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De Ryke loved two things in his life. His father's money and himself.
It was why his suite was on the third floor where he could perfectly gaze out and see the rooftops of Ketterdam. And why he owned so many mirrors.
De Ryke. The name of the wealthy. The family that exceeded any praise in Kerch. They were the spitting image of the ideal Kerch family. Wealthy, smart and obedient to their God. Generations of family grew up between the walls of their mansion on Gildenstraat, then proceeded to seek education at the University. A few would get a good state job such as a lawyer or an ambassador. For the rest of their lives they would enjoy every pleasure of a wealthy man's life and end up in one of their numerous gorgeous country houses to rest till the end of their days.
De Ryke was no different. The pride of his family. His hair the colour of gold, eyes blue as the harbor's sea. Suits that fitted him perfectly. The ambassador's pride and joy. Van Eck's son could never.
"I knew you'd sneak right back to me at some point," he said, upon entering his not so small student flat and throwing his rattling keys into a not so cheap bowl mother gave him as a farewell gift.
He cared enough to kick off his shoes. His floors were rugged with the finest of carpets. Handwoven. Suli made, he was told. They were too bright for his taste.
Not being given an answer he shrugged out of his coat, resting it on a rack alongside his hat. The signs were subtle, but noticeable. The pool of water on his floors, the lit up candle in case of an emergency, an opened window. He studied these people. He knew their patterns. She had a few, but only when she wanted to be caught.
He didn't go for his gun. The one he had stored into the inside pocked of his coat, a nervous habit of his father. Instead he walked down the little hallway, peering into the darkness of the kitchen.
