Chapter 173

Chapter 173

The first-class dining room of the "Victoria" was more elegant than Evan had imagined. The walls, trimmed with teak, were adorned with oil paintings depicting seascapes, and the brass wall lamps cast a warm glow that fell precisely on the dining tables covered in starched, crisp white tablecloths. On the silver plate before Evan, a medium-rare filet mignon still glowed with an enticing pink; when cut, the juices mingled with the aroma of black pepper, blending wonderfully with the salty sea breeze drifting in through the window. He forked a piece of accompanying asparagus and had just taken a bite when he heard the polite inquiry of a waiter at the restaurant entrance.

At that moment, Evan was immersed in the pleasure of the meal—Sarah had really set him up with first-class treatment, even the table wine was a sweet white from the southern colonies, with a mellow acidity that perfectly cut through the richness. He gently swirled the goblet, watching the wine catch the light in fine ripples, totally missing the two sets of eyes sweeping the room from the doorway.

"Sir, the window seats are all reserved. Would these tables by the aisle be suitable?" The waiter bowed slightly, his tone respectful but laced with a bit of trouble. The man he was guiding raised his hand to remove his dark gray bowler hat, revealing a head of neatly combed, dark brown curls, the tips already tinged with gray. This was Detective Gray, wearing a well-tailored charcoal gray wool coat, a plaid scarf casually draped over his collar, and an old silver ring on the ring finger of his left hand. His eyes were sharp as a hawk's, and as he scanned the crowded tables by the aisle, his brow creased just barely.

His assistant, John, followed half a step behind, dressed in a neat dark brown vest with cuffs buttoned tightly, carrying a leather briefcase, clearly just finishing some work. Seeing this, John stepped forward and whispered to Gray, "Sir, perhaps we should wait a moment? The guests by the window seem to be finishing their meal." But Gray waved his hand, his gaze suddenly fixed on a corner of the restaurant—there was Evan's table, a four-seater with only him sitting there, the tableware neatly arranged. It was neither noisy nor too secluded, and through the porthole, one could catch a glimpse of the sea—just what he wanted.

"Good evening, Mr. Evan. Care if I join you?" Gray's voice was low but carried a calm, no-nonsense authority. He had already walked over to Evan's table and gave a slight nod. The light fell on his glasses, reflecting a faint gleam that softened his sharpness.

Evan was taken aback for a moment, then quickly recognized him—this was the detective he had seen on deck during boarding, intently examining the copper rivets on the ship's railing with a magnifying glass, his expression so focused it was unforgettable. Evan found this detective, with his old-school, no-nonsense vibe, pretty interesting. He set down his knife and fork right away and waved him over: "Of course, sir, please have a seat."

Gray thanked him and sat down opposite Evan, while John smoothly pulled out the chair next to him, placing his briefcase gently at his feet, his movements so quiet they made no sound. Before Gray could speak, John had already risen and walked over to the waiter, calmly rattling off their order: "Two filet mignons, medium-well, black pepper sauce on the side, with roasted potatoes and broccoli—and note, no butter on the detective's potatoes. Also, a bottle of 1892 bourbon whiskey, on the rocks, and top off this gentleman's sweet white wine."

The waiter pulled out a notepad and quickly jotted it down, and John added, "The steaks should be freshly seared, not pre-prepared; the detective is particular about the meat's temperature." He spoke without even glancing at Gray, yet he was fully aware of every detail, clearly not doing this for the first time. Watching this, Evan understood—this assistant was far more than just a work partner; he knew the detective's dietary preferences inside out, like a full-on personal butler.

Once John sat back down, Gray smiled and explained to Evan, "John has been with me for nearly ten years. He knows what I like to eat better than I do myself." There was a subtle warmth in his tone. "I noticed you on the deck earlier. You don't strike me as a businessman... more like a student from some academy?"

Just as Evan was about to respond, the waiter arrived with the refilled sweet white wine. The crystal glass was placed gently on the table with a crisp clink, adding a touch of perfect comfort to this impromptu shared table.

"Yes, I'm currently on a study break trip." Evan lightly touched the rim of the goblet with his fingertip, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. There was no regret in his eyes about the unfinished studies, but rather a sense of anticipation for the journey. He hadn't intended to reveal much about himself, but facing Gray's seemingly penetrating gaze, he didn't bother to hide it.

Gray's gaze didn't linger on Evan's face but quickly swept over his straight, upright back—a posture drilled into him by years of military training, showing no slack even while seated. Then, his eyes fell on Evan's right hand, where there were a few calluses of varying depths, precisely where the thumb and index finger grip a gun, the edges showing slight signs of wear—marks no regular student would have.

"Military academy, most likely the Imperial Knight Academy." Gray's tone was firm, without a hint of hesitation, as if he had personally seen Evan training there.

Evan was visibly startled, his fingers holding the glass pausing slightly, a clear surprise flashing in his eyes. He instinctively withdrew his hand, unconsciously rubbing the calluses—marks left by years of shooting practice and swordplay, which he usually tried to conceal with his sleeves. He hadn't expected Gray to see through them at a glance.

So this was a detective's observational skill? It was alarmingly precise.

"Gray." John, sitting beside him, frowned slightly, his voice low with clear disapproval. He quickly scanned the restaurant, confirming no one was paying attention to their conversation, then added, "Sir, be careful." His tone wasn't scolding, just a habit of reminding him.

Evan watched John's tense profile and wary eyes and instantly understood—Gray's bluntness must have caused plenty of trouble before. That he had survived this long was undoubtedly thanks to this assistant who had been with him for ten years.

Gray, however, waved it off with a casual smile, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, his tone relaxed: "Just a casual remark, young man, no need to be nervous."

As he spoke, his gaze suddenly shifted toward the restaurant entrance, a hint of subtle curiosity in his eyes.

Evan followed his line of sight and saw a group of people entering the restaurant. At the front was a lady in a pearl-white satin gown, the hem embroidered with delicate intertwined lotus patterns, a belt studded with diamonds around her waist, every move exuding the poise of a noblewoman. And following behind her was none other than Miss Lillian, whom Evan had seen on the deck earlier.