LABYRINTH 22.

  Morning light spilled through the dusty blinds of Tinope Res’s corner office, though it did little to brighten the tension hovering in the air.

  Ace stood near the window, hands tucked inside his coat pockets, looking out at the city sprawled below. Ives perched on a tall stool, her small legs dangling and tapping a steady beat on the wood. The scene was oddly hushed for a place where a company’s CEO had been found dead mere hours before.

  “We should reorganize what we know,” Ives said at last, her childlike voice breaking the silence. A gentle breeze stirred loose papers on Tinope’s desk, ones that had been scattered in the frantic search after his body was discovered.

  Ace shifted his gaze from the window to the seven-year-old detective, a motion to continue.

  Ives lifted her chin, enumerating each point. “Tinope Res—found dead in his office this morning. He was set to announce something big, a ‘major company event,’ as the manual put it. According to the usual rules of the Labyrinth, the killer is among those who remain: Jaymes, his troublesome son; Masen, his co-founder and close friend; Carrie, his partner in business—and ex-lover. Oh,” she added quietly, “and me, his adopted granddaughter.”

  Ace fixed her with a brief, speculative stare. “Yes. You’re a suspect as well.”

  Ives merely shrugged, rapping her knuckles on the desk. She flicked her eyes to the corner of her own vision, where her [PROFILE] clock likely resided, and frowned.

  “We’ve got two hours left on the countdown. At this rate, if we don’t unmask the culprit soon, the Labyrinth will… do what it does.” She looked up at Ace, whose bright hair caught a stray light beam. “So, who do you think is the most suspicious, so far?”

  Ace took a brief pause, letting his mind sift through the testimonies they’d gathered.

  “Carrie,” he stated, voice clipped. “She stands out.”

  Ives nodded, as if that matched her own instincts. “I was thinking that too. By all rights, Carrie—just a business partner, right?—shouldn’t be placed in Tinope’s inner circle if that’s all she was. The manual claims these are Tinope’s closest people. A ‘mere collaborator’ wouldn’t be among us.”

  Ace’s eyebrow inched up. “Which implies Tinope and Carrie never really lost contact in the first place.”

  “Exactly.” Ives swung her legs a bit, expression thoughtful. “But how do we prove it?” she asked, tapping her lips with the tip of a finger.

  Ace shifted, turning his attention across the office. A figure lingered outside, no doubt overhearing or waiting for their summons.

  “He would know.”

  ***

  They called Tammy inside—Tinope’s harried-looking underling who’d first claimed to see the body. The man wrung his hands as he approached the desk where Ace and Ives waited.

  “Tammy,” Ives began, polite yet firm. “We need more details about Tinope Res’s personal habits.”

  Tammy hesitated, glancing at the young girl, then the white-haired man's impassive face.

  “Well… the CEO always carried a diary,” he offered. “He’d scribble in it during meetings, dotting down ideas or personal notes, references… I remember him clinging to it whenever he had a new project in mind.”

  Ives’s eyes lit up with interest. “A diary? Do we know where it is?”

  Flicking his gaze around, Tammy pointed to a locked drawer under Tinope’s polished oak desk. “He kept it in there. But it’s locked. No one’s found a key.”

  Ives ran a searching look across the desk. Sure enough, a small steel drawer jutted half an inch from its slot, unwavering. Ace stepped forward, planting a hand on the handle. Without waiting for further discussion, he gave a short yank.

  The lock splintered, the wood around it cracking from the force.

  “It’s opened.”

  Ives and Tammy stared in open astonishment at Ace’s blatant show of brute strength. But the white-haired man betrayed no embarrassment, sliding the drawer fully open.

  Inside the drawer lay a single hardcover journal. Ives carefully lifted it out, fingers running over the worn edges. Unlike a typical planner, each page carried only a number rather than a date.

  Ives carefully flipped through, eyes scanning the elegantly penned lines. Although the entries were brief, each was laced with a personal tone. She flipped to a random page halfway through.

  “#123,” she read aloud. “Tonight’s meeting with her. I believe she’ll be happy to hear the plan is nearly finalised. She deserves to stand in the spotlight, at last.”

  Ives exchanged a look with Tammy, who swallowed in disbelief. Flicking further, she found another passage:

  “#128. I can’t wait for her to see the official invites. Once she steps forward at the event, no more secrets. Finally, she can be recognised for all the support she’s given me.”

  “Is ‘she’… Miss Carrie?” Tammy gulped, evidently unsure whether he was supposed to hear all this.

  “I would assume so.” Still scanning the journal, Ives pursed her lips.

  “But they claimed they’d lost contact years ago.”

  “A lie,” Ace concluded. “They never stopped seeing each other. And the event—she must’ve known about it. But that means she would have no reason to kill him. She’d benefit from that public reveal.”

  Ives paused on a passage talking about an upcoming plan. Reading it, she nodded, lips pursed. “Then maybe the killer’s reason was to prevent that event. Tinope’s power to shift the company’s direction or relationships was a threat to someone else.”

  Ace tucked his hands into his coat. “The culprit must have known Tinope was about to put them in a vulnerable position. So they struck first.”

  He let the diary fall to the table, stepping back. A hush settled among them, each mind spinning theories and weighing suspects anew. Masen’s shadow loomed large, as did Jaymes’s rebellious streak. Carrie might not be innocent, but neither did she stand to gain from Tinope’s death. As for Ives… the role was her own big unknown.

  Ives hopped off the stool, her small hand flipped another sheet, her eyes flashing with curiosity as she read the tidy handwriting within.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  She paused on an entry labeled #194.

  “Look here,” she announced, pointing at a neat paragraph. “He mentions me—my adoption.”

  Tammy leaned over, brow creased with worry, while Ace continued his usual half-step back, arms folded. He watched in stillness, offering no commentary until something truly caught his attention.

  Ives cleared her throat, trying to keep her composure. “Tinope wrote: I’m expecting her arrival to fill this hollow household. Jaymes has reacted poorly, storming out as soon as I mentioned adopting a child… draining two batches of his savings in one night out of anger. I fear for how this might unfold.”

  A pang of disquiet flitted over Ives’s features. She shut her eyes momentarily, recalling how, in her [ROLE], she believed Tinope had shielded her from any family strife. But here, the words were stark, betraying more conflict than she’d realised.

  “But why would Mister Jaymes have such a severe reaction to this adoption?” Tammy creased his brows. “From what I know, the CEO and his son weren’t very close.”

  Ace’s voice cut in, abrupt and direct.

  “Tinope Res is the founder of this family company, which means he was bound to pass down the business to his children,” he said, gaze landing on the seven-year-old. “Before you came along, Jaymes Res was his only child.”

  Ives stared back. “You’re saying…”

  With the abrupt addition of this supposed granddaughter, it wasn’t out of the possibility that Tinope Res was about to bypass his son, thereby leaving everything to his newly found granddaughter.

  “Having lived his entire life in lavishness, Jaymes felt his status at risk,” Ace said. “That’s reason enough for a murder.”

  Ives nodded grimly.

  “Yes… or so it seemed at first. Maybe Tinope thought Jaymes might come after me. He even wrote about hiding my records. We can’t ignore that possibility.” She tapped the page gently, then flicked her gaze to Tammy. “You mentioned Tinope kept important items in a safe, correct?”

  Tammy’s eyes darted away. “He had a safe in the closet, yes, but I—I've only seen it once, let alone open it. Don’t know the code.”

  The corners of Ives’s mouth curved in a faint, almost Edris-like smile.

  “That won’t be a problem.”.

  ***

  Moments later, they stood at Tinope’s closet, staring at a stout metal safe that glinted under the overhead lamp. The passcode was a mystery.

  Smoothly, Ives stepped out of the way, revealing Ace behind her.

  The man shot her a look of silent judgment. Then, without further ceremony, he twisted the handle with a short burst of strength, snapping the lock.

  Tammy gaped for the second time today, while Ives sidled in and peered past the safe’s door, rummaging through dusty files. Ace looked onwards as well, though his gaze was directed past the files and more inwards the box.

  “Found it,” she announced, drawing out a sheaf of worn documents. “Official adoption records.”

  She parted them carefully, letting the white-haired man crane his neck to read over her shoulder. But the next second, her brows knitted in confusion. “Wait… these dates don’t match up.”

  “What do you mean?” Tammy asked, poking his head over as well.

  “The official forms say I was adopted over a year ago,” Ives murmured, flipping between lines. “But from my memories, I only arrived six months ago. That’s a half-year discrepancy.”

  She looked at Ace, eyes clouded with doubt. The man was now retracted from the safe. His face was impassive, though his dark gaze glinted with recognition.

  “He shielded you from his business persona,” he said. “And lied about your arrival. There’s more hidden reason behind your adoption.”

  Ives swallowed. The image of a kindly man she had held onto faltered, replaced by something more murky. She carefully set the papers aside.

  “Either Tinope was never the kind man he painted himself to be… or my recollection is flawed. Possibly both.”

  Her words trailed as Ace turned a piercing stare on Tammy.

  “You handle Tinope’s schedule,” he said bluntly, every syllable clipped. “Who was the last to see him alive before we found the body?”

  Tammy froze, obviously unprepared for Ace’s zero-frills interrogation. “Masen delivered documents last night. He and Tinope argued, then Masen stormed off. I—”

  “You’re lying.”

  Tammy blinked. “Pardon me?”

  Ace flicked the closet door shut, the clang echoing. “If Masen left, you remained. That makes you the final witness.”

  A hush settled between them as Tammy opened and closed his mouth, only for no sound to emerge.

  At the same time, a chill ran up Ives’s spine.

  Come to think of it, from the moment they stepped into this Labyrinth, every detail of Tinope Res’s “murder” had flowed from Tammy’s mouth—no real autopsy, no proof of how Tinope had died, and none of the players had actually seen the body.

  Everything had been built on Tammy’s testimony.

  Tammy’s jaw tightened, as though he wanted to protest. But one look at Ace’s impassive glare cowed him. He began to babble about Tinope’s behavior: “He was fuming. I—I stepped in to ask if he was all right, but he told me to head home early… so I did. Truly, that’s all I know!”

  Ives observed Ace’s silent intensity—barely blinking, letting the man twist in anxious words. Unlike the others in the waiting room, the man in front of them had only entered the company recently. Ives couldn’t think of any possible motives that would make him kill the CEO.

  She peered at Ace, who was also deep in thought.

  More investigation was needed on this man.

  Eventually, Ives gave a slight nod to Tammy. “Go into the waiting room and keep an eye on the rest. We’ll call you back if needed.”

  Relief flooded the latter’s face as he nearly fled, leaving Ives and Ace behind. The door clicked shut, the hush returning. Ives turned to the white-haired man and found his dark eyes already distant, as if chasing some thread of logic in the Labyrinth’s illusions.

  “Do you think he’s lying?” she asked, though she suspected the question was moot—Ace’s earlier statement left little doubt.

  The white-haired man didn’t answer her directly. Instead, he threw out a question of his own.

  “Is Tinope Res really dead?”

  Ives stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “The Labyrinth’s so-called [MAIN QUEST] says, ‘Find out who killed Tinope Res.’ But the only person claiming he’s already dead is Tammy.” Ace paused. “He has to die… but not necessarily yet.”

  Ives’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re saying the murder never actually happened?”

  The new possibility hammered at her mind. If Tinope wasn’t actually dead, everything they knew—Tammy’s accounts, the timeline, the assumptions about who stood to gain—might be wrong.

  “We assumed a corpse, but none of us saw it,” Ace said. “If Tinope’s alive, eventually someone will kill him to fulfill the Labyrinth’s condition.”

  Ives frowned. “Then anyone could do it—Jaymes or Masen if threatened by Tinope’s event. Carrie, if she found out he deceived her. Even I, if Tinope had done something to me that I can’t fully remember.”

  She clutched her jaw, inhaling a long breath from her nose. Her head twinged with discomfort, images flickering through her mind: a dim lamp, Tinope’s kind smile, syringes on the floor. The pain made her hiss under her breath.

  Ace, calm as always, let the silence stretch. Ives glanced at the countdown on her [PROFILE].

  They were more than two-thirds of the way through. Just a little more, and it'll sink below the final hour. She exhaled.

  “So now, we must find who will kill him.”

  Ives tapped her chin as she compiled the names of possible suspects: Jaymes, driven by anger or greed; Masen, seeking to hide deeper corruption; Carrie, spurned or misled by Tinope’s secret dealings; Tammy, inconsistencies framing his responses; even herself, if Tinope had done something in those fragments of memory she couldn’t fully recall.

  She swallowed, confronting the grim reality that any of them could commit the murder if Tinope were actually still alive.

  Then Ace’s voice cut through her concentration, calm and matter-of-fact. “You forgot someone.”

  Ives blinked, glancing up in puzzlement.

  “Who?”

  “Me,” he said, meeting her gaze without a flicker of emotion. “It could just as well be me.”

  He wasn’t joking, nor did he sound eager – just stating a possibility in the same stoic tone he used for everything else. Yet something in that stark admission made the white-haired man seem slightly more distant than before.

  She wanted to speak, yet words only tangled in her throat. Ace was right—rather than deducting who the killer was, there was an easier way to complete the Labyrinth’s [MAIN QUEST]:

  Becoming the killer themselves.