"Senior Grey?"
A familiar voice came from behind.
Mary wore a dark, muted dress and carried medical texts in her arms. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, soft and warm.
"Good morning, Miss Morstan."
"Good morning." Mary walked up beside Lucian, her gaze sliding to the newspaper in his hands. "Senior is following this too?"
"The whole university is talking about it. It's hard not to."
"It is." Mary tilted her head slightly. "What does Senior think of the phantom thief?"
Lucian pretended to ponder.
"He's impressive, I suppose. Stealing under the police's noses and getting away clean."
"You're talking about ability." Mary's eyes flickered faintly. "I'm asking what you think he's like—as a person."
Lucian scratched his head, putting on the earnest, bookish look of someone thinking very hard.
"Probably… a very narcissistic fellow?" he said carefully. "He sends a calling card every time, like he's afraid people won't know he's coming. That's narcissism, isn't it? Normal thieves sneak around. He practically wants to ring bells and beat drums."
"I heard Miss Holmes said he has a histrionic personality disorder, lacks maternal affection, and is sexually repressed."
Lucian's face twitched.
"Miss Holmes really does have a sharp tongue…"
"Senior doesn't think so?" Mary asked, voice mild.
"Well… maybe." Lucian chose his words. "If someone is willing to take risks just to perform, there must be a reason. Maybe he really lacks attention. Maybe he just thinks it's fun. Maybe…"
Mary's smile deepened.
"Maybe?"
"Maybe…" Lucian scratched his head again. "Maybe perfect crimes exist? Or the police are all idiots? I don't know. I'm not a phantom thief."
"If Senior were a phantom thief, what would you do?"
The question landed without warning.
Lucian paused, then smiled bitterly.
"Me?" He tugged at the sleeve of his washed-out shirt. "Miss Morstan, look at what I'm wearing. A phantom thief wears tailored tailcoats. I can't even afford a decent overcoat. A phantom thief needs athleticism—I run two steps and I'm wheezing. A phantom thief needs brains—Miss Holmes already called me a goldfish…"
"So Senior means you can't be a phantom thief?"
"Can't. Absolutely can't." Lucian shook his head vigorously. "The greatest crime I've ever committed in my life is probably… taking an extra piece of bread at the dining hall."
Mary covered her mouth and giggled.
"Were you caught?"
"No." Lucian answered with solemn seriousness. "Because I ate it too fast."
Mary laughed harder, shoulders trembling.
"Senior is funny."
"I'm serious." Lucian sighed, his expression oddly nostalgic. "That bread was the peak of my life. I've never surpassed it. Sometimes I wake up hungry at night and still remember the taste… rye, with just a little salt, crisp crust, soft inside…"
"Senior," Mary asked gently, "did you skip breakfast?"
"…Sorry. You saw right through me."
Mary slipped a small paper packet from between her books and handed it to him.
"Almond biscuits. Baked this morning."
Lucian's eyes lit up. He accepted it with a reverence that somehow outdid his earlier bread monologue.
"Miss Morstan, you're practically an angel."
"Eat, eat." Mary waved a hand. "You look like you'll faint from hunger any second."
They walked side by side beneath the colonnade. Lucian gnawed on the biscuits while offering muffled gratitude.
Sunlight fell between stone pillars, painting dappled light across the ground.
"Oh, right, Senior." Mary suddenly spoke. "Are you going to watch tomorrow night?"
Lucian's bite paused.
"Watch?"
"The phantom thief's operation." Mary said it as if it were obvious. "Baring Bank is on Lombard Street. It's public around there—there will be crowds."
"That's true…"
"I'm going," Mary said lightly.
Lucian's heart jumped, though his face only showed polite surprise.
"You're going? Isn't it dangerous?"
"What's dangerous about it?" Mary blinked. "It's not like I'm stealing anything. Besides, that thief never hurts people. Even the papers say so."
"But with that many people… what if you get shoved—"
"Senior is worried about me?" Mary asked, teasingly.
"Of course I'm worried." Lucian swallowed the last of the biscuit and spoke with earnest seriousness. "Your health isn't great to begin with. I noticed last time I helped you carry books—you get short of breath after just a few steps."
"Thank you, Senior." Mary's voice softened. "But I'm really curious. I want to see what the phantom thief is like with my own eyes. The papers write him like a devil, yet every time he steals he returns it. What is that kind of thief even chasing?"
As she spoke, Mary turned her head to look at Lucian.
"Aren't you curious too?"
"Honestly… I want to go as well." Lucian's tone gained the right shade of shy practicality.
"If I can take a photo of the thief, I might sell it to a newspaper for some稿费. And I'm writing a biography about Miss Holmes—seeing it in person would help my work."
"Senior really is a novelist." Mary smiled. "You can connect everything to稿费."
"No choice. I'm poor." Lucian spread his hands. "You've seen it—I'm poor enough to survive on your biscuits."
"Then if you get a good photo…" Mary asked, "can you give me one?"
"This…" Lucian hesitated. "I'll try. There will be a sea of people tomorrow. I can't promise I'll even get a shot."
"That's fine. Just do your best." Mary patted his shoulder lightly. "Then—tomorrow night at Baring Bank?"
"Deal."
Mary waved and headed toward the medical faculty, books hugged close.
After a few steps, she turned back.
"Oh, by the way, Senior—if you really were a phantom thief, I don't think you'd steal jewels."
Lucian blinked. "Why?"
"Because you'd steal bread." Mary's eyes curved into crescents. "After all, that was your peak."
She turned and left, the hem of her dark dress swaying gently in the sun.
Lucian stayed where he was, watching the golden figure disappear down the corridor.
Mary Morstan would be at the scene.
A small variable.
But it was fine.
Tomorrow there would be hundreds—perhaps thousands—of onlookers. She'd be only one of them.
And since Mary wanted a photograph, it conveniently explained why he would be there too:
A poor student hoping to take a picture and sell it.
Perfectly normal.
Lucian touched the note in his pocket.
This afternoon: scout the site, confirm every detail.
Tomorrow night at ten—
The show begins.