Three days later, Caelora felt as if it were covered by a damp, cold gray cloth.

  The flags outside the town hall were at half-mast, the music market in the city center was canceled, and the lights along the harbor, originally prepared for tourists, were deliberately dimmed; the news repeatedly played the same footage: Edmund Castellan collapsing at a charity gala, the camera shaking as it was jostled by the crowd, finally cutting to the closed doors of the emergency room.

  The death was announced at eleven forty-two that night.

  Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrhythmia complicated by myocardial infarction.

  The public accepted this explanation. This world has always been good at accepting "reasonable tragedies"—it allows everyone to avoid contemplating the uglier possibilities.

  Kieran sat in front of the television, watching the images flash by like slides. His expression was calm, so calm that even he felt it was strange. The coffee in his hand had long gone cold, but he didn't notice.

  The funeral was set for Friday at ten in the morning, at Caelora Cathedral—the Gothic Dreadspire building that pierced the sky and had a history of two hundred years. Kieran had not planned to go, but when Jasper messaged him asking if he wanted to go together, he knew he had to attend.

  Not going would seem suspicious.

  “We should go to send the mayor off for the last time,” Jasper wrote in the message, “Ivy must really need the support of friends.”

  Friend.

  This word appeared again, like a thorn stuck deep in the throat.

  *

  On the day of the funeral, the sky was gray and overcast, looking like it would rain at any moment. Kieran put on his only formal outfit—the black suit he wore at his father's funeral, which was already a bit short in the sleeves, but he had no other choice.

  Jasper drove to pick him up, and the two of them remained silent the whole way. The street view outside the car window gradually transitioned from the bustling city center to the old district where the church was located, with cobblestone streets, red brick buildings, and vine-covered walls—this place felt like a corner forgotten by time, yet it added a sense of solemnity.

  Hundreds of people had already gathered in front of the cathedral. Politicians, business elites, media reporters, and many ordinary citizens—holding white bouquets, they formed a long line waiting to enter. The police set up a cordon to maintain order, and the air was filled with the sounds of mourning and whispers.

  Kieran and Jasper slowly moved through the crowd, and with each step forward, Kieran felt a weight in his chest. He saw a large portrait displayed at the church entrance—Edmund Castellan, dressed in a dark blue suit, smiling at the camera, his gaze gentle yet firm.

  That face was so vivid, as if it would speak in the next moment.

  Kieran looked away, only to find his hands trembling.

  Upon entering the church, soft light filtered through the stained glass windows, and the organ played Bach's "Air on the G String." In the front row sat friends and family of the Castellan family, and Kieran spotted Ivy from a distance.

  She wore a black dress, her hair neatly tied back, sitting next to her mother. From the back, her shoulders were straight, as if she were trying to maintain some dignity. But when Kieran approached, he saw her holding her mother's hand, her knuckles turning white.

  Lisa Castellan wore sunglasses, making it hard to see her expression, but her lips were tightly drawn and her chin trembled slightly. Her other hand pressed against her knee, as if she were trying to restrain something with great effort.

  Kieran and Jasper found their seats in the middle row. The people around them whispered softly, with occasional sounds of sobbing. He looked around—Ronan was there too, sitting diagonally behind Ivy, his expression unusually serious; there were also some classmates Kieran recognized, along with many political figures he did not know.

  The ceremony began. The priest walked up to the podium and started to read the eulogy: “We gather here today to bid farewell to a great public servant, a loving father, a loyal husband…”

  Kieran listened to those beautiful words, each one piercing his chest like a needle. He remembered the mayor's voice on the phone, recalled his concern for Ivy, and thought of the gentle tone he used when he said, “If that child needs help.”

  The man should have been alive.

  He should have continued to push his bills, continued to care for his daughter, continued to do the things he believed were right.

  But he was dead.

  Dead at the hands of Kieran Vale.

  After the priest finished speaking, a video montage of the mayor's life began to play. The screen showed Edmund visiting sick children in the hospital, passionately arguing at city council meetings, and celebrating Ivy's birthday at home—there was a family video of Ivy, about ten years old, excitedly blowing out the candles on her cake, with Edmund beside her, smiling happily and gently stroking his daughter's hair.

  From the front row came muffled sobs. Kieran saw Ivy's shoulders begin to shake, and Lisa pulled her daughter into her arms, the two of them holding each other tightly.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Jasper's eyes also turned red, and he wiped them with the back of his hand.

  Kieran just sat there, his hands folded on his knees, staring blankly ahead. He felt as if he had been detached from his body, watching a drama that had nothing to do with him.

  No, it was not unrelated. He was the director, the screenwriter, the one who pressed the "start" button.

  After the film ended, friends and family took turns to speak on stage. The vice mayor, council members, the president of the chamber of commerce... everyone said similar things: "He was a good man," "He will be remembered forever," "His spirit will continue to influence us."

  Then it was Ivy's turn.

  She slowly stood up and walked toward the podium. Each step was taken slowly, as if she were using all her strength. When she stood in front of the microphone, the entire church fell silent.

  Ivy looked down at the script in her hands, opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She tried several times, and in the end, she just shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "I'm sorry," she choked out, "I... I thought I was ready, but I..."

  She couldn't continue. Lisa stood up and walked onto the stage, embracing her daughter, and the two cried together on stage. That scene made many people present unable to hold back their tears.

  Kieran watched that scene, feeling as if his heart were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand. His breathing became difficult, and his temples throbbed.

  What did he do?

  What did he actually do?

  After the ceremony, people began to line up to express their condolences to the family. Kieran followed Jasper, slowly moving forward, with each step making him want to escape more. But he couldn't; he had to complete this performance.

  Finally, it was their turn. Jasper stepped forward first, taking Lisa's hand: "Mrs. Castellan, I am very sorry... The mayor was a remarkable person."

  Lisa nodded, forcing out a grateful smile.

  Then Jasper walked over to Ivy and gave her a hug. "If you need anything, just let me know."

  Ivy whispered her thanks, her eyes red and swollen.

  Next, Kieran stepped forward.

  When he locked eyes with Ivy, time seemed to stand still. Her gaze was hollow and confused, like someone searching for light in the darkness but unable to find their way.

  "Kieran..." she said softly, her voice hoarse, "thank you for coming."

  Kieran opened his mouth but found himself unable to speak. All the comforting words he had prepared were stuck in his throat, turning into a lump that he couldn't spit out.

  “I...” he finally managed to voice, “I’m very sorry.”

  This statement felt pale and powerless, even he thought it was insincere. But Ivy seemed not to notice; she just nodded and then mechanically turned to the next person who came to offer condolences.

  Kieran quickly left, weaving through the crowd and exiting the church. It had started to drizzle outside, the cold raindrops hitting his face, bringing a slight sense of clarity.

  He leaned against a stone pillar outside the church, taking deep breaths. The suffocating feeling in his chest still hadn’t dissipated; in fact, it was growing stronger.

  “Are you okay?” Jasper followed him out, looking at him with concern, “You look really pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Kieran lied, “just... a bit stuffy.”

  Jasper was silent for a moment, then said, “I know this is hard. Seeing Ivy like that... it makes me sad too. But at least we came, at least it lets her know she’s not alone.”

  Not alone.

  How ironic. Surrounded by so many people, Ivy had no idea that the one who truly caused her to lose her father was standing right beside her.

  “You know,” Jasper suddenly spoke up, “I’ve always thought you and Ivy were a bit alike.”

  Kieran turned to him and asked, "What do you mean?"

  “You all... feel very lonely,” Jasper chose his words carefully, “Although you seem different on the surface, I always feel that there’s a part of you that you hide away, not letting others see.”

  Kieran didn’t respond.

  “Now that she has lost her father, just like you,” Jasper continued, “maybe you can understand each other's feelings. Perhaps... this is the opportunity for you to truly become friends.”

  Friend.

  That word again.

  Kieran closed his eyes, leaning against the car window, feeling the coldness of the glass.

  He could never become Ivy’s friend.

  Because he was the murderer of her father.

  *

  ‘Kieran?Vale.’

  Sabrina’s voice cut in unexpectedly, like a blade striking a nerve.

  ‘Where are you?’

  Kieran tightened his throat and quickly brought his breathing back under control.

  “Outside.” He replied, “The funeral is over.”

  “Your emotional fluctuations are unusual.” Sabrina said, her tone almost cruelly flat, “You did the right thing, yet you’re still afraid.”

  Kieran opened his eyes and looked at the faint gray light drifting in from the alley.

  He was not afraid of the organization, nor was he afraid of the law.

  What he feared was—Ivy's eyes.

  Afraid that one day she would finally ask, “Why you?”

  And he couldn't even say “It wasn't me.”

  “I’m fine.” In the end, he only replied with this, as if he were stuffing himself back into that functional shell.

  Sabrina fell silent for a moment, as if recording, as if evaluating.

  “Keep your distance,” she said. “From now on, everyone related to the Castellan family is a source of risk. You need to cut off the connections.”

  Connection lost.

  Kieran stood in the alley for a long time until his fingers regained feeling. He turned and left, his steps quickening as if he wanted to shake off the church, the coffin, and those eyes behind him.

  But he knew deep down—some things, once seen, can never be shaken off.