Today, the man once again ripped the door off its hinges as he left the inn.

Helena had observed this bizarre behavior for several days now, to the point where she almost forgot how to open a door normally.

‘I’ve gotten used to it.’

She continued to accompany the disagreeable man, feeling displeased about it.

Each day was like a copy of the previous one: eat, wander around, eat, sightsee. Today, feeling a bit tired, they returned early.

Unusually, he left the doorknob intact.

Helena thought of saying something but decided against it. The afternoon sun was warm, and she quickly succumbed to drowsiness.

When she woke up, it was already getting dark. She remembered falling asleep by the window, but now she felt a soft pillow and sheets behind her.

‘…It’s too quiet.’

Why is that? She closed and opened her eyes again, feeling slightly disoriented.

Rising groggily, Helena realized why.

He was not there.

Did he let his guard down because I was asleep, or did he finally give up on me?

She pondered, wiggling her toes, but couldn’t determine which it was, nor what she wanted.

The scent of the evening air drifting through the open window interrupted her thoughts. Dragging her feet, she went to the table. A few last coins lay there.

‘Has he finally left because he ran out of money?’

Helena stood still for a moment.

Then, hearing faint bell sounds from afar, she grabbed her bag, put on her cape, and picked up the coins, standing by the door.

The undamaged doorknob turned smoothly, which felt oddly alien. The sound of her footsteps descending the stairs was the only one.

Having lived like she was alone all her life, the few days of his constant presence had left her with a strange feeling. And now, her stomach, used to being fed, was growling. That was why she had ventured out.

She had planned to cook her own meal using the inn’s kitchen, not immediately wanting to die just because he had disappeared. It felt okay to consider that after filling her stomach.

‘It’s been a while since I walked in the evening.’

The evening streets, unlike during the day, buzzed with a different kind of liveliness.

Seagull-decorated lampposts of the port city sporadically lit up, and vendors’ voices trying to clear their remaining goods echoed louder.

After picking various items at a grocery store, Helena paid and left. Just as she stepped into an alley, thinking it a shortcut, she was suddenly pulled.

Opening her eyes which she had reflexively shut, she found herself pushed against a wall by someone. Recognizing his face, what was her immediate feeling?

Relief? Confusion? Gratitude? Anger?

Helena simply held her grocery bag close and quietly looked up at him.

He, having quickly washed up, was holding her arms just below her shoulders.

“You disappearing like that… How much I…!”

He began as if about to raise his voice but then dropped his head, sighing deeply. The skin touching hers felt hot.

His hands, so firm in holding her, seemed to tremble. Why did it feel like he was the one shaking?

Helena was bothered by his labored breathing. He must have run around, as evidenced by his sweaty appearance, which she also disliked.

She dropped the grocery bag from her embrace onto the ground. Then, placing her now free hands over his, she brought them to her chest.

Thump, thump. A steady heartbeat resonated.
“I’m alive, aren’t I.”

She felt it herself.

“I didn’t die.”

Her heart was still beating.

“Isn’t that enough?”

The sensation was unpleasantly sticky. So sticky that it seemed her feet wouldn’t lift off the ground.

As if she was meant to stand on this earth.

All this time, Ian had been holding Helena’s heart as if he could grasp it. Only when his breathing calmed did Helena slowly withdraw her hand.

Ian silently picked up the grocery bag that had fallen to the ground and took her hand with his other. They began to walk through the noisy nighttime streets.

Helena glanced at her hand in his, contemplating. But the night air was chilly, her own hand was slightly cold, and his hand was quite warm.

So she didn’t shake it off.

Eugene Hyde Evergale was a man unacquainted with deprivation. Unaware of deprivation, he knew not of yearning.

From the moment he opened his eyes at birth, everything had already been within his grasp. All it took was the slightest effort to have anything he desired.

The greatest effort he ever had to exert was attaching the Evergale name to Helena.

Even that, with time, became trivial. She loved him as if he was her everything.

So if there was one thing he failed to understand, it was losing something he already possessed.

Especially that Helena would flee from his embrace was beyond his imagination.

‘You were always someone who came back. So why aren’t you by my side yet?’

Eugene slammed his hand on the desk. His mind was in turmoil. Voices seeking someone echoed in his head.

“The lady was in a precarious mental state. She was getting worse. It was as if she was always carrying a ticking bomb.”