No Mercy, No Forgiveness

Wayne led Geoffrey toward the countryside of Small Town, talking as they walked.

“We found out Gareth’s travel route led here. After further investigation, we learned Maureen’s foster mother lived here during her childhood.”

Foster mother…

Amid the torrential downpour, Geoffrey’s eyes darkened as he suddenly remembered why the name Small Town sounded so familiar.

Maureen had mentioned it to him countless times!

Throughout their three–year marriage, whenever a holiday approached, she’d anxiously ask: “Geoff, I need to go to Small Town. Is that alright?”

Back then, Geoffrey never cared about Maureen’s whereabouts, nor did he ask her purpose for visiting Small Town.

He’d always respond with icy detachment: “Go wherever you want. No need to report to me.”

Despite his dismissive words, Maureen still informed him every time she went anywhere.

She rarely ventured out, and her most frequent destination was this very place.

Finally, they arrived before a dilapidated brick house.

“This is it.”

Wayne stepped forward, noticing the locked front door. “Why’s it locked?”

He glanced back at Geoffrey, who gave a slight nod.

Several bodyguards moved forward and broke open the door.

“Wait outside,” Geoffrey commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

Stepping inside, damp air rushed to meet them. The interior stood in disrepair, carrying the stale scent of mildew.

Maureen actually lived here as a child?

Geoffrey frowned, moving forward until his gaze settled on a black–and–white photo displayed on the square table.

His pupils contracted. He stepped closer, picked up the picture, and stared at it for a long time, stunned disbelief writ-

ten across his face.

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smiled with radiant serenity, embodying

less sorrow.

photo tightened slowly

“Perfect!

addicted

“A funeral portrait!

kind of joke is

didn’t notice the tremor

and a living room–easy to navigate

chairs, the space held little else. Geoffrey

“Boom-!”

the thunder, a flash of lightning illuminated the funeral portrait

his assistant Wayne: “Find out where Maureen’s housekeeper

“Yes, Mr. Sutton.”

After Wayne left,

stayed alone, waiting for the homeowner’s

lasted an

Voices from neighbors outside drifted

of her own. Finally raises a kid,

“Exactly.

still remember Maureen, such a bright and sensible

back, she looked like a different person–thin as a reed,

saying how wonderful her husband was. Wishful thinking! Married three years, never

lump

never

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against the wooden chair, drifting into a light sleep. Moments

dreamed of Maureen

silence and darkness surrounded

that moment, he truly felt she’d never

Ten o’clock at night.

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into her brick house for “questioning.” The room felt even smaller, crammed with black–suited

“Where are they?”

bowed, not daring to glance at Geoffrey–who sat