The Million-Dollar Heart

Sasha leaned on her hand with a smirk, grasping a first aid kit in the other, diligently applying ointment to Vivienne's bruised cheek.

Vivienne's lips, a shade of crimson, curled slightly. "This jacket of mine is barely holding together, might as well let him throw in the towel."

Sasha's brows knitted slightly at the comment, pressing a bit harder with the ointment. Vivienne hissed, "Geez, tough love! Got a husband and forgot your daughter, huh?"

"Zip it, or my hand might 'accidentally' slip, making you yelp in pain," Sasha retorted, pinching Vivienne's chin.

The banter went back and forth between the mother and daughter, with Vivienne occasionally dropping hints about her latest findings.

"Just the other day, I mentioned that case where the woman's heart was harvested. It wasn't an isolated incident; there have been disappearances elsewhere too. Yesterday, Mr. Wolf and I tracked a lead to a small town, and if I'm not mistaken, that place is swarming with snipers."

"What's odd, though, is that when Mr. Wolf and I entered, nobody took a shot at us. Logically, they should've taken us out on sight."

Sasha furrowed her brows, her tone grave, "You and Percival might be carrying something they need."

Vivienne seemed to agree with that theory. But what could it be that they needed?

Shifting gears, Vivienne dipped her finger in a glass of water, sketching symbols she recalled seeing in the town on the dining table.

Each symbol appeared simple yet was difficult to replicate accurately. She managed to draw them roughly on the table.

the town, I stumbled upon these symbols. Mom,

shadow of recognition crossing her features. "I think I've seen these symbols in a book before, but not from around here. They're from a foreign

time. It might take a while to dig

in understanding. "Thanks, Mom. I want to get to the

a next move?" Arthur chimed in, entering with two

went silent, her gaze shifting to the trays

the breakfast he prepared in front of Vivienne and Sasha. One plate bore thick slices of American toast topped with fried eggs and a generous squirt of ketchup, with Arthur drawing two big

smiley faces, paused, then stoically took a bite. Truth be told, she wasn't much for Western breakfasts, having a preference for something more

face for any sign of approval. Vivienne ate quietly,

asked, "How's the taste, sweetheart? If it's

gaze urged Vivienne

spot for traditional meals." Arthur's

regretting his words, he remembered the chaos of his kitchen experiments, none of which turned

then starting on the second slice, her

a simplified version. Vivienne separated the strawberry design with her fork,

attempt at a traditional breakfast and a jug of homemade soy

the food skeptically, poking at a charred mass with her fork. "Is this supposed to be a

head, muttering, "It

tips from the chef. You'll get there!" As

And as for this 'great task', I think it's best left to