Michael Quinn: "..."
Alright, might makes right. He couldn’t beat her, so he had no right to resist.
*
Once they left the shop, Nora Scott wrapped herself tightly in the army coat again, and neatly wound the scarf around her neck.
They hadn’t walked far.
Nora suddenly stopped, looked up at the closed shop beside her, and said, "This is Easton’s shop."
Pedro Langley looked up at the signboard.
Two simple and crude words: Lock Shop.
"Lock Shop?" Pedro was taken aback.
"Yes, I learned my lock-picking skills from Easton."
Pedro squinted his eyes, suspiciously asking, "Was he always a locksmith?"
"Hmm?"
Nora paused, recalled the matter of the drawings, and suddenly realized.
"No, this shop opened when I was one or two years old," Nora said. "I heard from the elders, he used to be a..."
Nora’s eyelid twitched, and she suddenly exchanged glances with Pedro, softly saying, "Architect."
Architect.
When Pedro ntioned Aaron Scott’s architectural design, she hadn’t thought about this.
Because since she could rember, the Easton in her heart, apart from being an all-locks-breaking locksmith, was also a magical ancient chanism master.
The things Antonio Easton designed were a variety of sizes and kinds.
When she was young, she had heard people ntion a few tis that Antonio Easton had been an architect in his youth, but that was three or four decades ago, and the information was scant, so Nora had never thought much of it.
If it weren’t for Pedro, an outsider, noticing sothing unusual, Nora would have found it hard to connect the two.
Pedro chuckled lightly, "Truth and justice."
Montarily stunned, Nora also laughed.
She said, "I’ll repay him."
The truth is often dictated by circumstances, justice resides not in the human heart.
So, she would clarify the truth and repay the justice one by one.
The two exchanged glances, wind passing through the gap, seemingly penetrating ti, so youthful and frivolous words echoed clearly, spoken without need for explanation.
*
The two walked in an alley.
The scenery along the way was familiar to Nora, but to Pedro, it was entirely unfamiliar and new.
Here, the older people generally knew Nora, greeting her warmly upon eting, while the younger ones, even if they didn’t know her, lingered their gaze because this sister was remarkably beautiful.
Walking with Nora made one a noticeable presence.
Familiar with the way, Nora led him to Antonio Easton’s residence.
The residence was equipped with heating, not usually on when uninhabited, but Nora had been there in the morning and turned it on, so it was warm upon entering.
"Have a seat anywhere."
Nora took off her army coat and casually tossed it onto the sofa. After giving Pedro instructions, she headed into Antonio Easton’s bedroom.
Accepting the situation, Pedro surveyed the room briefly and sat down calmly.
Only when Nora entered the bedroom did he raise his hand to touch his elbow through the clothing fabric, wincing slightly at the pain.
When he had seen the club about to strike the back of Nora’s head, he instinctively blocked it with his elbow.
The assailant had aid at the head, holding back, so his bones weren’t broken. Nevertheless, getting hit hard by a weapon wasn’t sothing trivial.
Soon, Nora erged from the bedroom with a dical kit in hand.
"Take off your jacket."
"..."
Pedro blinked, surprised at her sudden attentiveness, while also hesitating because of the tattoo on his elbow.
The elbow that bore the brunt of that blow happened to be where the tattoo was.
Seeing he hadn’t moved, Nora walked over, placed the dical kit on the coffee table, raised an eyebrow, and asked, "What, do you need to serve you?"
At her words, Pedro slouched back against the sofa with his arms spread out.
Like a lord, he said, "Go ahead."
"..."
Nora almost punched him in the face.
He really dared?
"Alright."
Nora nodded slightly, forcing out a "fierce" smile.
Rolling up her sleeves to reveal her fair and slender forearms, she reached out, fingers pinching, hooking onto his jacket zipper, and pulled with force.
"Zzz—"
From top to bottom, the sound was long, sowhat harsh.
In that brief second, it felt drawn out to Pedro’s ears, the sound magnified endlessly in his mind, echoing with a tingling sensation on his scalp.
Coming back to his senses, he pressed down on Nora’s hand, his voice slightly hoarse, "I’ll do it myself."
Nora raised an eyebrow and withdrew her hand.
Pedro quietly heaved a sigh of relief.
He took off his jacket and sweater, leaving only a white shirt. He unbuttoned the cuffs of the shirt and slowly rolled them up.
Nora, who opened the dical kit, looked over with the dicine in hand, only to see—
On the sturdy little arm, a blue tattoo gradually revealed itself.
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