Lucian's mind churned with thoughts as he ascended the stairs, his gaze flickering back toward the basement door one last time before shifting his focus. He knew he was missing something, key details that could bridge the gaps in his understanding. But without enough evidence, every theory felt incomplete.

  Jacob picked up his suitcase from where he had set it down earlier, glancing between Lucian and Vincent.

  "Let’s head upstairs. Be mindful as you step around the victim's body."

  The group moved carefully around Philip’s covered form, the weight of death pressing silently against the air. Lucian stole another glance at the corpse, trying to process everything they knew so far.

  Philip status? Deceased. Location of death? Base of the stairs, first floor. Cause? Head trauma. Possible sequence of events? A fall, or more likely a deliberate attack. Witness testimony? Saw Philip crawling, struck down by an unknown assailant. Blunt-force injury. No visible bloodstains. No murder weapon. Basement door opened before police arrived.

  “There’s still too much missing information to form a conclusion.”

  Lucian’s thoughts tangled as they stepped onto the second floor. The hallway stretched before them narrow but well-maintained. A window at the end allowed faint moonlight to filter through, casting soft shadows across the tiled flooring.

  Jacob gestured ahead.

  "There are two rooms on this floor, the bedroom and the bathroom."

  Vincent walked beside Jacob, his keen eyes scanning the hallway before he asked, "Was the bathroom used recently?"

  Jacob gave a firm nod.

  "Yes. When we checked earlier, it was still damp, suggesting Philip, or someone else, used it shortly before his death."

  Lucian blinked, mildly impressed. Vincent had deduced that almost instantly. He recalled Jacob’s earlier words:

  "From what we found on the victim’s body, his hair was still somewhat wet…"

  "I see…" Lucian thought. "So he inferred it from that?"

  His mind continued to spin.

  “Philip was the one who showered. But then what? Did he walk out and simply slip down the stairs? No, it didn’t add up. Unless… He was being chased.”

  Jacob glanced at Vincent. "Would you like to check the bathroom first?"

  Vincent nodded. "Yes. Let’s start there."

  Jacob led them past the bedroom door, stopping at the entrance to the bathroom. He gestured toward it as he pushed the door open.

  "Here it is, our team has checked the bathroom earlier on, not much has been found."

  The bathroom was divided into two distinct areas.

  The toilet section was neatly maintained, a sleek ceramic toilet positioned against the tiled wall, beside it a roll of toilet paper in its holder. The sink sat nearby, simple yet practical, a chrome faucet gleaming faintly under the dim light. A mirror hung above it, slightly fogged from lingering steam.

  A dirty clothes basin rested in the corner, collecting damp towels and garments. Nearby shelves held essentials, soap, toothbrushes, personal care items.

  Separating this space from the shower was a transparent glass door, smudged lightly from condensation. Beyond it, water droplets still clung to the tiled walls. A shower head mounted at a comfortable height overlooked a ledge lined with shampoo and body wash. A towel rack stood nearby, and the drain in the center ensured water flowed away cleanly.

  Vincent entered first, his shoes leaving faint marks on the damp floor. The bathroom was small enough that Jacob and Sheriff opted to remain outside, allowing Vincent and Lucian to examine the space.

  Vincent moved methodically, scanning the room with practiced precision, checking the sink, inspecting objects, assessing whether anything seemed off. Lucian, on the other hand, found himself at a loss.

  "What exactly am I looking for?"

  His flashlight swept over the bathroom in a quick scan, but nothing felt out of place, no signs of struggle, no misplaced items. Nothing except the fact that the bathroom had been used. A wave of frustration settled over him.

  "There’s nothing for me to find here."

  His thoughts raced.

  "Philip showered. Then what? Did he walk out and immediately get attacked? Did he simply head toward the stairs and trip? Lucian paused. No, unless he was being pursued”

  he sifted through every detail they had gathered.

  “The witness said she saw Philip crawling toward the door, injured, before being struck again.”

  Lucian’s brow furrowed then he recalled Jacob’s earlier words:

  "First off, when we arrived, the front door wasn’t locked…"

  Lucian’s mind latched onto the phrase.

  "The front door wasn’t locked… Could the culprit have entered the house from the front? The surveillance system was down, no cameras were operational. No one would know who had entered through the main door. But then, why was the door open? Had the culprit forced their way in? Or had Philip left it open himself?”

  Lucian shook his head.

  "That doesn’t matter right now. I need to focus on what happened after. If the killer was already inside, where were they hiding?”

  His thoughts drifted to the basement.

  "The basement door was already touched before the police arrived. Could the culprit have been hiding down there, waiting?”

  Lucian’s thoughts tightened.

  “Philip finishes showering. Steps out, not noting something is off. The culprit is already waiting, Philip heads downstairs. The attacker bursts out from the basement door, striking him. Maybe that was the moment he screamed, the moment that caught the witness’s attention. Lucian’s breathing slowed slightly as he ran through the sequence.”

  His mind continues to run like a machine.

  “Philip falls. His head slams against the floor. Dazed. Confused. But still alive. He tries to crawl away. And then, the killer strikes him again, finishes him.”

  It feels right. Except

  Lucian’s grip tightened on his flashlight.

  "But what about what happens after? That doesn’t explain the missing blood trail, or how the body was moved without visible drag marks. Without using some kind of tool doing that would be impossible in the time the witness call the police and till the time the police come”

  His pulse quickened with frustration. He still didn’t have enough information to make this make sense. Lucian sighed, straightening his posture. He was close. But something was still missing.

  Vincent stopped his search, turning back toward Jacob and Sheriff. His gaze was sharp, calculating, but not surprised.

  "Let’s head to the bedroom."

  Jacob gave a quick nod.

  "Understood. It’s only next door."

  With that, the group exited the bathroom. Sheriff and Jacob walked ahead, leading the way, while Vincent followed closely behind. But Lucian.

  He remained motionless, trapped in his thoughts. Vincent cast him a fleeting glance as he passed but said nothing. His expression was unreadable.

  He moved on, shifting his focus back to the case, leaving Lucian behind in silent contemplation. Jacob had already reached the bedroom door, pushing it open with practiced ease.

  "This is the bedroom. If there’s one thing I can say about this room—it holds plenty to discuss."

  Vincent’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

  "Oh? Please, tell me more."

  But Lucian didn’t move. His mind churned, tangled in unresolved thoughts.

  "There’s something I’m missing, something I can’t find in this house. But Vincent… He seems to know something I don’t. What is it?"

  His thoughts snapped back to an earlier conversation. Vincent’s words rang in his ears.

  "I’ve read about the cases you’ve worked on before…"

  And

  "A killer capable of cleaning blood and moving a body without visible tools? Does that ring any bells, Mister Lucian?"

  Lucian stiffened, then, it clicked.

  "A case from my past. Something my old self worked on. Something I don’t have."

  His breath hitched slightly.

  Then, a large hand waved in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

  "Detective, you alright?"

  Sheriff, his deep voice dragged Lucian back to reality, grounding him in the present, Lucian blinked, exhaling sharply.

  "Oh, yes."

  Sheriff studied him carefully, then sighed softly before offering a small smile.

  "That’s good to hear. You looked like you were deep in thought. Did you find something?"

  Lucian gave a slow nod.

  "You could say that."

  He gripped his flashlight tighter, then glanced up at Sheriff.

  "But… there’s something I want to ask you."

  Sheriff raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

  "Go ahead."

  Finally, Sheriff saw a glimpse of the detective he once knew, even if it was just a spark, a small flicker of Lucian’s former self, it was something. Sheriff still wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Maybe he would have to speak with Dr. Chen about Lucian when he had time. Lucian inhaled sharply, steadying his voice.

  "Can you tell me about any case I worked on before, one where the culprit could clean murder evidence without using visible tools?"

  Sheriff’s expression shifted, just barely. A subtle crease formed between his brows, this wasn’t a question Lucian would normally ask, not like this.Sheriff's mind flickered briefly to something impossible, something absurd.

  "Is the person standing before me… not really Lucian?"

  A fleeting thought, he pushed it aside.

  "What case are you referring to?" Sheriff finally responded, his tone measured. "Are you asking about the serial killer case, the one that’s been unsolved for over seven years? The mysterious deaths of high-ranking officials across the city? Or do you mean the death caused by The Embermark Syndicate?”

  Sheriff crossed his arms, his gaze steady.

  "There have been plenty of cases where the culprit was able to erase their tracks completely. In fact, that describes most of the cases you worked on."

  Lucian stiffened, most of the cases he worked on? Sheriff exhaled.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "That said, the case regarding The Embermark Syndicate"

  Sheriff’s voice dropped slightly, turning grim.

  "They are getting more and more active lately within the main district, if it keep going we may have a conflict that could scale across the city."

  Lucian’s pulse quickened, his thoughts scrambled, pulling at loose threads, trying to weave something coherent. Sheriff noticed the shift in his expression and chuckled softly.

  "Now, don’t look at me like that. It’s a good thing you asked. There’s still one last room to check. Maybe it’ll give you the answers you’ve been looking for."

  Lucian tightened his grip on his flashlight.

  "You’re right."

  He took a deep breath, letting the confusion settle for now, he had to focus.

  "Let’s go."

  Lucian and the Sheriff stepped into the bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of dust and faint traces of something burnt. Against the wall, a sturdy bed stood—its blankets soft but rumpled, as if disturbed in a hurry. The neatly arranged pillows provided an odd contrast to the mess. Adjacent to the bed, a window overlooked the outside world, its lock broken, curtains swaying gently in the evening breeze.

  Beside the bed, a bookshelf table stood packed with books. Some were stacked haphazardly, others carefully placed, their worn spines whispering stories of late-night reading. A small lamp rested on the surface, its glow now cold and absent. Across the room, an aged wardrobe loomed, its doors slightly ajar, revealing neatly hung clothes and personal keepsakes. Near the door was a somewhat wet towel on the flood.

  Inside, Vincent crouched by the bed, peering underneath with sharp focus. Sofia stood beside him, silent, her presence almost ghost-like. Near the door, Jacob observed Vincent’s work, arms crossed in quiet thought. Lucian approached Jacob, his voice low.

  “Alright, fill me in. What happened here before I came in?”

  Jacob nodded. “Before you and Vincent arrived, we checked the room. The bedsheets were messy, the window lock broken, someone forced it open. We also found ash under the bed. Looks like someone burned something and shoved it underneath. Vincent’s looking into it now.”

  Jacob cast a glance at Vincent, who had just finished examining the space under the bed. Vincent stood up, brushing dust off his coat, then moved toward the nearby table.

  Lucian processed the information. A new clue. But before piecing it all together, I need to make sure there’s nothing else I’ve overlooked. He turned back to Jacob.

  “Is anything missing from the house?” His tone was measured, searching.

  Jacob frowned, arms tightening across his chest. “That’s hard to say. But if I had to point something out…it’s the fuse box. Or rather, the complete lack of one.”

  Lucian narrowed his eyes. “A fuse box?”

  Jacob nodded. “Every house with electricity has some form of electrical distribution panel, a fuse box or a circuit breaker panel. When we checked the basement and tried switching on the lights, the switch was already up, but the bulbs didn’t turn on. Normally, a fuse box is located in the basement, a utility room, or a garage. This house doesn’t have a utility room or garage, and the fuse box? Nowhere to be found.”

  Lucian exhaled slowly, taking it in. He turned back toward the bed, eyes lingering on the pile of ash beneath.

  Someone burned something. Maybe that was their real goal, not just killing Philip, but destroying something important. A document? A book?

  He walked the room, his mind scanning each detail. The window lock, broken, he was not sure if it was from the outside or inside. Could it have been an escape route? Just outside the window was a tall tree.

  The bedsheets, messy, as though someone stood on them in a hurry before climbing out the window.

  He knelt, reaching under the bed. The ash sat undisturbed in the shadows. If it was a book, or papers, they’d turn to dust easily if burned. As Lucian's brain processes information, he stands up and walk back to Jacob.

  “Hey, is it normal for the fuse box to be in a separate room on its own?”

  Jacob nod “of course, that what i said earlier about utility room, but there is nowhere to found in the house”

  Vincent, meanwhile, pulled a coin from his pocket, flipping it into the air. It spun once before landing in his palm. He glanced at it briefly, then tucked it away with a small smirk.

  “Alright,” Vincent said. “I think I get what’s really going on.”

  Sheriff raised an eyebrow. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

  Vincent folded his arms, his confidence sharp. “In the bathroom, I found Philip’s work suit inside the dirty clothes basin. It was wet, he must have walked through the rain before coming home. But… unbeknownst to him, he was being followed. The culprit waited until Philip entered the house and went upstairs before slipping inside.”

  Lucian paused, considering Vincent’s words.

  Jacob frowned. “How did the culprit enter the house? And how did they know Philip wouldn’t still be downstairs when they came in?”

  Vincent smirked. “Common sense, officer. If Philip was soaking wet, the first thing he’d do after coming home? Take a shower. The culprit knew that, so they waited before entering. As for how they got inside? Simple. You said the door wasn’t locked when you arrived, right?”

  Jacob nodded. “Yeah, no damage, no sign of forced entry. Are you saying they picked the lock?”

  Vincent shook his head. “No need. They just walked in.”

  Jacob’s face tightened with doubt. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Think about it,” Vincent continued. “Heavy rain. Strong wind. Philip rushed inside, thinking only about getting dry. People forget things when they’re in a hurry, and locking the door was the last thing on his mind.”

  Sheriff leaned forward slightly. “Alright, let’s assume that’s true. How did the culprit know the door wouldn’t be locked?”

  Vincent’s smirk didn’t falter. “Because this was planned. They’d been watching Philip for a while. Waiting for the right moment. Let me finish explaining, you’ll see how everything ties together.”

  Sheriff nodded. “Go on.”

  Vincent continued, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Once inside, the culprit searched the house, looking for something, perhaps a piece of information that Philip had. They checked the kitchen, found nothing, then moved toward the basement door. Just as they opened it, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Philip was coming down, likely heading to the kitchen for food. The culprit had to act fast. They hid in the basement. As soon as Philip passed, they jumped out and struck.”

  Jacob nodded slowly. “Sounds plausible so far. So…what about the blood? How did they clean it?”

  Vincent’s expression darkened. “Isn’t it obvious? The ability to control blood. The power to control fire. Does that sound familiar?”

  Sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You’re saying…the culprit was one of Apocalypse’s followers?”

  “Apocalypse followers?” Lucian listen carefully, this could be one of the pieces of information he is missing to solve the case.

  “Exactly,” Vincent confirmed. “Think about it, being an Apocalypse followers not only gives them increased strength, but also power over blood and fire. Why did The Embermark Syndicate attack only the surveillance system in the distribution substation? To ensure there would be no security footage. That was step one. Step two was eliminating Philip. They chose a rainy day and in the time when most people would be locked in their homes. What were the odds of running into someone outside in District 19 at that time?”

  Jacob exhaled, gears turning in his head. “Makes sense. This wasn’t random, it was planned. But why Philip? Was he a threat to them? Philip worked under your father, didn’t he? Why would they target him?”

  Vincent’s expression shifted, irritation flickering across his features. He clearly didn’t enjoy discussing Sinclair. “Who knows. Maybe Philip uncovered something about the syndicate, something they didn’t want exposed. He wasn’t my employee, and I couldn’t care less about Sinclair’s plans. None of that is my concern.”

  Sheriff sighed. “Alright, we’ll move past that. Let’s get back to the crime scene. The culprit used blood manipulation to clean up the mess. Then moved the body to the stairs. Right?”

  Vincent nodded, though frustration lingered in his expression. “Then they went upstairs, likely found the information they were looking for and burned it to ash. Before they could clean up entirely, the police arrived. They shoved the remains under the bed, jumped on the bed, broke the window lock, and jumped out.”

  Sheriff folded his arms. “And that’s how it happened.”

  Vincent gave a small shrug. “Pretty much, what do you think, mister Lucian?”

  Lucian’s mind raced with analysis.

  “That sounds logical enough… but something’s missing. What is it?” he mused, his thoughts spiraling. In the silent tick of the moment, Vincent’s question faded into the background as Lucian’s inner deductions took over.

  “What if I reverse my approach?”

  he pondered. So many questions remained unanswered, the absence of a fuse box in the house, the eerie sound echoing from the basement. Vincent had provided all the clues; now, it was up to him to piece them together.

  “What if the culprit never realized that Philip left the door open? What if they assumed the front door was locked so where else could they have entered?” The answer came in a flash. The window.

  He analyzed further, his thoughts churning ruthlessly. Perhaps the window was broken from the outside, evidence that they entered through it, touching the bed sheet before moving down to the flood. And then, as Vincent mentioned, the culprit must have burned something, maybe a book, while ransacking the room. That would explain why Philip left the bathroom; if he’d finished his shower, he would have headed to the bedroom instead of down the stairs. The wet towel lying on the bedroom floor is proof of his hurried departure.

  Lucian’s mind pressed on, connecting each detail in a maddening sequence.

  “And what of that damp piece of sheet on the flood? It all ties back to the bathroom… Perhaps Philip carried it with him as he dried off. “

  His thoughts shimmered with grim clarity as he recalled the frantic chase

  “the culprit pursuing Philip down the stairs, stumbling and striking his head, yet relentlessly crawling toward the door.”

  Before Vincent could press him further, his stern voice echoing with command

  "Mister Lucian, I will ask you once again..."

  Lucian’s fixation drove him to bolt from the bedroom. His sudden flight startled Vincent, Jacob, and Sheriff, who called out,

  “Lucian, where are you going? Come back right away!”

  But his mind was already consumed by the unfolding nightmare.

  In his internal monologue, Lucian pieced together a final, horrifying sequence:

  “The culprit dashed down the stairs, delivering the finishing blow to Philip while a lone witness, peering through the first flood window, fled to call the police.”

  Driven by a spiraling urgency, Lucian grasped his flashlight and raced toward the basement door. His pulse thudded audibly in his ears as he mind continued to make theories.

  “The culprit’s blood-control ability had been used to clean the blood and shift the body, only to hear the approaching wail of police sirens. In a burst of panic, they had sprinted into the basement to hide.”

  With trembling determination, Lucian opened the basement door and descended the creaking stairs. He flicked on his flashlight, its narrow beam at the old wardrobe.

  “They must have found something here perhaps a room housing the fuse box. But why would they move the wardrobe to block the way?”

  The thought stung with the knowledge that being followers of the Apocalypse granted them unnatural strength.

  Every step toward the wardrobe felt like a journey into oblivion. His heart hammered as he anticipated an encounter with a killer. Then came the sound, a low, eerie chanting that slithered through the oppressive air. Lucian’s hand, slick with sweat, reached out to rest on the timeworn wood of the wardrobe. He paused, steadying himself for what he believed was merely a barricade waiting to be moved, after all this it the only way for Lucian to confirm if his deduction is true or not.

  Without warning, the wood exploded into splinters. Out of the shattered remains burst forth a monstrous beast. Lucian staggered backwards, his flashlight tumbling to the ground as he fell onto his butt. His eyes flew open in shock and horror. In the scant light, the creature loomed, a nightmarish vision emerging from the darkness.

  Its massive form, cloaked in dark red fur that bristled with an otherworldly energy, flickered like embers in a restless wind. Two enormous horns shot upward from its skull, jagged and scorched, pulsing with an infernal heat. Its eyes blazed like molten furnaces, casting frantic crimson rays over the damp walls. With a sudden parting of its lips, rows of dagger-like fangs were revealed, and hellfire roiled within its gaping maw, searing the very air with dread. Flames danced within its throat, their ghastly glow illuminating Lucian’s terror-stricken face as he lay paralyzed on the cold stone floor.

  The basement itself seemed to shrink into utter darkness, broken only by the beast’s hypnotic, burning eyes and its fiery breath, which sketched sinister, shifting patterns on the floor. The creature stood motionless, every muscle coiled in secret menace, its breath thick with embers and smoke, as if it were weighing the moment to strike or simply revel in watching its prey crumble in fear.

  A strangled sound escaped him “Ah-uhah…” His voice was a mere whisper, laden with horror, as his body trembled uncontrollably. He tried to scream, but the terror seized his tongue. Then, as if to deepen the nightmare, a man in a large coat, with his face obscured by a strange mark, stepped out from a small adjoining room.

  In a surge of panic so fierce it bordered on madness, Lucian spun around and fled, his weak, fractured cries of “Ah... aaa” dissolving into the din of the beast’s relentless snarl. He scrambled up the stairs, each step a desperate bid for escape. Yet the creature gained ground with unnerving speed, its presence was a suffocating shadow closing in. Too terrified to glance back, Lucian could feel its menace drawing nearer as he reached for the door ahead.

  At the moment his trembling hand grasped the handle, his vision was assaulted by the terrifying flash of long, sharp teeth. In that final heartbeat of clarity, Lucian realized with bone-chilling horror that his head was already ensnared in the beast’s grim, deathly grip. It was too late, escaping the basement would be futile, death was inevitable. With his mind collapsing into chaos, he closed his eyes and forced the door open, not out of a hope for survival, but because his mind could process nothing else in those final seconds.

  A bloodcurdling scream erupted: “AHHHHHH!!...AHHH!!” As the door burst open, Lucian tumbled to the ground, his head cradled in his shaking hands, his desperate cries echoing into the abyss. The resounding “AHHHHH!!!” faded into the darkness, a final plea swallowed by the relentless nightmare that now possessed him.

  The stark terror of the basement and the fury of the beast left no room for doubt, the darkness had claimed him, and all his frantic deductions had led him straight into unimaginable horror.

  Suddenly, a gentle hand brushed against Lucian’s arm. A soft, soothing voice whispered in his ear, “Honorable guest, are you alright?” Startled yet comforted, Lucian slowly opened his eyes, his body still unsteady and his face trembling with near tears. Before him stood a blond-haired woman, her presence radiating a quiet dignity and warmth.

  She wore an outfit that perfectly balanced Victorian elegance with an unmistakable air of authority. A high-collared white blouse, tailored to hug her form with graceful precision, boasted exquisite lace embroidery along its collar and cuffs. Its softly puffed sleeves tapered into gathered, ruffled cuffs that whispered of aristocratic refinement. Draped over her shoulders was a dark blue cape, its golden-edged trim exuding a regal charm as it fastened neatly at her neck and flowed gracefully down her back. Complementing the blouse was a structured black corset-style belt that cinched her waist with dramatic finesse, its delicate silver fastenings and intricate ornamental stitching accentuating the luxurious feel of her ensemble.

  Her long, dark blue skirt cascaded from the waist in pleated tiers, each edged with subtle lace trim and imbued with a gentle sheen that caught the light as she moved. Every detail, down to the voluminous ruffles that hinted at hidden depths, resonated with timeless sophistication. Her hair was elegantly styled in a neat updo, with every strand perfectly gathered into a structured bun, crowned by a small black lace headpiece adorned with fine embroidery. Completing her look were black gloves that extended just past her wrists, the smooth texture and meticulous stitchwork lending her an air of refined practicality.

  Lucian’s eyes widened in shock, his entire body still quivering as if he had been inches from death. “W-what?” he managed to stammer. The woman looked down at him with a soft, empathetic gaze and gently began to rub his back. “There, there, honorable guest—rest assured that as long as you reside inside this library, nothing can harm you,” she murmured soothingly. With deliberate care, she produced a handkerchief and tenderly wiped away the small tear that had betrayed his inner turmoil. The intimate gesture made Lucian blush slightly, prompting him to pull back and mumble, “I’m okay… I was just a little shocked by it all…”

  With a gentle nod, she inquired, “Can you stand?” Though his legs still trembled from his harrowing encounter, Lucian found the strength to reply, “Y-yes, yes I can.” A warm smile played upon her lips as she helped him to his feet.

  As Lucian’s eyes adjusted, he took in the strange, wondrous surroundings. Tables, chairs, and bookshelves filled the room, yet what captured his attention most was the sight of a bookshelf floating effortlessly, its tomes swirling in an unknown language that curved and eddied upward into a mesmerizing vortex at the top of the space. In awe, he managed to ask, “Where am I?”

  The woman released him and stepped back gracefully. With one hand pressed over her heart, she introduced herself, her voice calm and deliberate. “I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, honorable guest. My name is Elena, a servant of fate, and the head librarian of this library. I welcome you, my dearest guest, to the Library of Fate.”