Joseph wore a conflicted expression before finally deciding to reveal the truth.
"Actually… this place is a secret location used by the authorities."
Charles didn't even have time to ask any follow-up questions before a low, commanding voice interrupted:
"What's going on here?"
Both men spun toward the voice, where they saw a tall, imposing middle-aged man clad in a black leather coat, striding in with purposeful steps. Keen eyes, sharp like a hawk's, swept across the room.
His gaze hardened immediately at the sight of the unconscious guards on the floor. That man was Edward Cavendish, Joseph's uncle. Charles recognized him from back when Edward had questioned him during his period of amnesia.
"Uh… sir…" Joseph hurried to explain to Edward, sounding flustered. "There's been a misunderstanding, it got out of hand—"
Edward remained silent, eyeing Charles with narrowed suspicion. "Explain."
Charles swallowed, preparing to speak. He tried to gather his thoughts and line up the events in his head. But Edward let out a quick sigh and then nodded, as though he already understood.
"All right. Take him to have his wounds treated. Then we'll sit down for questioning about how this all happened." Edward eyed Charles from head to toe. "You look terrible right now—get some first aid."
Charles thought, I haven't even said anything, but at least Edward seemed to grasp the gist. Before Charles could inquire further, pain flared in all his wounds, intensifying. The cut on his thigh, from a sword earlier, was still bleeding slowly.
Joseph hurriedly turned to Edward. "Sir, we really should get him medical care first—he's in bad shape."
Edward nodded in agreement and stepped in to unlock the chain shackles binding Charles. "I'll handle things here. Take him to be treated."
"Thank you," Joseph said, moving to support Charles. "Think you can walk?"
"I can manage if you help," Charles said. He steadied himself with Joseph's arm and limped out.
Edward crouched next to one of the guards who was just coming to, gently shaking him awake. "Up you get. Think you can move?"
"Uh… y-yes…" The big man blinked groggily, trying to figure out the situation.
"Good. Then help your friend into the infirmary. Doesn't look too serious—he probably just got knocked out for a bit," Edward instructed.
As Charles walked along, he recounted the full story of his abduction to Joseph and Edward—how he'd been taken for no apparent reason, forced to fight his way free of a cell, all while still bearing painful wounds from his shackles.
"I was on my way by carriage to Old Town when I realized someone was tailing me," Charles explained, leaning on Joseph's shoulder as they made their way down the corridor. "I tested them a few times, stopping abruptly. Each time, that trailing carriage acted suspiciously. I deduced I was under surveillance, so I tried losing them in some narrow alleys. Then I found footprints that confirmed someone had been watching me, but before I could slip away, they caught up to me."
They reached a small medical room where Charles was helped onto a narrow bed. A staff member approached, carrying a bowl of thick, golden-red ointment. He dipped a clean cloth into the viscous substance, then gently dabbed it onto Charles's wounds.
As soon as the ointment touched his skin, a wave of heat flashed through the cuts, causing Charles to jerk in surprise. Then just as quickly, the burning subsided, replaced by a soothing coolness that numbed his pain.
He stared at the strange medicine in puzzlement. He'd never seen anything like it before, but he kept his questions to himself. The injured guard—whom Charles had fought—lay nearby, being treated too. His wounds weren't severe, but bruises covered most of his body.
Joseph stood by Charles, face drawn tight with concern. "We honestly didn't intend to hurt you, you know? We just wanted to bring you in for some questions about Michael. There's someone out there hunting him."
"So why the hell kidnap me like this, to the point I got all these injuries?" Charles replied in shock and anger.
"Well… this unit works in secrecy," Joseph said, sheepishly. "Usually, we wait for a target to be isolated so we can preserve confidentiality. We never expected it to escalate like this. We never thought you'd resist so fiercely. I'm sorry it turned out this way."
Edward nodded. "We apologize. It was our mistake."
From across the room, Charles spotted the two men who'd knocked him out earlier. They were staring back, still visibly sour about the beating they'd received. But Charles pressed on, voice tense:
"But I still don't get why Michael is so important. How is his disappearance big enough to involve some hush-hush task force? Usually, run-of-the-mill missing persons don't warrant this level of involvement."
Joseph sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. There are things we can't disclose to outsiders. Some of our data is classified, strictly off-limits to anyone not part of our unit."
"Unless it becomes truly necessary," Edward added cryptically.
Joseph glanced at his uncle, perplexed by Edward's remark. But before he could ask, Edward shifted his gaze to Charles.
"You said earlier you realized someone was tailing you, and you found some unusual footprints—three sets, correct?"
"Right, but… wait just a moment!" Charles's brows knitted. "When I told that story, I never mentioned the exact number of footprints. I only said I found footprints and tested them, that's all. I never specified there were three. So how do you know that?"
A drop of sweat trickled down Charles's temple. He eyed Edward warily, muscles tensing as if wanting to back away from the man. But given his injuries, he could hardly move.
"How did you find that out?" Charles demanded in a wary tone.
Edward locked eyes with him, his keen stare nearly piercing through Charles's thoughts. His lips twisted into a knowing smile.
Charles sat rigidly on the bed, trying to edge away from Edward—who stood in front of him—keeping as much distance as possible.
The burly guard who'd fought Charles earlier, now nursing his own wounds, wore a faintly smug look at Charles's evident unease.
Edward glanced at Joseph, who returned his gaze. Joseph exhaled, nodding slightly. Edward nodded back as though exchanging unspoken signals—an interaction that only heightened Charles's anxiety.
Then Edward turned to Charles. "Charles, would you like to join our special unit? With your skills, we'd be glad to have you."
This unexpected offer left Charles at a loss for words—and it also startled the wounded guards across the room.
What's going on? Why are they suddenly inviting me? And how does it relate to the footprints we were just talking about?
As if reading Charles's confusion, Edward said calmly, "Why wouldn't it be related?"
Charles grimaced, shifting warily in place, eyes darting in apprehension. "There's nothing to be afraid of," Edward assured in a measured voice.
"How can you even tell what I'm thinking?" Charles pressed, troubled by how Edward kept deducing his unspoken thoughts.
"Because I can read your mind, obviously."
"How?"
"That's something you'll learn once you join us."
"And why should I join you?"
"Remember the footprints you found? Three distinct sets following you, correct?"
"Yes. So?"
"If it was just a random local, why would they follow you? Moreover, they would have seen our two watchers—one of whom is obviously big and formidable. If they had petty criminal intentions, they'd be scared off, or they'd have to be insane to even try."
"I'm not sure," Charles replied thoughtfully. "There could be several reasons. Someone might have seen me as a potential target with money. My attire is clearly different and better than most people in that district. A desperate pickpocket might still take the risk."
"You think a common thief would risk approaching you when they saw those two following?" Edward asked, gesturing to his men.
While Edward spoke, Charles replayed the scene in his mind, remembering the spaced footprints. He analyzed the pattern again, recalling their positioning relative to the alleyway walls.
"when I think about it more carefully," Charles said, "if I were a thief myself, I probably wouldn't want to get involved in such a complicated situation. Especially considering how one of your men looks—not exactly like an ordinary person, more like someone from an illegal group or working for someone with dark influence."
When Charles finished speaking, the larger man across the room tensed visibly, his expression hardening.
"Exactly," Edward nodded. "An ordinary person wouldn't interfere. But what if this third person wasn't ordinary at all?"
"What do you mean?" Charles asked, leaning forward despite his injuries.
"And you plan to tell him everything?" Joseph interjected.
"At this stage, I believe we have no other choice," Edward replied before turning back to Charles. "The third person who followed you is likely from the Script-Decipherers."
A heavy silence thickened the room. Everyone present looked anxious—everyone but Charles, who stared back in blank puzzlement.