Chapter 157 Whose Painting Is That?
Chapter 157 Whose Painting Is That?
How precise was it? She held the coin up to the light and looked at it from the side. The break and the start of the stroke lined up perfectly in the vertical plane — within a margin too small for the naked eye to detect.
This was not a coincidence.
Nora sat up and adjusted the angle of the desk lamp. She grabbed a pen and paper and started mapping all seven breaks against the strokes on the front of the coin.
When sorted by the standard stroke order of the four characters Taiping Tongbao, each break corresponded to these stroke numbers in sequence: 2, 1, 3, 5, 4, 7, 6.
Seven numbers.
Nora's heart skipped a beat.
She dug out the slip of paper with the fourteen-digit number from her pocket, unfolded it, and laid it next to her notebook.
The last eight digits: 41537264.
The seven numbers extracted from the coin: 2135476.
Comparing the two — four digits matched exactly.
2, 1, 3, 5.
The last three didn't line up.
Nora tapped her pen against the paper twice. Four matched, three didn't. Seven digits against eight — off by one.
She needed an extra conversion parameter.
She didn't know what that parameter was yet.
But she was heading in the right direction.
The coin wasn't a keepsake. The coin was part of a cipher.
Her father had tied the key to her iris, encrypted the first layer of clues with her birthday, and carved the second layer on the back of the coin she received on her fifth birthday.
Every step this man had taken pointed back to her.
Nora tucked the coin back into her inner pocket.
She closed her eyes. Just twenty minutes of rest.
She leaned against the wall. Her mind drifted somewhere between sleep and waking, and she lost track of how long she floated there.
Her phone buzzed.
Nora opened her eyes. Pale grey light was bleeding through the gap in the curtains.
A new message on the screen. From an unknown number.
[Heard Ms. Thorne will be at the viewing event the day after tomorrow? Looking forward to meeting you. — Calla Flynn]
Nora stared at the screen for five seconds.
She hadn't told anyone she was going to that event.
Oliver's invitation had come through Wyatt last night. She had agreed to go. Only Storm and Wyatt knew.
Less than six hours had passed since Wyatt passed along the invitation.
How did Calla know?
Nora locked her phone and didn't reply.
The desk lamp was still on. The ink on the number sequence in her notebook had dried.
She flipped to a fresh page and wrote three names at the top.
Calla Flynn. Julian Flynn. Chase Gray.
She drew a line under Julian, and at the other end wrote — The Ashes.
Then below "The Ashes," she added a question mark.
Footsteps in the hallway outside. Storm knocked on the door — the start of the new day's rotation for the isolation watch.
Nora closed the notebook and slipped it under her pillow, then got up and opened the door.
"Any activity from the sniffer after last night?"
"Nothing. Quiet all night."
"What about Ryder?"
"Normal. Up at six, washed up, had breakfast. Exchanged a few words with Preston about the weather. Nothing unusual."
Nora gave a small nod. "Keep watching."
She stepped past Storm and headed to the safe house bathroom.
Her left arm was still wrapped in the bandage Oliver had put on last night. The tightness felt about right — no bleeding through.
She turned on the tap and splashed water on her face.
The moment the cold water hit her, one line surfaced in her mind.
— Julian has a history with The Ashes.
That was all Todd had thrown out. If it was true, then Calla marrying into the Gray family was about more than just an alliance.
For the viewing event the day after tomorrow, she'd need a different look.
Nora turned off the tap and wiped her face in front of the mirror. The reflection looking back at her had dark circles under her eyes, chapped lips, and a strip of dried dark red blood visible at the edge of the bandage on her left arm.
She pulled her sleeve down to cover it.
Her phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
A second message.
[Almost forgot — that painting your second brother did back then, my father has kept it all this time. We should talk when you get a chance.]
Nora stared at the screen.
Her second brother.
That painting from back then.
When had Todd ever painted anything?
Nora gripped her phone, her fingertip hovering over the reply box for three seconds.
She didn't type anything.
She backed out of the conversation, opened her encrypted channel, and sent Todd a message.
[Calla says you painted something back then. That Julian has kept it. What painting?]
Sent.
This time Todd replied faster than he had the night before.
Four words.
[That wasn't painted by me.]
Nora stared at those four words, her thumb hovering over the screen for several seconds.
Not Todd's painting. So when Calla said "that painting your second brother did" — who was she talking about?
The Old Boss had taken in five children: Atlas Walsh the eldest, Todd Walsh second, Aaron Walsh third, Eloise Walsh fourth, and Nora herself fifth. But the way Calla used "second brother" didn't necessarily mean Todd.
It could be Atlas.
Nora followed up in the encrypted channel: [Then whose painting is it?]
Todd didn't reply this time.
She tossed her phone onto the pillow and rubbed her face. The light through the curtain gap had gone fully white now, and she could hear the footsteps of the guard rotation in the hallway outside.
Nearly half of the forty-eight hour countdown was already gone.
The viewing event was this afternoon.
While Nora was getting ready, Storm called out from the other side of the door — Wyatt had sent someone with a set of clothes, left at the entrance to the safe house.
"Who ordered it?"
"Wyatt said Mr. Percy arranged it."
Nora dried her face and walked out, picked up the black garment bag by the door, and unzipped it for a look.
On the hanger was a deep forest green velvet gown. The cut was restrained — the neckline just high enough to cover the bandage on her left arm, the cuffs positioned two centimeters above her wrists, precise enough that it seemed like someone had taken her measurements.
In the side pocket of the garment bag was a slim envelope. Inside, a handwritten card.
The handwriting was lean, the strokes clean and sharp.
[Green suits you. — O]
Nora held the card and looked at it for three seconds.
Then tucked it in her pocket and carried the dress back to her room.
When she put it on and checked the mirror, she found the neckline did cover the bandage, the hem reached her ankles, and the old scar on her left ankle was hidden too. The dress covered everything, but it didn't look heavy.
She called Storm in.
"Before we leave, check in with each member of the guard team individually. Tell them I'm going to a viewing event this afternoon."
"The address?"
"Tell them that after the event, I'll be going to Eastside District 7 alone to pick something up."
Storm paused.
"Eastside District 7 — isn't that——"
"I know. There's nothing out there." Nora fastened the hidden clasp at her cuff. "That's exactly what I want them to hear. Tell every single one of them. Don't leave anyone out."
Storm caught on. He nodded and turned to go.
Nora stood in front of the mirror for a moment, then moved the coin from the inner pocket of her coat into the hidden pouch sewn into the lining of the dress. The metal pressed against her chest, hard and slightly sharp.