Lighthouse on a Stormy Night
The art gallery investigation interview went smoothly. Actually, it wasn't anything particularly groundbreaking. Stories about Phantom Thief Raven had already been rehashed to death across every media outlet. And it was hard to say the police knew much either. If they'd truly had the phantom thief's number, they would've nabbed him ages ago.
That said, they had an unexpectedly sharp edge to them—almost eerily so.
"That bit of info wasn't something we dug up ourselves, but our investigation collaborator."
"Investigation collaborator...?"
"The young lady who introduced herself as a detective."
It was definitely Sherlock. The one who'd seen right through my trick in an instant and backed me into a corner. And the terrifying woman who'd hounded me relentlessly, no matter what illusions I threw at her. If Sherlock kept teaming up with the police to squeeze me from here on out, I had no doubt things would get way tougher than before.
Not bad at all. These games needed some real chew to them to be worth playing.
"Anyway, our goal is to catch that phantom thief ASAP."
"I see."
That wrapped up all our prepared questions. But I couldn't hold back my burning curiosity and tossed out an unplanned one.
"How'd you take down that alligator, anyway?"
"Oh, it was lurking in the sewers, so we called in backup and smoked it."
Way too casual, right? If I'd bagged a beast like that, I'd be strutting around town bragging to high heaven. We're talking a massive, bipedal alligator monster here. Rachel, who'd been eyeing the tanned hide on display, finally spoke up.
"What about the meat?"
An angle I never saw coming. The fact that she was even curious about that was wild. But seriously—what did they do with the meat?
"We ate it."
"...For real?"
The detective snorted at my question. What the hell? Was that laugh at my expense?
"Anything else?"
"No. Thanks for the interview."
"Whatever. I've spilled this stuff to reporters a million times already. One more round changes nothing."
The detective stood, extending her hand.
"Oh, right—haven't caught your names yet. I'm Gadget."
Gadget. One hell of a name. Felt like something that never popped up in the original story. Not that a straight-up cop had much place in a magic-heavy tale to begin with.
"Rachel."
"Kro."
After shaking with Rachel, it was my turn. But as we clasped hands, she held on tight and stared me down.
"Have we met before?"
"Uh... what?"
For a split second, panic froze me solid. No way—did she actually remember my face from that pitch-black sewer? I'd figured the back of my head was all she'd clocked at best.
Steady now. I snapped back to my senses and played it cool.
"Nah. First time."
"Huh. Alright then."
Surprisingly, Detective Gadget bought it without a fight. We bolted from the station right after.
Strolling down the street, Rachel shot me a sly grin and ribbed me.
"That cop back there? Totally into you."
"What?"
"Grabbing your hand like that during the shake and asking if you've met? Come on—that only flies if she's crushing."
I didn't even bother responding. She wasn't the type to throw herself at anyone so blatantly. Probably just a vague sense of déjà vu from my face. Good thing it hadn't escalated to phantom thief suspicions.
[Perceptive, isn't she? Nailing it spot-on like that.]
'In my book, you're the oblivious one, Goddess.'
Did she actually buy that line? It was just Rachel tossing out a cheeky jab, knowing full well it wasn't true.
I stonewalled her completely, and Rachel pouted, venting her gripe.
"Hmph. Figures a total dork like you would kill the vibe."
"Quick question—why do you keep calling me a dork?"
"You serious!? 'Cause you act like one!"
She glared daggers, all puffed up.
"Whatever! I'm outta here—don't follow me!"
And off she stormed in the opposite direction, solo.
I gawked at her retreating figure and muttered under my breath.
"What the hell set her off?"
[A woman's heart is like a reed in the wind, no?]
No, even for that saying, she was overkill. The Goddess must've sensed my vibe, murmuring a follow-up.
[...Though that one's more dandelion than reed.]
A dandelion? So not just bending in the breeze, but straight-up scattering to the winds.
Felt a tad harsh, but I didn't argue with the Goddess.
What a dandelion of a girl.
Research ran a little late, but tonight was phantom thief o'clock all the same.
You know how they say the early bird gets the worm? Same deal—the night-owl thief snags the gems.
Analogy's a stretch, but roll with it.
"Next target's where?"
[The art gallery.]
"The art gallery?"
Totally out of left field.
An art gallery usually means paintings only—a museum's little brother, basically.
"They got jewels there?"
[Don't pigeonhole "jewel" so tight.]
"Then what?"
[Not just rare stones—anything that holds light gets called a jewel.]
"So more like "treasure" than literal bling?"
[Not spot-on, but close enough.]
I see. The four I'd lifted so far were straight-up gems, so I'd assumed dictionary-definition only.
"Either way, no complaints. Widens the loot pool big time."
[Precisely. A top-tier phantom thief steals everything, no pickiness allowed.]
"...Kinda trippy hearing that from you."
I'd gotten used to her by now, but a goddess pushing theft? Objectively weird as hell.
For now, head to the gallery and scout the exact mark.
"This the place?"
[Yes. A shard of my scattered power pulses from within.]
Like bits of her orb, I guess. I just follow her lead—zero clue on the how or why. God's turf, after all.
"Not the National Museum this round."
This was a private gallery, individual-run.
Didn't mean it'd be a cakewalk, though. Send the notice, and cops swarm anywhere with fire in their eyes.
Ticket required for entry. Not bad price. For private, the inside was slick—paintings screamed real artistic chops.
FYI: plainclothes mode right now. Parading in full Raven getup? Gadget'd be on me in seconds.
Blending as your average patron, no spotlight, I whispered inwardly.
'Target painting's where?'
[That way.]
Sipped through the exhibits one by one, edging her directed path.
Spotted it instantly—and knew. This was it, the Goddess's mark.
Suddenly clicked what she'd meant earlier.
A being of light. Unlike the other canvases, this one brimmed with something special.
Just like the mesmerizing glow of those jewels I'd coveted before.
This painting pulled you in with its own radiant allure.
"It's a lighthouse twinkling over a stormy sea. Kinda dreamy, huh?"
Familiar voice from the side—I whipped around.
There stood Yulia Grace, black coat over her uniform.
She beamed eye-smiles and waved.
"Hey."
"...You scared me."
"Same. Never figured on bumping into you here, Kro."
Art gallery run-in with Yulia? Wild.
Out of her academy uniform, she almost seemed like someone new.
"Just passing by, spotted it on a whim. Felt like poking around."
"Gotcha."
"You must come here a lot? You know every piece."
"Now and then? Clears my head when things get tangled—staring at paintings chills me out."
Suited her perfectly. But showing up here now—did that mean her head was tangled?
Burning to know why, but we weren't that tight. Awkward to pry outright.
Then she surprised me, spilling first.
Started off casual chit-chat.
"You and Rachel had that research gig today, right?"
"Yeah."
"How'd the interview go?"
"Meh. Media already leaked most of it."
"Fair."
A beat of quiet passed, then Yulia spoke.