A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 97

She searched even more thoroughly than before, but there were only a few strange doodles in the drawers and on the desk—nothing useful at all.

Just in case, Tilia gathered the doodles and this time headed for his cabinet. There, she scraped together every document that might even slightly serve as a clue, anything that might be considered meager evidence, and returned to her seat.

Tilia, who had previously ignored the trivial receipts and a few cryptic notes bearing the Ontaroan royal crest, now carefully sorted them.

In truth, ever since she received the offer, she had been staring at the transfer request form every night, agonizing over it.

Could she really go? Was it okay to seize this opportunity that had arrived so perfectly, like fate?

She had wanted to jump in without thinking, but something like anxiety had held her back. An ominous feeling kept stopping her hand, telling her to think just a bit longer.

But the moment she discovered the box—no, the moment she found the letters written in her own handwriting inside it—the impulse that overtook her was stronger than the fear.

She would return to Arkansis.

Not simply to meet the one she missed, not just to share the feelings she had never managed to express.

But to uncover the one who had dared to hide in the shadows and tried to block her path.

She would return to her homeland.

Tilia let out a cold laugh as she spotted an unexpected name in a document Norbert Karel seemed to have left behind.

A strange flutter stirred in her chest.

It was a fresh kind of nervous thrill—as if the calm life she had just regained might soon be overturned, and she herself might be swept up again.

***

Among the many townhouses owned by the Duke of Davenport, there was only one that could rival the grandeur of the main estate.

The duke’s only true home: Essentine Mansion. Late into the night, the office at the highest floor of that mansion still glowed with light.

Between the deep shadows, the soft glow leaking through dark green curtains shone dimly, like moonlight behind a veil of clouds.

“Miss Tilia Ambrose has submitted a transfer request.”

Kevin, standing with calm composure in the duke’s office—an office all of high society wondered about but none had seen—delivered his report.

“She has also given notice to her landlord and already purchased her train ticket to Arkansis.”

“Which class did she buy?”

“Third class.”

Ilex, seated behind a large desk and idly reading documents, furrowed his brow slightly.

“I will inform the agent we placed in Ontaroa that first-class tickets to the transfer location are to be provided only to those submitting official requests.”

Kevin swiftly spoke up, reading the shift in tone.

“Additionally, we’ll offer temporary housing as part of employee benefits to help with adjusting to the new post—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Ilex cut him off lightly.

“There’s no need to book a hotel.”

At those words, Kevin fell silent. Ilex’s gaze sharpened in the strange pause.

“Apologies. I’ll correct it.”

Having read the sensitivity in his superior’s eyes, Kevin bowed once more and resumed his report.

After the long discussion came to an end and the aide had left, Ilex slowly rose and walked to the window.

When he drew aside the dark green curtains, he saw the faintly lit garden and the empty road beyond.

Still leaning against his desk, Ilex calmly clipped the end of a cigar and lit it. The smoke swirled around him like mist, and the sharp gray-blue eyes that had been honed like blades softened slightly.

But even as he inhaled deeply, the impulse did not settle. In the end, Ilex tossed the barely smoked cigar aside in irritation and headed to Tilia’s room.

The room that would soon have its rightful occupant was not furnished in the room closest to Ilex’s bedroom, as originally planned. Instead, it took over the duke’s own space.

Ilex slowly looked around what had once been his own bedroom, now turned into a guest room.

He had already checked the place several times. Yet, like a servant afraid of being scolded for a missed detail, he examined the room again.

Just a few decorations in the bedroom—nothing too large or ornate. The wallpaper patterns were simple yet repeated regularly, enough to convey a sense of beauty.

The curtains were a softly translucent chiffon. The bedding had just the right weight to feel substantial…

Finally, after lifting even the pillow, Ilex took a step back with a relaxed expression.

This would do. This should be enough to keep up appearances.

Smoothing out the wrinkles he had made while inspecting the bedding, Ilex imagined her lying here, peacefully drifting off to sleep.

The fantasy, now practically part of his daily life, continued to grow beyond measure. Eventually, it led him to wet his lips and tug the bedside bell cord.

“You called, sir?”

Standing by the open window for ventilation, Ilex gave the order to the nervous maid who had rushed up at her strict master’s summons.

“Place two pillows on the bed.”

***

Three years of life in Ontaroa had been packed into a few moving boxes.

So sparse. Tilia looked around at the room emptied in just a day, then counted the money she had withdrawn from the bank.

Still, she had saved more than expected. This should be enough to find a room of similar size in Arkansis.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Tilia began packing the last of her luggage for the train.

She had heard there was company housing at the new post, but she didn’t expect to be allowed to stay there.

After all, the reason she hadn’t been able to live in the new consulate housing in Ontaroa had been absurd.

Even though she met the requirement of proximity to the workplace, she had been rejected because she couldn’t secure a recommendation from within the consulate.

Recalling that past, Tilia let out a twisted smile.

That kind of xenophobic culture might still linger there. Although Arkansis was her hometown, unlike Ontaroa…

Still, let’s not get our hopes up.

Resolving herself firmly, Tilia gripped the handle of her worn suitcase tightly.

***

Thanks to the rare generosity of the consulate, which had provided her with a first-class train ticket, the journey to Arkansis was comfortable.

Tilia, who had once bawled like a child while passing these same landscapes, now observed them with the composed face of an adult.

She first found a modestly sized inn and left her luggage there.

“How long are you planning to stay?”

“About… a week.”

Since the transfer was nearly equivalent to an overseas posting in distance, the consulate had granted her a two-week adjustment period.

A week should be enough time to handle a few things and find a place to live. Thinking that, Tilia added a note to the friendly innkeeper, just in case.

“If I end up staying longer than a week, I’ll let you know three days before checkout.”

“Yes, please do! Here’s your key. There should be a spare on the nightstand in the room.”

After giving the room a quick check, Tilia washed up lightly and headed back out.

The scenery of her hometown, revisited after three years, was unchanged.

Though new buildings had gone up and unfamiliar shops had opened, it was still fundamentally the place she knew.

Above all, the way people dressed, the language they spoke—it was all familiar.

Tilia found herself unconsciously relaxing as she climbed into the coach.

There were many things she wanted to eat and check out, but one task took priority over all else.

Memorizing the hospital’s address that she had looked up with ease, Tilia gazed out the window with a calm expression.

***

“Bradley Ambrose… He’s in Ward A, Room 403.”

The staff at Saint Mary’s Hospital, where her father was admitted, were uniformly curt.

Tilia, unfazed, walked down the shabby hospital corridor in search of her father’s room.

“…Father.”

The place where the man who had lost everything lay was a twenty-person shared room.

Empty-handed, Tilia quietly looked down at the haggard face of her father.

His once striking features, which had once made many women’s hearts flutter, had faded under the pallor of illness, and the thick hair he had always taken pride in was more than half gone.

And it wasn’t just his hair and vigor that had disappeared. Staring into the lifeless green eyes, Tilia spoke in a low voice.

“Father, I’m here.”

At those words, his gaze, which had been staring blankly into space, slowly shifted toward her.

At that moment, Tilia saw it.

A strange hope welling up in the eyes of a man steeped in despair.

A desire for life, which she had thought completely extinguished, began to creep back into his hollow gaze.