"What is the meaning of this? How could I possibly know anything about your parents' untimely deaths? How could I be connected to that tragedy? Child, you're letting your imagination run wild."
Tom immediately denied the young girl's suspicion, putting on a show of complete innocence—though whether he was truly ignorant remained up in the air.
Yet under Anne's steady, unblinking gaze, cold sweat began to break out across his brow. His eyes darted nervously away from hers as he repeatedly insisted he had done nothing wrong.
The more he protested, the more obvious his guilt became. Even without any physical sign of infection or corruption on his body, his defensive behavior was practically screaming to everyone present that he had something dark to hide!
"Then what about those thugs harassing us?" Anne pushed further, her voice sharp. "I doubt those scoundrels have zero connection to a respectable merchant like you! I saw the dried fish they were carrying. That was the same stuff my father used to bring home—the specialty you said was made using your village's unique recipe!"
Anne pressed her advantage, making bold assumptions that an adult might easily dismantle or dismiss. Coming from a twelve-year-old child, however, her direct accusations felt more like raw emotion than calculated detective work.
Her young age worked entirely in her favor. It allowed her to ask dangerous questions without making Tom overly defensive. To him, she was merely an emotional, grief-stricken kid who couldn't process her loss, leading him to lower his guard and accidentally drop clues.
Tom fell right into the trap. Realizing that denial wasn't working, his demeanor shifted dramatically. He adopted a deeply sorrowful expression, sighing heavily as he looked down at the girl.
"I'm truly sorry, child," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I was forced into this by circumstances beyond my control. I have to survive too, so I had no choice but to stand by and watch those people hassle you. But I swear on my life, I had no hand in sending those thugs to your door. They were dispatched by someone else entirely!"
Though he tried to shift the blame, his confession proved he knew about the harassment all along. Sitting idly by while a dead friend's children were terrorized was appalling behavior in itself.
At this point, even if Anne refused to sell him a single sack of grain, no one could blame her.
Tom launched into a smooth-talking tirade, pouring out every excuse he could think of just to persuade the girl to let him into the cellar. Once inside, he could secure the goods first and deal with explanations later!
Through it all, Anne simply stared at him in silence. No matter how anxious Tom grew, the young girl maintained her icy, detached stare.
"So just for this grain, you stood back and let those predators circle us?" Anne let out a cold, bitter laugh, glancing toward the heavy basement doors. "Makes me wonder... if my sister and I had given up and surrendered this house, would you have just walked in and hauled everything away without paying a single cent?"
While she kept Tom occupied, Jeanne and Skadi were quietly busy inside the cellar, frantically shoveling loose grain back into intact sacks—specifically the contents of the bags they had ripped open earlier.
They had to hide the evidence and keep the space presentable. Besides, they were likely going to beat this man within an inch of his life in a moment, and spilling blood on usable food would be an awful waste.
Anne was intentionally stalling for time, feeding Tom just enough conversation to keep him anchored at the doorway instead of barging in prematurely.
Inside, the two women finally finished tidying up and signaled to Anne that the coast was clear. Moving silently into the shadows between the high stacks of sacks, Jeanne and Skadi vanished from view.
Seeing the signal, Anne pretended to fall for Tom's elaborate excuses. After taking a long moment to ponder his words, she slowly nodded, though her eyes remained filled with guarded caution.
"I can't tell if you're lying or telling the truth," Anne said, her voice small. "But you're right about one thing... I don't have the power to hold this against you forever."
Tom's face instantly lit up with relief. His fast-talking had worked! As long as the kid gave in, victory was within reach.
"However!" Anne's tone suddenly hardened, a fierce, desperate glint flashing in her eyes. "You have to promise that after this, you'll help us get rid of those thugs! If you don't, I'll set fire to the entire cellar and burn every last sack to ash before I sell a single grain to you!"
The sudden threat caught Tom completely off guard. The image of this stubborn girl tossing a torch into the dry storage area sent a jolt of panic through his chest. If the contents of those sacks went up in flames, his life was as good as forfeit!
"I promise! I swear it!" he stammered out, holding up his hands. "I'll handle those thugs the moment I get back! Just let me step inside and inspect the goods first, please! I'm on a very tight schedule!"
Anne glanced back into the cellar, taking in the neatly stacked sacks and confirming that Jeanne and Skadi were securely hidden in the dark corners. Finally, she stepped aside and nodded.
"I'll trust you one last time," she murmured, her voice laced with helpless resignation. "Not like I have many options left anyway."
She gestured for him to enter the underground storehouse.
The moment Tom stepped across the threshold, his posture shifted entirely. The nervous, groveling act vanished, replaced by an air of arrogant dominance as he strutted into the room, his eyes scanning the stacked supplies with unadulterated greed.
He noticed some loose grain scattered across the stone floor, along with shredded canvas scraps, but dismissed them as minor details. None of that mattered now—the cargo was finally within his grasp!
Still, he kept a cautious eye on Anne. The girl was holding a small handheld blowtorch used for sealing crates—a tool that could easily ignite the cellar if she panicked.
"Very good, Miss Anne," Tom said, his voice dropping into a brisk, businesslike tone. "Now, I need to check my cargo!"
Without waiting for permission, he rushed over to the nearest stack, tearing open bags and plunging his hands deep inside, frantically searching for something. Anyone watching could see that he couldn't care less about the grain itself—he was hunting exclusively for whatever was buried within!
His frantic actions confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was deeply tied to the dark plot. Anne stood nearby, watching him silently like an innocent bystander.
"Not here... not in this one either..." Tom muttered under his breath, his movements growing increasingly frantic as he tore through sack after sack. "This doesn't make sense... New shipments are usually placed near the back... What is going on here?"
Sweat poured down his face as panic set in. Had someone beat him to the punch? Had his precious payload been stolen? But no ordinary person would have any use for those fleshy objects!
Anne watched his mental breakdown without saying a word. Step by quiet step, she drifted toward the cellar exit until she reached the base of the stairs.
Then, swift as a rabbit, she darted up the steps, tossing a final sentence over her shoulder before slamming the door shut:
"I'm going to check on my sister, Mr. Tom! Feel free to take your time searching—everything is right down there!"
Tom barely registered her departure, too consumed by his manic search to care. He grunted, using all his strength to heave a massive, hundred-pound sack of rice out of his way.
As the heavy bag tumbled aside, it revealed the space behind it—where Jeanne and Skadi were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the dim light, watching him with calm, expectant expressions.
"Hi~!"
The Jeanne offered him a cheerful wave while Skadi continued to stare at him with indifference.