The dim light of Thomas’s room cast long shadows over scattered papers and a battered notebook. He sat quietly at a small desk, dressed in a sleeveless jacket that clung to his lean frame, and trousers loose enough to move in. The only sound was the steady scratch of his pen.

  At a glance, it might’ve looked like journaling. But the pages weren’t filled with feelings or memories—they were covered in sharp, clinical notes. Suspects. Timelines. Locations. Each detail meticulously written. At the top of the first page, a faint image: a ghostly outline of a face. It stared back at him like it refused to be forgotten.

  “Where are you...?” he muttered. His voice was barely a whisper, but the weight behind it pressed down on the room like fog. He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. His face remained unreadable—but inside, something twisted. This wasn’t just work. This was personal.

  Not far away, in another wing of HeCaTe’s labyrinthine halls, Ivan was knee-deep in a digital swamp of reports and surveillance files. The bluish glow of his holo-screen lit up his sharp features as he scrolled, his brow furrowed in thought.

  A sudden ping cut through the silence.

  A hologram shimmered to life on his door screen, displaying a familiar figure.

  “Hey, Ivan. Can I come in?” Thomas’s tone was flat, but something in his voice—subtle and tight—gave Ivan pause.

  “Yeah. Come in,” Ivan said, already knowing what this was about.

  The door slid open with a quiet hiss. Thomas stepped inside, posture stiff, expression unreadable as ever. But Ivan had known him long enough to see through that.

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  “Any leads yet?” Thomas asked. Straight to the point. As always.

  Ivan shook his head. “Nothing concrete.”

  Thomas nodded once, a gesture that almost looked like it didn’t matter. But it did. Ivan could tell by the way his shoulders held tension like a coiled spring.

  “Thanks,” Thomas muttered. No more words. Just a turn of the heel and the soft sound of footsteps fading out into the corridor.

  The door shut behind him. Ivan leaned back with a heavy sigh.

  The screen in front of him dimmed as his thoughts wandered—to the village. The one they couldn’t save. The mission that ended in smoke, fire, and silence.

  He opened the file again. Windmere.

  It shouldn’t have gone the way it did. But it had. And the criminal behind it... still out there. For fifty years. Untouched. Uncaught.

  Ivan clenched his jaw. HeCaTe might’ve been a fortress of knowledge and power, but its walls weren’t immune to ghosts.

  Outside, the sky opened up.

  Rain hammered the pavement in steady sheets, the kind that soaked through skin and bone. Lightning lit up the streets like veins across the sky.

  Thomas stood beneath it, umbrella in hand—but only for a moment. He let it drop with a flick, letting the rain drench him instead. It felt better that way. More honest.

  He could feel the storm. The hum in the air. The static just beneath his skin.

  Without warning, he moved.

  One blink and he was gone—just a streak, a whisper of motion against the downpour. Up walls, across rooftops. A blur slicing through the night.

  He reached a rooftop and stopped beneath a crooked iron rod stabbing at the sky. His hand reached up.

  Lightning answered.

  It struck with a force that could’ve killed him. Should’ve. But instead, it coursed through his body like a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Familiar. Alive.

  “I will definitely find you, Ari,” he whispered.

  His voice was nearly lost to the storm—but he didn’t care. It wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear.

  Back at HeCaTe, Ivan’s screen flashed again.

  New Mission: Unit 5.

  He skimmed the contents, shoulders tightening.

  "Let’s hope we get the information we need this time," he muttered under his breath.

  The rain hadn’t let up. But that didn’t slow Thomas down.

  Now walking through the gates of HeCaTe, his footsteps were steady.

  His resolve? Unshaken.