"A few days ago," the district leader continued calmly, fingers steepled on the table, "I received a request from the Phantom Thief himself. He asked me to investigate the true identity of the so-called Faceless Imposter."
My heart skipped.
Outwardly, I kept my expression neutral.
Inwardly, alarms were screaming.
"After weighing several circumstances," she went on, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "I reached a tentative conclusion. That you might be the Faceless Imposter."
From my left—
A sharp, cutting gaze stabbed into me.
Amelia.
She didn't say a word, but I felt it all the same. Suspicion. Appraisal. A hint of so that's how it is.
—She's sharp. Too sharp.
Amelia had met the Phantom Thief personally. She knew his mannerisms, his way of speaking, his odd sense of humor. She also knew far more about my movements and connections than she ever openly admitted.
Realizing this, her lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tightening just a fraction.
