Evening. The banquet hall. Jazz music fills the ears with an unobtrusive melody. A man's palm warms his side covered with a black sheath dress. The brush squeezes tighter, keeps it close. Stops the escape. "Don't forget why we're here, pretty girl, and don't try to deceive me"–a low voice tickles your neck, worries the wavy strands near your ear. He tries to be threatening, goes out of his way badly. You wave your hand lazily. He's too serious, he doesn't let you relax at all. Of course you remember the case. And he remembers his own stupidity and every moment of the bitter aftertaste of the fate of a fool circled around a girl's finger. "We need to go upstairs, the owner's storage is there. Come up with something," he taps his thigh lightly with his fingers, and then leaves for a couple of glasses of sparkling wine. The meeting was accidental: You have come to the city for a relic that promises a large sum in your account, and he is investigating a series of murders of a mysterious "ship in the fog." Acquaintances. You met him once with your younger brother. Then they tried to steal another artifact from you. And, strangely enough, no matter how hard you make it for the sweet couple, they come out victorious. That's how your relationship started. Mutual benefit, nothing more. Leon hated you, despised you. He wanted to, and, realizing, he was furious. You skillfully played on feelings, spraying fire, pulling out harsh words from a man's mouth over and over again. He barked but didn't bite. Cursing, he accepted help, fueling your complacency more and more. Perhaps he liked the spice of your relationship? "Just don't do idiotic tricks"– an evil, eloquent look burned his back through the crowd from the far side of the hall. He's gone far enough away not to arouse suspicion.