When Sikakama stepped out of the door, her attention was caught by a young woman opening her apartment, located on the opposite corner—two doors farther from Milo's. In a soft voice, she said:
"May I have a moment?"
Inside the young woman's apartment, Sikakama sat on the couch in the living room and looked around. Despite its simplicity, it was much better than Milo's almost-empty place. There were couches, a table, and a cabinet—simple furniture, but enough. The apartment was more spacious, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a small living area, and a bathroom. The wallpaper, though old, was still intact, and the balcony was filled with flower pots. It looked like the young woman had worked hard to decorate her home and buy bright curtains and furniture to soften the bleakness of the building. Sikakama thought this as her eyes wandered.
The young woman brought a tray of tea and placed it on the table before Sikakama and the gangster beside her. Sikakama looked up at her as she poured tea into the white decorated cups. It was hard to guess her age; her features were soft and calm, her eyes emerald green, and her blonde hair fell loosely on her shoulders, tied in an uneven manner.
Sikakama took the teacup directly from her before she could set it down, saying,
"Thank you."
The gangster waited for his cup to be placed in front of him, then muttered a single word:
"Thanks."
Leaning slightly forward, Sikakama asked:
"You said you might know something that could help us."
The young woman sat on the opposite couch and introduced herself:
"I'm Paloma Armstrong. I heard about the boy's murder, and that you're investigating the killer's identity. I may not know much, but maybe I can help. At the very least… I don't want to feel guilty for ignoring the situation. But… may I see your Knights' badge? Just to be sure."
Sikakama showed her badge. Paloma immediately recognized the shining cuckoo-bird emblem. Sikakama returned it to her pocket. Fortunately, it seemed Paloma wasn't well-informed about the knights' political divisions; otherwise, she would have known this crime was outside the jurisdiction of the Knights of Billiham.
Sikakama asked:
"So, Miss… Should I call you 'Miss'?"
Paloma smiled.
"Yes, I'm not married."
Sikakama continued:
"I want to know everything you know about Milo. You're his neighbor on the same floor—you must have noticed something during his stay."
Paloma replied:
"I'm gone most of the day because of my work, so I don't have much information."
Then her voice shifted to a more serious tone:
"But… I haven't seen him for a week before the incident."
A week? The same duration the gangster mentioned… So he was telling the truth.
Sikakama thought, glancing at the man beside her, who nodded in confirmation.
She asked:
"We are looking for a nobleman believed to be connected to the crime. Have you seen anyone who doesn't live in this building?"
Paloma frowned in thought.
"A nobleman?"
After five seconds, she said:
"Ah… yes. I remember seeing a strange man. His appearance didn't match the usual residents."
Sikakama and the gangster exchanged a look; the confirmation matched Milo's colleague's testimony. Sikakama asked eagerly, unable to hide it:
"What did he look like? Do you remember his features?"
Paloma shook her head helplessly:
"It was dark… I couldn't see him well. The building is old, and the lighting is weak, as you know."
Their excitement faded slightly. Sikakama asked:
"What time did you see him?"
Paloma answered:
"It was when I came back from work on Saturday… a little past midnight."
Saturday night… and the body was discovered Sunday morning. If the man she saw was the killer, then the crime happened shortly after midnight…
Sikakama thought, her expression distant for a moment, then she asked:
"Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
Paloma shook her head. Sikakama stood up.
"That will be all. Thank you, Miss Paloma. Sorry for disturbing you at this late hour."
Paloma nodded to show she didn't mind, then lowered her gaze, a faint sadness crossing her face.
"It's horrible… for a boy his age to be killed."
The bridge was drowned beneath the weary glow of its tall street lamps, their dim halos too faint to push back the weight of the night. The waters below mirrored the pitch-black darkness, their surface shifting slowly, as if breathing with the night itself.
Sikakama stood at the edge of the bridge, the wind brushing past her as she stared up at the sky that blended seamlessly with the dark river below. Then she turned her eyes to the place where she had last seen him. And there… with a single blink, faint silhouettes formed before her—two fragile figures, as if memory itself were struggling to resurrect the moment. They lasted only a heartbeat before dissolving like smoke carried away by a cold breeze, leaving her staring into emptiness.
That was enough for now—especially with dawn approaching. She had to leave before first light to catch the earliest train to Hawthorn in Billiham County.
Sikakama had carefully observed the household's routine, quietly noting every detail. Dinner was always served at eight, and once Corin finished eating, he would retreat to his study for nearly two hours before heading to his bedroom. The lights in the house were usually extinguished around ten.
Around that time, the maid would descend the stairs with a small lamp in hand, performing her nightly checks—putting out the remaining lights, straightening the chairs, and placing a fresh pitcher of water in Corin's room near the window before retiring to the servants' quarters.
By observing this pattern, Sikakama easily calculated the perfect moments to slip out and return without being noticed. The first morning train left at five, allowing her to come back just before Corin awoke. And with the last train passing through Billiham late enough, she could leave after the household settled into its nightly silence.
Every night, she would take the train to Pendralice to continue her investigation, and return before dawn—unseen, unheard, and perfectly timed.
Sunday alone wasn't enough, and leaving the case untouched for an entire week wasn't an option. She needed another solution—and that solution was to work behind Corin's back, taking the last train out each night and the first train back at dawn.
The air was colder than usual, and the train station lay almost empty in the silent dawn. Sikakama stood on the stone platform, waiting for the first train that would take her back.
She pulled the small paper ticket from her pocket—creamy in color, printed with black ink, carrying the journey details: destination, class, and time.
The morning air was sharply cold, making Sikakama shiver, and the place unusually quiet—filling her with a strange sense of emptiness. The sky remained a dark, pre-dawn shade, dimly lit by the pale yellow street lamps.
Suddenly, the clerk appeared before her, dressed in a formal red jacket, a dark tie, and a flat cap with a black band. His features were neat, his movements deliberate and precise, as if he repeated the same ritual every morning without fail.
Sikakama handed him her ticket. He took it between his thumb and forefinger and produced a small metal ticket punch with a wooden handle. Carefully, he placed the ticket under the blade and pressed down firmly. A sharp metallic "clang" rang out as the punch left a tiny, precise hole in the corner of the paper.
The clerk smiled politely and said in a calm voice, "Thank you." Sikakama returned the ticket to her pocket, feeling a small sense of relief despite the biting cold. She lifted her head toward the approaching train, its iron wheels screeching along the tracks, cutting through the stillness. She prepared to board, while silence slowly reclaimed the station, wrapped in an almost unnatural calm, as if she were the only person in the world awaiting her journey.