Pacheco stared at the spot where the lady had disappeared for a few seconds, then turned to
"Not going to the outskirts?" Barton asked instinctively.
Pacheco smiled faintly. "Didn't you already hand over the bottle?
"There's no need to go to the outskirts anymore.
"Maybe his real goal was to make us give that bottle to the lady from the
"Of course, this has nothing to do with us anymore. From here on out, no matter who lives or dies, there are no innocents. We just need to monitor things to make sure their fight doesn't spill over onto regular people. The police will handle that, not the Foundation or the Compliance Department."
"Firn doesn't seem like he's in a state to pull off a scheme like that…" Barton muttered to himself. He didn't ask any more questions and turned to walk out the door.
Honestly, going back to the Foundation was exactly what he wanted most right now.
Asking about the outskirts just now was just a momentary impulse, an old flaw he'd never managed to overcome over the years.
Back at the Foundation, Barton spent the day in a slightly apprehensive state, welcoming the evening amidst his tedious, repetitive routine.
"I used to think life was too monotonous, but now I realize how precious a monotonous life is. Ah, I just hope the rest of the day is like the afternoon, with absolutely no unexpected incidents… May the Lord protect me…" Barton stopped at his front door, raised his right hand, made a fist, and lightly tapped his left chest.
After finishing his prayer, he opened the door and went inside. He took off his hat and coat, handing them to his wife who came up to greet him.
"What exactly happened to Firn?" his wife asked cautiously.
Barton replied calmly and indifferently: "He offended some people and is being tracked. The police have already taken over the case.
"If Firn comes to visit in the future, don't let him in. And remember to send someone to inform the police afterwards."
Hearing that the police were already involved, Barton's wife immediately sighed in relief. "Okay."
After dinner and spending some time playing with the child, Barton made an excuse to go into the study and sat down near the window.
He needed a space alone to fully calm his emotions and move past the panic brought on by what happened with Firn.
To that end, Barton took a cigarette out of the drawer and put it in his mouth.
He wasn't really a heavy smoker, he just needed it for socializing sometimes, so he kept a pack of rolled cigarettes at home and another on him.
Striking a match and lighting the cigarette, Barton took a deep drag.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the smoke slowly pour from his mouth and nose.
The pale white smoke quickly spread around, which naturally reminded Barton of the mist that had shot out of Firn's mouth and nose.
Faintly, he caught a slight smell of blood.
To Barton, this wasn't a particularly strange discovery. Since Firn had stayed in his study, there were bound to be some traces left behind that an ordinary person simply couldn't detect.
The reason Barton hadn't smelled it before was simply because he had been too nervous and flustered, his entire attention focused on where Firn had gone and the writings he had left.
Of course, the smell of blood in the study was very faint, not comparable to the hotel room or the previous ruins, which was also a factor.
As the cigarette smoke diffused freely, Barton's eyes suddenly narrowed.
He had a bad feeling!
An instant later, that pale white smoke contracted in one direction, carrying the scent of blood, and coalesced into a human figure.
The upper body of the figure was normal, with a signature red nose. It was the archaeologist, Firn.
But his lower body was entirely formed from swirling smoke, like a monster painted by mist.
"F-Firn…" Barton choked out, as if he was suffocating.
His voice echoed in the study but couldn't penetrate the walls.