The sharp, mechanical chime of his phone sliced through the silence, filling the empty space of his apartment. Lucian jolted, blinking away the haze of his thoughts. He scanned the dimly lit room, his pulse steady but uncertain. Then, his eyes caught it, his phone buried within the folds of an old suit draped carelessly over the chair.

  Walking over, he hesitated before pulling the phone free, his fingers brushing against the fabric, a remnant of a past self he barely understood.

  The screen glowed faintly.

  Sheriff.

  Lucian stared.

  “Sheriff?” The name meant nothing. Who was this? His gaze flickered to the number beneath the name, something eerily familiar tugging at his mind. And then it hit him.

  “I will tell you later, Mr. Lucian. Once you’re home, call this number.”

  The doctor’s words echoed, buried somewhere in his fractured memory.

  Lucian dug into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled paper the doctor had given him earlier. His eyes scanned it rapidly, fixating on the digits.

  It’s the same number.

  A chill ran down his spine.

  His gaze shifted to the green and red buttons on the screen. A simple choice answer or decline. But was it truly that simple? Was this the call he was supposed to take?

  Swallowing his uncertainty, he pressed the green button, the small action feeling heavier than it should.

  The line connected.

  "Hello?"

  A deep, authoritative voice rolled through the speaker, controlled, confident, and unmistakably in command.

  "Ahh, Detective. Long time no see. Listen, we have a murder case in District 19. I need you here immediately. Understood?"

  Lucian stiffened, gripping the phone tighter.

  His throat tightened. He wasn’t a detective. At least, he didn’t remember being one, yes he know his past self is a detective and he seem to be quite good at it. But right now? He can’t even find who he is, much less talking about finding a criminal.

  But if this Sheriff knew him, knew his past, he might have answers. Answers about the strange notebook.

  Speaking of the notebook…

  Where had his old self put it?

  Lucian’s gaze darted across the room, scanning the table, shelves, anywhere it might have been left. The weight of the Sheriff's words pressed down, his mind torn between searching for the book and responding to the man on the other end of the call.

  "Detective, are you there?"

  Lucian snapped his head back to the phone, realizing his silence had stretched too long.

  "Y-yes, I’m here. I’ll be on my way shortly." His voice wavered slightly, but it was enough.

  The Sheriff exhaled sharply. "Good. You’d better hurry, Detective."

  Then, the line went dead.

  Lucian let out a slow breath, tension lingering in his muscles. Whoever this Sheriff was, his presence alone was unnerving. Without thinking, Lucian had agreed.

  But now, he had to figure out how to get there. A sudden, nagging thought crawled into his brain, where exactly is District 19? And more importantly, how was he supposed to get there?

  Lucian pulled out his phone again trying to call Sheriff, pressing the screen, a lock screen flashed before him. A password.

  “What kind of dark magic is this?” he muttered under his breath, attempting to unlock it multiple times. Each failure pushed the system further into lockdown, barring him from trying again.

  “Damn it.”

  Frustration gnawed at him. Now what?

  Then, something caught his attention, a recent message from Sheriff. He tapped it. Nothing. Swiped, still nothing.

  Finally, sliding the notification down, the message opened, revealing an address.

  A flicker of relief washed over him. Time to move.

  Lucian stepped outside, he need to find a taxi or something that could help hom get to where he need to go, his eye quickly scanning the street. Then, he saw it. A familiar taxi parked nearby.

  His pulse skipped. Could it be?

  Without a second thought, he rushed toward it.

  Inside the taxi, Daniel sat comfortably, eating noodles while watching a comedy show on his phone.

  On-screen, a comedian strolled across the stage, throwing out a joke with exaggerated flair.

  “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

  A beat of silence.

  “…To get to the other side!”

  Laughter erupted from the speakers, the forced sound effects filling the small car.

  Daniel snorted, shaking his head. "Man, this is so ass."

  Then, a soft knock on the car window.

  Daniel turned, brows lifting as he spotted Lucian outside.

  A grin tugged at his lips as he rolled down the window. "Good evening, Mister Lucian. Heading out for work?"

  Lucian nodded, quickly showing him the message on his phone. "I need to get here."

  Daniel’s gaze flickered over the address before nodding. "District 19, huh? Not too far from here. Hop in, I’ll get you there in no time."

  Lucian didn’t hesitate. Sliding into the back seat, he exhaled.

  "Thank you."

  Soon the car began to run and moving on the road. Even though Lucian felt a sense of relief having Daniel here just when he needed him, something nagged at the back of his mind. The timing, the sheer convenience, felt too perfect. Too calculated.

  Was this really just coincidence?

  His gaze flicked toward Daniel, watching as the taxi driver hummed under his breath, effortlessly navigating the dimly lit streets. Lucian hesitated for a moment, then spoke, his voice laced with quiet suspicion.

  "Hey, Daniel… Why are you parked in District 10? Shouldn’t you be somewhere busier, like in District 4?"

  Daniel didn’t answer right away. His fingers drummed idly against the steering wheel, his eyes flicking up to meet Lucian’s through the rearview mirror before settling back on the road ahead.

  "Oh?" He finally spoke, amusement threading through his tone. "What makes you think that, Mister Lucian? Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet while enjoying my dinner, you know."

  Lucian narrowed his eyes, sensing something beneath Daniel’s casual reply.

  "That makes sense. But then, why did you park near my place, specifically? If you were only looking for a quiet spot, there are plenty of others. Yet, you chose a location just outside my building."

  He leaned back, recalling the small detail from earlier, the glove compartment Daniel had casually shown him this afternoon. The one packed with business cards, neatly prepared for future customers he might cross paths with.

  That wasn’t the habit of someone who waited idly for clients to come to him. Daniel anticipated his customers. Planned for them.

  Lucian exhaled slowly before speaking again, his voice deliberate.

  "From what I’ve seen, you go out of your way to ensure every potential customer has one of your cards, and I can tell you value having as many clients as possible. So why, then, would someone like you waste time in a dead zone like District 10, especially near my apartment? Unless…"

  A pause. Lucian’s eyes locked onto Daniel’s reflection in the mirror.

  "Unless you already knew someone would be needing your service. And that someone... was me. Correct?"

  Daniel chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

  "Alright, Detective. You got me."

  Lucian didn’t react, just waited, his grip tightening slightly on his phone.

  Daniel continued, his tone light, but with something unreadable beneath the surface.

  "I was here because I knew you’d need a ride. The truth is, I heard about the murder while passing through District 19 earlier. As I was heading toward District 20, I saw the police heading in. And the moment I did, I knew there was a chance you’d need to go there too."

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  He glanced at Lucian again before adding, "That’s why I stayed close."

  A quiet tension settled between them, stretching through the air like an unspoken thread.

  Then, Daniel smirked. "I have to say, your detective instincts are still as sharp as ever."

  Lucian forced a breath, his mind turning over the revelation. Daniel had predicted his movements before he even knew them himself. Coincidence? Strategy? Or something else entirely?

  “By the way,” Daniel suddenly spoke, shifting the atmosphere with a casual ease. One hand lifted from the wheel, showing Lucian the half-finished box of noodles he had been picking at during the ride. Though his focus remained on the road, there was a glint of amusement in his voice. “Have you ever tried the food in District 18? Some of the best I’ve ever had. I highly recommend it, you’d be missing out otherwise.”

  Lucian's eyes narrowed as he studied Daniel for a moment.

  Was this a genuine attempt at lightening the mood? Or another subtle nudge, an indirect way to ensure he’d use Daniel’s service again in the near future? The thought lingered, but Lucian quickly dismissed it.

  For now, at least, Daniel didn’t seem to have bad intentions.

  Lucian exhaled, relaxing slightly into his seat. He wasn’t sure why he had suspected Daniel so quickly, but… perhaps his instincts remained intact, despite his fractured memory. A detective's intuition never truly fades.

  “Maybe, if I have time, I’ll check it out,” Lucian finally said, his voice casual but measured.

  Daniel grinned, setting the noodle box down with satisfaction. “Now that’s what I like to hear! In that case, let me tell you about the best spots in District 18, you gotta know where to go, after all.”

  Lucian sighed, settling in as Daniel launched into a detailed rundown of local eateries, describing their dishes with a passion that could almost convince him to take a detour.

  For the rest of the ride, the conversation drifted from suspicion to something oddly normal. When he arrived, Lucian stepped out of the taxi. The air around him thick with an uneasy weight. The flashing red-and-blue strobes from parked squad cars bathed the dim street in rhythmic pulses of light, casting eerie shadows that stretched and contracted over the pavement. The moment his boots met the ground, Daniel leaned slightly out of the window, his usual grin intact.

  “Well, since you're going to be busy, I’ll wait here until you’re done. In return, you’ll let me drive you home. What do you say, detective?”

  Lucian glanced back at him, his mind still caught in the simmering unease that followed their prior conversation. Despite everything, Daniel had been helpful and his offer wasn’t unreasonable.

  He nodded. “Alright. That sounds good to me.” Lucian had already planned to ask for a ride home anyway. Turning toward the crime scene, he took it all in.

  The victim’s house stood before him, a two-story structure, once nothing more than a home, now stained with tragedy.

  Several officers moved about with mechanical precision, speaking in hushed voices near the porch. The space was sectioned off by layers of police tape, stretched tightly around the front of the property, warning away those who didn’t belong. The porch light flickered weakly, casting an unsettling glow on the entrance, a door that hung slightly ajar, as if something inside had forced its way out… or in.

  Lucian suddenly feel really nervous, perhaps it because of the amount of people around him, or maybe because he it in an actual crime scene with no real life experience of being an detective, other than the talk he have with Daniel a moment ago, but that can barely call being an detective, taking a deep breath Lucian try to calm himself

  “It's fine, it will be fine, just follow your detective instincts” Lucian mumbles to himself as it is the only thing that could help him right now.

  “Lucian, this way.”

  The voice was firm, steady, a tone that expected to be obeyed. It cut through the hum of the crime scene, turning heads and drawing attention to its owner.

  Lucian followed the voice to its source, his gaze landing on a man who commanded presence effortlessly.

  Sheriff stood with an undeniable weight to him, not just in size, but in the quiet authority he exuded. Middle-aged, built like someone who had seen his share of hard years, yet carried them with a dignified ease. His sturdy frame wasn’t just physical, it was in the way he moved, deliberate, confident, unshaken.

  The vibrant yellow of his long coat draped over his broad form, clearly tailored to accommodate his stature. The fabric was well-crafted, heavy but flowing with his movements, its gold-trimmed cuffs catching the glow of passing police sirens. There was something regal about it, not ostentatious, but symbolic, a mark of someone who understood the weight of responsibility and wore it well.

  The buttons lining the coat held firm despite the strain of his movements, further proof of quality workmanship. Practical pockets hinted at a habit of carrying essentials, perhaps notes, tools, or something less obvious.

  His gloved hands rested easily at his sides, large, firm, capable. The black leather contrasted sharply with the striking yellow of his coat, reinforcing the image of a man who had spent years making decisions others hesitated to make.

  A matching yellow hat sat comfortably atop his head, the gold trim catching faint light, emphasizing his strong jawline and sharp, calculating eyes. He wasn’t someone who merely observed, he assessed, weighed, measured.

  And the boots, heavy, sturdy, well-worn. They weren’t polished for show; they spoke of miles walked, places visited, cases pursued.

  “There you are, Detective. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  The voice was deep, steady, an anchor in the restless hum of the crime scene.

  Lucian instinctively putting on a polite smile, though his insides coiled with unease. His gaze remain on Sheriff, and the sheer presence of the man made him falter for half a second. He was large

  Standing at 6’5", Sheriff towered over him, his massive frame built like a fortress, solid, immovable. His long, flowing coat of deep yellow draped over his form, the tailored fabric shifting effortlessly with each deliberate step. The golden trim, once just an elegant detail, now seemed to highlight his authority, every movement calculated, precise.

  Lucian swallowed, something stirring in the back of his mind. It wasn’t fear, it was something… else.

  A strange numbness spread through his body, the closer Sheriff got, the heavier Lucian felt, as if the air itself thickened around him, pressing against his skin. His limbs didn’t stiffen in panic, but rather, a quiet immobility overtook him, like his body was responding to something unseen.

  Sheriff came to a stop just in front of him, looking down with sharp, assessing eyes. A powerful arm reached out, landing on Lucian’s shoulder with an effortless slap.

  A wave of something unnatural rippled through him.

  The gesture should have been reassuring, it wasn’t rough, nor forceful, but the weight of it felt wrong. The firm pressure seeped through his coat, through his skin, and beneath that leather glove and thick sleeve… It was metal.

  Lucian forced himself to breathe evenly as Sheriff spoke, his voice carrying both strength and familiarity.

  “How have you been lately, Lucian? I haven’t seen you for over a month now. Ever since you found that strange notebook, you've looked like a ghost.” Sheriff chuckled.

  “but it’s good to see you back to normal. How’s your investigation going?”

  The way sheriff hand it pressed against his shoulder, not harsh, not aggressive, yet still undeniably wrong. Sheriff’s entire hand felt like metal. Not cold, but not organic either. Not anything Lucian could immediately recognize. And yet, he knew. This wasn’t a normal hand. He didn’t know what it was. But whatever it was, Sheriff wasn’t just any ordinary man.

  "Well, isn’t it the great detective Lucian Harris?"

  The voice was smooth, carrying a playful edge, confident, yet measured. It wasn’t mocking, but there was an undeniable amusement laced within it, as though Vincent already knew more than he let on.

  Lucian turned toward the speaker.

  Approaching them with deliberate steps was a young man, his presence striking in both appearance and demeanor. He dressed with the kind of elegance that felt both vintage and effortlessly modern, a crisp white dress shirt tucked beneath tailored, high-waisted black trousers, held up by suspenders adorned with ornate clasps. A decorative chain draped subtly from his waistband, adding a touch of aristocratic refinement.

  Over his shoulders, a dark grey jacket hung loosely, worn more for style than necessity. Every element of his attire was meticulously crafted, not ostentatious, but undeniably deliberate. And yet, despite his polished exterior, there was something else about him.

  Something unreadable. Standing just behind him, silent as a shadow, was a girl roughly Lucian’s age, or younger.

  Unlike Vincent’s well-tailored refinement, her presence exuded quiet discipline. She wore a long black dress, elegantly fitted to her frame, flowing just above her ankles. The high neckline and puffed sleeves lent an air of modesty, while the crisp white apron tied flawlessly around her waist symbolized precision. Everything about her was impeccably maintained, not a wrinkle, not a stray strand of hair.

  Her snowy locks were pulled into a flawless bun, crowned by a frilled maid’s headpiece. White gloves extended just past her wrists, completing the look with an aristocratic grace.

  Yet, her face was impassive. Composed. As if none of this was unfamiliar to her. As if she had seen it all before.

  Lucian held his gaze on Vincent for a beat longer, sensing something beneath the carefully crafted appearance. The young man looked refined, yet an unspoken mystery clung to him like an invisible veil.

  Sheriff let out a low chuckle, cutting through the moment.

  "Detective, this is Vincent, the eldest son of Sinclair Francis. He may look young, but he’s been helping us with investigations for quite some time. If you ask me, you and him could make a damn good team."

  Vincent smiled, the expression polished and easy.

  He stepped forward, extending his hand toward Lucian in a smooth motion.

  "I’ve read about the cases you’ve worked on before, Mister Lucian. I have to say, I’m impressed with your deductive ability. I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time now"

  His smile didn’t waver, though his tone held something more, expectation.

  "It’s an honor to finally meet you, Detective."

  Lucian looked at the outstretched hand, then at Vincent’s steady gaze. Something about this felt like the beginning of something bigger. Something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Lucian swallowed hard, steadying his expression as he extended his hand to Vincent, grasping it in a firm shake. He forced a polite smile, though the weight of uncertainty pressed at the edges of his composure.

  "Ah… Yes, thank you, Vincent." His words came carefully, measured. He hesitated for only a breath before shifting his gaze toward the quiet figure standing beside Vincent. "And this lady is…?"

  Sheriff, standing just behind him, raised an eyebrow, small, but noticeable. Lucian didn’t catch it, too focused on maintaining his demeanor, it was clear. He wasn’t the same Lucian everyone once knew.

  The uncertainty in his voice, the slight stiffness in his movements, it wasn’t characteristic of the detective he was supposed to be. And yet, he had to play the part.

  Vincent’s expression didn’t falter. Instead, he turned slightly toward the girl at his side, offering a quiet nod.

  "Sofia, how about you introduce yourself to the gentleman?"

  Without missing a beat, the girl stepped forward with effortless grace, her movements precise, practiced.

  She lowered her head in a respectful bow, her voice smooth, unwavering.

  "My name is Sofia Lloyd, a maid of the Francis family. It is a pleasure meeting you, Mister Lucian."

  Not a single trace of emotion touched her face as she spoke, her presence almost unnaturally composed.

  Lucian responded instinctively, offering a slight, awkward bow in return.

  "Oh… The pleasure is mine as well, Miss Sofia."

  His voice was polite, but his eyes didn’t leave her, something felt off. Not everyone would notice, but Lucian did.

  The stillness in her face, the eerily perfect posture, the lack of even the smallest, subconscious movements most people had when they spoke, it wasn’t just discipline. It was unnatural.

  Vincent remained friendly, his demeanor open, yet his gaze held an almost imperceptible sharpness as he watched Lucian.

  There was something in his eyes. Skepticism.

  As if he was silently studying Lucian, comparing him to the version he had read about, the version people spoke of.

  The version Lucian himself no longer remembered.

  Before the moment could stretch too long, an approaching officer cleared his throat, directing his attention toward Sheriff.

  "Sir, we’ve secured the area and recorded the initial observations."

  Sheriff nodded, his deep voice cutting through the exchange. "Good."

  He then turned back to Vincent and Lucian, his presence grounding the moment.

  "Well boys, let’s get going. We have a case to solve."

  Vincent smirked slightly, stepping aside with a welcoming gesture.

  "After you, detective."

  Lucian hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Then, he nodded. "Right."

  With that, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the victim’s home, there was no turning back now. Whatever awaited them inside, he’d have to face it, no matter what.