'Did he mark my clothes while I was sleeping? Or maybe my body parts?'
The thought was chilling.
Had Reymond had waited for him to wake up specifically to demonstrate his control?
It was as though he was sending a clear message: You can't hide from me. You can't run. What's mine, stays mine.
It was a psychological game perfectly suited to a man with the Sin of Hoarding.
Reymond looked down at Seth's surrendered form, a smile playing on his lips.
"Surrendering so soon? You're quite spineless for a witch."
Seth, still on the floor but no longer being held down, slowly pushed himself up.
He brushed off his clothes, his mind working quickly to de-escalate the situation.
"It's a pointless struggle."
He replied, forcing a casual tone.
"And frankly, I'm the one who stole from you. It's hard to argue from the moral high ground when you're the thief. Besides, my sin isn't really suited for a fistfight."
Reymond let out a short, genuine laugh.
"Haha! A pragmatic thief. I can respect that."
His expression then turned more serious, his eyes sharp and assessing.
"Now, let's get to business. What type of Sin do you possess, and which organization do you work for, boy?"
This was the dangerous part. Seth had to be careful.
"I don't work for any organizations."
He stated truthfully.
"As for the Sin..."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, deciding on a half-truth.
"It's called the Sin of the Meaningless. Have you ever heard of it before?"
Reymond's brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
He leaned back, stroking his sideburn in thought.
"The Sin of the Meaningless?"
He repeated, then let out a derisive snort.
"Hah. I didn't know that not having a purpose was considered a sin. How... philosophical."
He shook his head.
"No, I've never heard of such a thing. Not in Matamisan. Perhaps it's a type of Sin more prominent in other cities or countries? Perhaps it's in Evado City? Do you know if there are any covens dedicated to it?"
Seth shook his head, keeping his face neutral.
"I do not know. I'm... quite new to this."
Reymond's frown deepened, but it was one of calculation, not disappointment.
"Well, if it's less well-known, that could be more useful for us. An unknown factor is often beneficiary."
His eyes scanned Seth up and down again.
"And it doesn't seem like a combat-type Sin, judging from the way you automatically tried to escape rather than fight. You don't carry the sense of maleficence and evil that someone at the level of a handler or above posseses..."
"Nor the malicious glee of someone with a more violent Sin."
He was piecing Seth together like a puzzle.
"You're at the First Circle, correct?"
Seth offered a non-committal smile, neither confirming nor denying.
Sometimes, silence was the best answer, letting his enemy's own assumptions fill in the blanks.
"Well, you don't have to answer that."
Reymond said, waving a hand dismissively.
He bent down and picked up the suitcase of money.
"I'll be taking this back. Consider the rent you just paid as your first payment for working for me. A down payment on your future services."
"Of course, I don't let good things go unrewarded. Once you work for me, I can guarantee a good salary and benefits for someone with an ability like yours."
He reached into the inner pocket of his rumpled suit jacket and pulled out a small, neatly folded piece of paper.
He tossed it onto the bed.
"We'll meet at the place written in the paper.."
"If you can, collect any information you have on the man named Fredero Tangen and share everything you know about him later."
He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Eight o'clock tomorrow night. I'll give you the details of your first job then. I have other matters to attend to now, so our conversation is over."
He walked to the door but paused with his hand on the knob, glancing back over his shoulder.
The amiable mask was gone, replaced by a cold, gangster's stare.
"Oh, and don't get any clever ideas about skipping our meeting or trying to run away. I have a very long reach, and my colleagues in the Iron Jackals... well, let's just say they aren't as patient or as polite as I am. They consider betrayal a personal insult, and they collect on those insults with extreme prejudice."
With that final, thinly veiled threat, he opened the door and left, closing it softly behind him.
The lock clicked into place, a sound that now felt meaningless.
Seth stood alone in the sudden silence, his heart still thumping.
He waited a full minute, listening to the footsteps fade down the hall, before he let out a long, shaky breath.
'I already have powers... why is stealing still so frightening?'
The encounter had left him feeling violated and trapped.
He walked over to the bed and picked up the folded paper.
It was good quality, not the cheap kind.
He unfolded it.
The message was short and to the point, written in an elegant script:
Kilammil Cable Car Station. 8 PM. Come alone.
Seth stared at the words, his mind racing.
He was now entangled with a dangerous gang, his freedom contingent on the whims of a man who literally viewed people as property.
But amidst the fear, a single, crucial detail from their conversation echoed in his mind.
Reymond wanted him to investigate someone.
And just before he left, he had mentioned the target's name in passing.
It was a name Seth had heard before, whispered in a tense conversation with Phoebe.
Fredero Tangen.
Phoebe's uncle.
'It seems the problem with Phoebe's uncle isn't as simple as it seems...'
...
Phoebe took the worn piece of paper from Rose's trembling hand, her eyes scanning the harsh, slanted handwriting.
As she read the threatening words, a deep frown creased her forehead.
She looked up at Rose, who had just arrived at her house looking pale and frightened.
"Are you absolutely sure he wrote this letter?"
Phoebe asked, her voice filled with doubt.
She held the paper up.
"This doesn't sound like the Seth I've been with these past few days. His memory isn't the best and his personality is quite tame, but not... menacing."
Rose nodded vigorously, her hands wringing together nervously.
"It's his handwriting, Phoebe! I'd know it anywhere. We have to get proper help. If we can't go to the official Covens without risking exposure, we can find other witches. There must be stray witches in the city who would take the job for the right price..."
Phoebe fell silent, analyzing the letter again.
She compared the violent promises in the text with the image of the lost, amnesiac man who had eaten soup at her table and seemed genuinely curious about this world.
The two pictures didn't match...
"I'm not making any moves until I know more."
Phoebe stated firmly, her mind made up.
"I'll send a letter to my mentor immediately. I'll include a copy of this note and get her opinion. She's seen far more strange things than we have."
She paused, folding the letter carefully and tucking it into her pocket.
She met Rose's worried gaze.
"But first, let's go meet your brother..."
Rose was silent as cold sweat filled her back.