[Maya's POV]
The waitress fixed her gaze on , her eyes searching my face for sothing before she softly uttered, "Young lady, I'm afraid I'll have to return this to you." Her voice, like a gentle breeze, carried an air of secrecy.
With a swift gesture, she retrieved the banknote from the hidden sanctuary between her bosoms and handed it back to .
The exchange felt illegal as if I was buying crack that she had stored in between her bosom where no one would expect it to be.
Because of where it had been, reluctantly, I accepted the returned banknote.
"Why?" I couldn't help but inquire before she was able to leave.
A sly grin played on her lips as she replied, "Because the price of my life is worth more than a printed piece of paper that the governnt creates."
Over half of her sentence was spent focusing on the money but she was hinting at sothing far more dangerous than materialism.
'The price of her life,' I pondered internally, trying to decipher her cryptic ssage. 'Is she suggesting that the truth behind the rumors carries danger? Does that an the rumors carry weight?'
As I sipped my drink, feigning nonchalance, my gaze remained transfixed on the friendly waitress as she effortlessly resud her duties, seamlessly blending into the bustling activity of the tavern without showing a sign of the conversation that just took place monts ago.
It was only five minutes later when she finally stopped the flow that she was following.
She exchanged a few words with her coworker, casting a subtle glance in my direction.
I skillfully observed them from the corner of my eye, using my peripheral to maintain the facade of obliviousness to being the subject of their conversation.
I wanted to listen in on what they were saying but their hushed conversation remained safely concealed from my ears by the mana bubble that surrounded them.
I contemplated making my escape, unsure whether I was in a sticky situation that was soon to turn dangerous or if I was being overly paranoid.
But my self-assuredness and belief in my ability to escape danger kept my feet firmly rooted to the ground, allowing to savor the rest of my drink.
"I think I'll order another one," I mumbled to myself, a cover to prolong my stay but also a genuine expression of how I felt about the taste of the drink.
The presence of another person approached from my blind spot, yet I pretended not to notice, playing the role of the unsuspecting patron.
It was the sa coworker the waitress had conversed with earlier, bringing the al that I had ordered.
"Hey," she greeted , placing the plate down in front of .
Her blonde hair was cut short and she even had a taper fade on the sides. She was clearly a tomboy.
How could I tell that was a tomboy?
Firstly, the hair, but then I noticed that her uniform skirt was shorter than the other ladies; I saw the seams and they were clearly poorly sewn, mostly likely by the wearer herself.
Next, I noticed the calluses on her hands, so of them for example the fingerpads, thumb, and middle finger, they supported my theory of her sewing her own clothes.
Yes, sewing is traditionally a feminine trait but when used to modify her attire to be more loose and free which society associates with manliness, the stereotype is reversed on its head.
So of her calluses also suggested that she plays sports and works out at the gym which matched her dirty and scuffed shoes clearly used for physical activities.
'Tomboy,' I instantly told myself.
"Hi. Thank you," I replied.
She stood there behind for a few seconds without saying anything or even moving.
I asked with a mixture of confusion and courtesy, "Hi? Can I... help you?"
"Could I get that tip?" she asked, referring to the banknote that was returned to earlier.
She settled into the seat previously occupied by the previous waitress without asking for my permission.
I slid the money over to her which I had left on the table, and she stashed it in her makeshift pockets on her skirt, also poorly sewn on.
In hushed tones, she divulged to , "Normally, I wouldn't accept this kind of money. The information you seek is worth more than what you gave . I'd usually return it, just like the last lady did."
"Oh? Was it not enough? Should I give you more? I have more," I offered, producing a few additional banknotes from my pocket, and holding it out towards her.
She deliberated for a mont, creating this awkward mont of silence between us, before shaking her head and declining my offer. "No, no matter how much you pay, discussing this in public is far too risky. You can't... how do you say it? You can't exactly put a price tag on life. I'm only taking this tip only because it'll help buy presents for my nieces. Forgot to go shopping earlier."
Disregarding the personal information she handed out for whatever reason, I inquired further, "Both of you ntioned the price of your lives. If this man is as dangerous as they say, why hasn't he been apprehended by the authorities?"
The friendly lady from before gave a discreet glance toward the tomboy waitress, and with subtle hand gestures, reminded her to erect a mana bubble, ensuring our conversation remained confidential from others at the tavern.
"Oh right. Forgot," said the tomboy as she quickly created the bubble.
"Isn't it suspicious to use a mana bubble in this kind of setting?" I asked.
"Relax, everyone here is too intoxicated to care about a private conversation between strangers," she reassured, her eyes scanning the room discreetly, betraying the confidence in her voice. "To answer your question from before, the truth is, the baron controls the city's police force. They're under his influence and wrapped around his slimy crude finger."
'Wait... what?'
I pondered the gravity of the information she just told , the weight of her words sinking in.
"I'll keep your tip, but in exchange, you must wait until my shift ends. Then, I'll answer your questions as best as I can," she promised as she stood up from the seat.
Curiosity and suspicions compelled to ask, "Why are you going to such lengths to help ? Couldn't you just take the tip and leave? I'll let you do that if you wish."
Her grin widened. "Because I despise the baron. And you don't strike as a re nosy brat," she said, implying a sense of connection between us. "If I assist you, I hope you can help in return."
I queried, skeptical of her unexplainable insight, "How can you be so sure I'm not just a nosy little brat? What if I am? And... and how do you know that I can help you?"
She shrugged nonchalantly. "Call it a gut feeling. I never doubt my instincts. Whatever they say, I listen."
'That's a terrible way to live your life,' I thought to myself. I trusted my guts too as they often led to scoops but not to this extent.
As she returned to her work, I felt a chill of caution run through . Was I falling into a carefully laid trap?
Perhaps — was this lady working with the baron and she planned on selling out to him after her shift at work is over?
Nevertheless, I decided that I'd be fine because I was confident that as long as I activated my abilities, escaping would be an effortless task for .
After savoring the al recomnded by the waitress, I patiently waited for her to finish her shift, passing the ti by engaging with others who joined at my table as the tavern was packed to the brim and there were no more empty seats.
I befriended a few strangers, cracked a few jokes here and there, and overall, just played into the festive mood of the place rather than seeming like a weird kid who was waiting all alone at a place where adults were everywhere.
"Stay safe," the kind waitress from before bid farewell to her coworker, the tomboyish woman I had been waiting for.
"You too. Stay safe and happy holiday. Alright, now then, shall we get going?" she turned to .
I said my goodbyes to the newfound acquaintances at my table,
I bid farewell to the people at my table who were mostly a group of lonely office workers seeking consolation on a Christmas they were likely to spend alone.
"So, where are we heading?" I asked, rising from my seat, feeling a little excited about what I was going to discover the deeper I dug but also remained cautious about all this.
"To my ho," she replied.
'Is her ho a trap?'
I questioned her, "You do understand that you're taking a complete stranger ho... right? Just because I asked you a question about the baron, you're taking to your ho to discuss it. Did... did you perhaps not learn about stranger danger as a child?"
"I'm Pesha, by the way. And you?" she introduced herself, disregarding my earlier protests with a playful smile.
"It'd be safer for the both of us to just... I don't know, discuss this at a barren park or sowhere private but doesn't put your privacy and ho details at risk," I continued, concerned for her.
"Pesha," she repeated her na while pointing to herself. Then she pointed at . "Now your turn?"
She was deliberately choosing to let my advice go in through one ear and out the other. 'She's either crazy or she's really confident in her gut feeling about .'
"The nas Jessie," I finally answered her question with a lie. To protect my identity in case everything went wrong, I had been pretending to be a different person since I arrived in this city.
I had on a face mask that made look like I was from overseas and an orange wig that wasn't noticeable unless you really zood in on the details of my hairline.
Maintaining the charade, I offered a false na, concealing my true identity behind a mask and an orange wig.
"Jessie, that's not your real na, but I don't mind," she teased, her eyes glinting with glee. "Nice to et you, Jessie."
A shiver ran down my spine as her words made feel like my safety was in compromise. My body was prepared to leave at any mont. "How did you know it's not real?" I asked her.
Her laughter echoed like a playful lody, and she reassured , "Hahaha. I was just joking around but it's good to see that I'm right."
Clicking my tongue in frustration at my amateurish mistake, I couldn't help but wonder if she had done it on purpose to test or if it was indeed an accidental joke.
"Relax Jessie, I won't pry into your secrets since you made the right decision involving yourself with the butler. It's alright to hide behind a mask. Who knows. Maybe I'm doing the sa."
As I followed her around, a little salty that I exposed myself, I noticed sothing about Pesha. She was similar to when it cos to observation.
She wasn't exactly the sa since I relied on my ears to navigate my surroundings but instead, it was her eyes that constantly flickered with a spark of caution as she led the way. It bounced around constantly, taking note of the people in our proximity.
In her vigilance, she resembled a skilled tracker, almost akin to a spy in my opinion.
"What are you watching out for?" I whispered, entranced by how serious her eyes were while her body language seed relaxed and camouflaged to the festive crowd of people around us.
"The baron's n," she responded, her voice a soft murmur that carried an air of alert. "They blend seamlessly with the crowd, dressed like ordinary people which makes it hard to tell the difference. But as long as you take note of everything, you can discern their true identity by observing their actions... their subtle movents that are too trained and rhythmic to be a normal person's as well as their watchful deanor."
She looked at and whispered, "Most of their day is spent walking around the city, shopping, talking to people as if they're regular citizens, drinking at the bar, and whatnot. Be careful."
I listened attentively, her words painting a picture of an undercover network belonging to the baron that operates beneath the surface of everyday life in this city.
"And why are they doing this?" I inquired.
Pesha's words crackled with resentnt as she explained, "The baron has tasked them with finding anyone who dares to speak ill of him. Once identified, they swoop in, kidnapping their targets when no one is around."
My heart quickened at the revelation, and the fire of stalking — I an, reporting, burned brighter within .
'This rumor seems more promising than I initially thought,' I giggled, feeling eager to uncover more truths behind the baron's dark secrets.
"Let's hurry up and get to your ho then," I said, wrapping my arm around hers.
"What's with the arm-linking?" she asked, chuckling at my gesture.
"Just making sure we blend in with the other families outside," I replied playfully. "That's what we need to do. Right, Sister?"
Pesha's laughter grew louder, a lodious sound that seed to harmonize with the cheery joyous world around us.
'I just found the scoop of the decade. I can't let a cash cow get away from for the second ti,' was the real explanation behind my gesture.
I was determined to keep her at arm's length at all tis.
I licked my lips, already tasting the article I was going to write and the reactions I was going to receive.
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