Benjamin spares no effort in his relentless pursuit to unravel Thalas’s catastrophe. He and a sect of fanatical devotees share a grim conviction: the flood is no mere natural disaster. To the zealots, it is divine retribution-an unholy reckoning for the city’s sins. To Benjamin, it is something far more insidious-an act of terror.

  He cannot silence the voices he heard beneath the water. They were real. Haunting. Purposeful.

  Determined to uncover the truth, he has ordered an exhaustive review of the last decade’s financial transactions, intercepted calls, and encrypted messages-every fragment of data that might conceal even the faintest shadow of conspiracy.

  Beyond Thalas, Cilicia is gripped by a tense paralysis. The news of the catastrophe spreads like wildfire, leaving none indifferent. Panic escalates when officials admit they are powerless to intervene. The media, despite desperate attempts to minimize the crisis, cannot obscure the chilling fact: ten million souls have vanished.

  Amid the growing chaos, Benjamin seizes his moment. The city’s hysteria over the flood serves as a perfect smokescreen, diverting scrutiny away from his father’s assassination and his sister’s inexplicable disappearance. Yet, beneath his careful manipulation of events, a gnawing certainty remains-this disaster was orchestrated against him.

  John finds Charles’s abandoned car and immediately pieces together where he might be. Wasting no time, he ascends the mountain, moving swiftly over the uneven terrain until he spots a crumpled figure sprawled upon the earth.

  Rushing forward, he kneels beside Charles and lifts his head.

  “Just let me sleep,” Charles mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion.

  John snaps. “Get up. Stop being ridiculous.” He shoves Charles roughly.

  Charles stirs with a wince, his head pounding. He blinks up at John, dazed. “John? What are you doing here?”

  John scoffs, folding his arms. “Oh, you know. Living my best life. Picking mushrooms. Now hurry up-we have work to do.”

  Grumbling, Charles staggers to his feet, still groggy from his night on the mountain. The two descend in silence to their cars. As he reaches for the door handle, Charles catches sight of his disheveled clothes, caked in dirt.

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  “I need to go home first,” he mutters.

  John doesn’t argue. “Fine. But I expect you in my office in three hours.”

  At home, the mansion is steeped in silence, Mary has fallen asleep in the living room.

  Charles moves quickly, changing into fresh clothes. Just as he’s about to leave, Mary stirs, blinking up at him.

  “Charles… where were you all night?” her voice is laced with worry.

  He crosses the room and embraces her. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I have a couple of hours of work. When I’m done, I’ll come straight home. We’ll talk.”

  John waits outside the police station, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. His task is clear-officially declare Benjamin’s sister missing and accelerate the legal proceedings that will transfer the entire White family estate into Benjamin’s hands.

  Gerard White’s murder is no longer in question, but his body remains lost within the depths of Thalas. Everything must be orchestrated through the proper legal channels-and for that, he needs Charles.

  He spots Charles’s car pulling up and steps out, waiting at the entrance. As Charles approaches, John extends his hand. But instead of a simple greeting, he tightens his grip with a bruising force. Charles winces, eyes narrowing in confusion.

  John leans in, his voice low and firm. “Pull yourself together, Charles. I’m counting on you.”

  Charles nods wordlessly. John releases his grip, and together they step into the building.

  “This makes how many kills for Benjamin?” Charles asks as he settles into John’s office.

  John doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he twirls a pen between his fingers, watching Charles carefully. “And why are you so convinced that Benjamin killed his sister?”

  Charles smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “It has the Whites’ signature all over it. I doubt he would’ve spared his own blood.”

  John exhales sharply. “Your anger blinds you, Benjamin White hasn’t issued a single execution order since his father’s death. His methods are cruel, yes-but they are precise. All the killings, every act of bloodshed, has always been linked to Gerard White, not Benjamin.”

  Charles’s expression darkens. He rubs his face with both hands before asking, “When do I need to sign the decision?”

  “The sooner, the better.” John stands, signaling the discussion is over.

  Charles pushes himself up from the chair. “It’ll be ready in an hour.” Without another word, he leaves the office.

  John watches him go, then reaches for his phone, calls one of the police officers:

  A voice on the other end answers.

  “Follow Charles, Make sure he doesn’t notice. And if he so much as tries to leave the city… call me immediately.”