Hero, truth doesn’t always reveal itself in the silence of offices. Sometimes, to uncover it, one must step into the hidden corners of the city — places where words draw the bow faster than thoughts. Today, you will witness a meeting that could have become a battle... but instead, it became a test of patience.

Cousteau knew: find Bobby "Grave," and you’ll find her too. The logic was as simple as a forged blade. And it worked. In one of the city’s dark alleys, he stumbled upon a familiar silhouette — Bobby, calm and always alert, with a woman by his side, bow in hand, her gaze sharper than any arrow. 

 

"You must be Sevilla?" Cousteau said with a hidden smile. His voice was light, as though this were a casual encounter between old friends, not an attempt to halt a string of deaths. "May I ask: why do your arrows seem so... particularly drawn to those who linger a little too long admiring your man?"

 

Sevilla narrowed her eyes. Something prickly and dangerous flickered in her gaze. "Perhaps because such people... have terrible taste?" she replied, sweeping a condescending look over him, lingering on his worn armor.

 

Cousteau simply chuckled, adding a little more irony to the air. "I’m no enemy here, my lady. But you know, Her Majesty values order. And your arrows... well, how shall I put it politely... they’re throwing off the capital’s population statistics a bit."

 

A silence hung between them — not hostile, but taut, like a bowstring pulled too tight. Somewhere in the distance, the footsteps of a patrol echoed, and above, the wind whispered through the flags of the city, making them tremble as though they too felt the fragile balance of the moment.

 

And in that moment, Cousteau realized: he was not facing a murderer, nor a phantom. Before him stood a woman prepared to defend her heart and her Bobby with every means she knew. Even if it meant turning love into arrows…