Halsey walked at a measured pace through the streets, with a satchel slung over her shoulder. Its weight was carefully distributed with books and some other ritualistic materials.
With her escort arranged, there was little else to delay her. Her next task was preparation, just enough for the road ahead. She kept her coat drawn and her steps light, eyes scanning her surroundings subtly. Having no pursuers whatsoever, Halsey continued her stride.
She arrived at her hotel and passed through the front lobby with a quiet nod to the receptionist, then climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her boots made only faint taps along the wood. She unlocked the door with a practiced twist, entered, and shut it softly behind her.
Sunlight filtered in through a slitted curtain, pooling across the table and half the bed. She moved quickly, slipping off her satchel and laying out her purchases on the desk in tidy rows: rune-lined paper, protective thread, a new set of brass ritual weights. She checked them one by one with a glance and mental tally.
Satisfied, she unbuttoned her coat and hung it on the hook by the door.
Then, carefully, she drew a polished cigar case from the inner lining of her satchel and set it before her on the desk.
She stared at it for a beat longer than necessary.
Slowly, she opened it.
A single Tarot card lay within the case. Its artwork shimmered faintly beneath the room's dim light, an illustration of Emperor Roselle Gustav, his expression sharp, cast in a half shadow beneath a painted moon. Above his crown was the symbol of the Moon pathway.
She clicked the case shut in the same motion she'd practiced a dozen times before.
She returned it to the satchel and bound it tight with three strips of leather. Only then did she allow herself a moment to sit. She turned slightly, gazing at the window, watching dust turn golden in the late daylight.
She leaned back in the chair, arms crossing lightly, eyes narrowing in thought.
She had the Card in her hands, had already arranged an escort, bought supplies, and the departure was already planned.
Halsey reached into the inner pouch of her coat and drew another tarot card, this one portraying an angel sounding a trumpet to guide the departed.
Major Arcana card, Judgment!
Her fingers hovered over it for a beat, reminiscing on how to use it.
"Rain Judgement."
Reciting those words in Hermes would enable her to summon her Major Arcana in an emergency, if necessary.
It was only thanks to Miss Judgement's intervention that she'd managed to seize the Card of Blasphemy in the first place, a flawless misdirection, executed under the very noses of the Rose School of Thought. Halsey had played the role of carrier, yes, but her Arcana had orchestrated the escape.
And not something she could count on twice.
She studied the card in her hand once more. Just holding it made her chest feel marginally lighter, as though the world beyond the walls had been pressed a little farther away.
But Miss Judgement had her enemies and… priorities. Halsey wasn't naïve enough to assume she'd be in range,or free, to respond should things spiral on the way.
With a practiced motion, she tucked the card back into its leather sleeve and returned it to her coat.
The plan was simple.
She was to deliver the Card of Blasphemy to Bayam, to the New City of Silver, to the Headquarters of the Church of the Fool, and hand it to the other Major Arcanas.
That was what Miss Judgement instructed her.
The route, however, was trickier. The Rose School of Thought had eyes everywhere. And Halsey wasn't under any illusions. She knew she would die if she were caught, and that was the least of her worries.
Which meant that she would need to prepare alternate routes and contingency points. Arrange disguises and identities, plant false movements, and whatnot.
Fortunately, the latter wasn't her problem.
She'd already arranged for a bodyguard, and he would handle the misdirection, false documents, and anyone who got too curious. For the time being, that would be enough.
A sharp knock rapped against the door.
Halsey froze.
The hairs along her arms prickled as she straightened herself. She hadn't sensed someone pursuing her, any suspicious glances… She had been careful, more than usual.
So how…? Silently, she moved to the door and leaned toward the peephole.
Her eyes narrowed, then softened, as she opened the door.
The man standing outside smiled with a polite yet confident demeanor on his familiar face.
"Good afternoon," he said.
Before she could offer a greeting or even a question, his hand lifted slightly, fingers curling with a subtle flourish. His voice shifted, lower and smoother, carrying something... heavier beneath his words.
"You won't remember me after this, Miss Halsey, only Lars."
Halsey's pupils dilated instantly, breath catching for half a heartbeat as the hypnotism wrapped around her mind.
"You'll meet me at the harbor in one hour at platform seven. We'll board the Lively Star cruise with no hesitation and no changes. The less you think about it, the better."
His voice was calm, his gaze firm but strangely kind.
"Your instincts may tell you otherwise, but ignore them."
Halsey didn't blink. Her lips parted slightly, breath steadying as the suggestions anchored deeper into her psyche.
"You're a lovely woman, Miss Halsey," he said, his tone now carrying a thread of genuine appreciation. "You are smart and careful, but what comes next… will demand more than that."
He reached forward with smooth precision, placing a hand on her left shoulder.
"Geass."
Her body tensed, then relaxed. And in the next instant, he was gone.
She blinked. The hallway was empty.
Frowning slightly, she stepped forward to glance down the corridor, but found nothing, just the ambient creak of wood and the distant calls of harbor gulls outside.
She stared a moment longer, furrowing her brows as suspicion continued to appear in her face.
Then, as if jarred back by a buried instinct, she shut the door and locked it twice.
There was still a flicker of unease beneath her features; however, there was no clarity.
Only a sudden urgency.
She packed swiftly, slinging her satchel over her shoulder, fingers brushing the sealed card case once before she stepped out into the hall, with alert eyes and a steady posture.
She had a ship to catch.
…
Conant's harbor teemed with the late-afternoon bustle, crates being loaded, sailors calling out to one another, smoke drifting from dockside taverns. Halsey moved with caution through it all, her steps brisk yet unsuspicious, eyes scanning for anomalies as her hand lightly brushed the edge of her coat pocket.
Her gaze landed on the designated checkpoint near the cruise boarding line.
There he was, the same broad-shouldered silhouette, the same deceptively relaxed posture, now clad in a laborer's long coat and a battered cap pulled low.
He felt her stare before she even called out. His head turned, gaze locking with hers in mutual recognition, giving a simple nod.
He closed the distance quickly. "Here are your ticket and the fake documents" He handed them off in swiftly, with a low voice. "Now lets move. The sooner we leave this place, the better."
With no time to waste, Halsey gave a short nod, tucking the forged identification and boarding pass into her pockets.
Together, they stepped into the boarding queue and ascended towards the ship, at a natural pace with a casual demeanour. Behind them, a man in a polished crimson suit chatted casually with his steward, who wore a more modest version of the same attire. Neither spoke to them, nor did they follow closely.
Still, Lars glanced over his shoulder once. Twice. Then, content that nothing had changed yet, he returned ahead.
The cruise's welcome tour, a practiced sequence of polite introductions, hallway directions, and overly cheerful commentary, offered just enough cover for those who needed it. Halsey and Lars moved through it silently, feigning interest as they passed lounges, dining halls, and observation decks. They blended seamlessly with the other passengers, just another traveling pair among dozens. But beneath their composed exteriors, both worked, mapping the ship's layout in quiet efficiency.
Every corridor they crossed was noted, every emergency door memorized. Lars paid special attention to the ventilation shafts and the fire suppression panels; Halsey marked the distance between staircases, exits, and blind corners. They noted security personnel, staff rotations, and even the dull thrum of hidden engine rooms beneath the flooring. A ship was a moving cage, after all. Someone worth their salt made sure they could unlock it from within or break it apart.
Eventually, after a final polite nod to the tour guide, they reached their assigned suite, a modest two-person cabin nestled along the mid-deck. It was neither luxurious nor empty, just average.. The moment the door shut behind them, Lars locked it manually, testing the handle twice. Halsey moved to the window, drawing the curtain halfway, enough to monitor the harbor as the last passengers boarded.
Only then did Halsey allow herself a full breath.
Lars, ever the professional, didn't waste time.
"Alright." He leaned back against the door, arms crossed. "We'll consider this neutral ground for now. I need everything that you're carrying, what you expect to happen, and every contingency you've prepared. No assumptions between us."
Halsey had already begun unpacking methodically, her movements sharp but unhurried. She retrieved a leather-bound notebook from her bag, flipping it open to a pre-marked page.
"The item is sealed. I took every precaution until now." She met his eyes. "After Miss Judgement created the diversion, I relocated quietly and suppressed the convergence trait."
Lars gave a faint grunt of acknowledgment.
"What else?" he asked.
"We need to be cautious of members from the Rose School of Thought," she replied. "I believe they haven't confirmed my identity, but that won't last. I've mapped three alternate disembark points and routes to Bayam from there. We'll pivot based on what happens en route."
She passed him a folded paper.
"Here are the signals we'll use if we're separated," Halsey said. "Three knocks followed by one means safe to approach. Two sharp taps and a pause is danger. And if you ever hear me whistle twice in a minor key…" She met Lars's eyes. "That means run. No questions asked."
He reviewed the list, then looked up. "This is solid. But you'll need to adjust the third route. Too much reliance on ground travel will make it too easy to isolate." He said, tapping a mark on the map.
"Also," Lars added, "when we're in public, we'll stick to specific phrases. If I mention 'weather turning gray,' it means someone suspicious is nearby. If I ask whether you've 'read today's paper,' that means I need immediate backup. And if either of us ever says, 'the shipment's delayed,' that's the cue to vanish, immediately. As for the Major Arcana, refer to them as 'old books' in casual talk. The Card of Blasphemy is 'a torn page.' Never call anything by its proper name unless we're alone and safe."
Halsey nodded. "Understood."
Their eyes met again, a flicker of shared respect passing between them.
"I don't need protecting," she said, not defensively, but as a clarification.
"No," Lars replied, allowing a slight smirk. "But even the best scouts don't watch their backs every second. That's why I'm here."
The hum of the ship shifted faintly beneath their feet as the engines powered up.
"Let's hope the sea's the worst thing we deal with," Halsey muttered.
Lars only raised a brow. "Hope for less. Prepare for more."
…
Inside his lavish suite aboard the cruise liner, the man in the polished crimson suit had long since shed the formality of appearances. His coat hung neatly on a carved rack beside the ornate mirror, crimson fabric catching the light like dried blood in silk. Across the room, his steward stood perfectly still, Charlie, the newest marionette, dressed in a humbler version of Jack's ensemble, head slightly bowed, hands clasped behind his back.
The table had been set with care, a silver dome covering the main dish, steam coiling upward from the edges, carrying with it the aroma of roasted murloc, lacquered in a honeyed wine glaze, layered over a bed of spiced winter root puree. On the side, a trio of seared pear slices rested in a delicate swirl, each topped with a whisper of fermented cream and garnished with microgreens.
A small dish nearby held freshly baked dark rye rolls, their crust dusted with salt and crushed black fennel, still warm to the touch. Jack tugged the cuffs of his shirt once, more out of habit than vanity, and moved toward his waiting meal, but he didn't sit.
Instead, he tilted his head, glancing idly toward the curtained window and smiling faintly.
"Everything's falling into place," he murmured, more to himself than to Charlie. "The girl's tucked away with her bodyguard, the card is on the move, and all the eager players are flocking toward the bait like proper little fish."
He reached for the wine glass, inspecting the liquid with idle flair before taking a slow sip.
"No need to meddle, not yet. Let the waves stir on their own... And if something valuable floats to the surface in the chaos", Jack smiled. "Well, it'd be rude not to take it."
He set the glass down with a soft clink and finally took his seat. The cruise would be long, the passengers colorful, and the unfolding delicious.