The air in the precinct felt heavier that afternoon—like the remnants of a storm clinging to the windows long after the skies cleared.
Alina stood at the head of the conference table, brows furrowed, her voice sharp yet calm. "What do you know about Lucent Gate, Leif?"
Leif glanced up from the stack of documents, his fingers still gripping a page mid-turn. Eldric sat beside him, eyes unreadable.
"We don't have much," Leif replied, adjusting his glasses, voice lower than usual. "It's private. Exclusive. Only the wealthy and powerful make it through those doors. Even their staff won't talk—tight-lipped. And from what I've heard… people vanish in there. The kind of place where no one asks questions. The kind of place that's untouchable."
Eldric let out a breath that sounded almost like a growl. "Then infiltrating it will be nearly impossible."
"Exactly," Leif murmured.
Alina said nothing. Her gaze dropped to the table, yet her mind spun in a hundred directions. This case keeps slipping further out of reach. Every time we get closer, someone tightens the leash.
A knock sliced through the silence. The door creaked open.
"Detective Russel?" she asked.
The young man stepped in, slightly out of breath. "Superintendent's looking for you, Ma'am."
The office of Superintendent Gareth Hensley was clinical in its emptiness—no awards, no family photos. Just a desk, papers, and a wall of closed blinds.
"We're still investigating Lucent Gate, sir," Alina reported.
Hensley regarded her with eyes that had seen too much. "You'll stop now."
"What?"
"Orders from above. Drop the poison connection. The club is off-limits. Focus on the serial killings. Nothing more."
"But... Sir!"
"I know it's not what you wanted," Hensley's tone lowered, almost fatherly. "Another team will take over. But Alina…"
His voice hardened. "Tread carefully. Your job depends on it. Your life might too."
She left the room with her jaw tight and eyes burning—not with tears, but fury. We've come too far to let go now.
Back in the meeting room, she closed the blinds, locked the door.
"Change of plans. Officially, we drop the Lucent Gate case. Unofficially…" She looked at them both. "We pursue it in silence. Do you have the files with you, Eldric?"
Eldric leaned back in his chair. "Got it. My files are at home. We'll meet there tonight."
The door opened with a quiet creak.
Alina stepped into the modest home and was struck by the sterility of it. The floors were spotless, walls bare save for a clock ticking faintly. No clutter. No warmth. Efficient. Like him.
Leif followed behind, setting his bag by the door, his eyes scanning the space. No family photos. No signs of personality. Just... function.
In the center of the room, a single table. On it—a box. Yellowed documents, photographs curled at the edges, and faded police tags.
"These are what you need," Eldric began, his voice measured.
They sat. Alina opened a folder, her fingers brushing against a timeworn image. She didn't say it aloud, but the photograph unsettled her—a familiar face.
"How did you find the connection to the fire?" she asked, finally.
Eldric paused. His hand hovered above a file for a second too long before picking it up. That hesitation… is he remembering something? Or choosing what not to say?
"The fire was infamous," he said slowly. "But the case was closed prematurely. Then, a year later, a storm wrecked the storage archive—leaks, mold, water damage. Most of the evidence for the case was destroyed. Some fragments survived, but not enough to pursue anything."
Leif swallowed. "Convenient."
"I revisited the families," Eldric continued. "Those of the two victims we identified. One orphaned. Another lost a brother. Back then, they were too shaken to speak. But now… something's changed."
Alina shifted in her seat. "And what did they tell you?"
"Their loved ones worked for the company that owned the building. But their names—gone. No trace in the company database. No records in our evidence room."
Leif leaned forward. "So the company scrubbed them out?"
"I tried reaching out," Eldric replied. "They told me everything was destroyed in the fire."
"And which company is this?" Alina asked.
"Llék Laboratories. Formerly Louzoù Laboratory. After the tragedy, they rebranded, burying their legacy"
Leif sat back, stunned. "Wait—that's under Galloud Corporation, right? One of the big three?"
"Yes." Eldric's eyes flicked downward. He pushed a document toward them but didn't meet their gaze. Was that guilt… or fear?
Alina studied the logo stamped on the letterhead. Her throat tightened. How deep does this go?
"I still don't understand," she said. "Why now? Why are these families being killed fifteen years later?"
"Revenge?" Leif suggested.
"But revenge needs a reason," she muttered. "If it was an accident, why target them? Unless... "
Eldric's jaw flexed. "It's complicated."
The room fell quiet.
Leif reached for another photo. A burned ID badge.
Alina sifted through the documents, her eyes lingering on a line of names and lab results. Her fingers froze.
Eldric leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, his gaze distant. A pulse throbbed in his temple. For a moment, his eyes closed—and something flashed. Pain? Memory?
None of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
Something old had just woken up.
And it would not rest again.