail—it is the only thing that fits. But the problem is… can our trap truly contain him? Or will it only end with us falling into our own snare?"
The light caught her face at an angle, carving a delicate line of shadow that deepened the concern etched there. Her fingers slid along the sheath at her knee, stroking the steel edge as though drawing strength from its cold, unyielding presence.
"Then we will simply have to plan carefully." Elias's voice was like stone, firm and dark. His gaze sank into the floor, fingers drumming against it in a slow rhythm, as though he were already placing pieces upon an unseen board, calculating move after move. The intensity of his focus, the depth of that quiet determination, was enough to silence the air itself.
Alia studied him, her eyes flickering with a kaleidoscope of feelings. At last she curved her lips into the faintest of smiles—though no true laughter came. Instead, it slipped out more like a sigh. "It seems you already have a plan, don't you?" Her words carried both suspicion and—just barely—a fragile thread of trust, glimmering like a fragile spark in the darkness.