Simon was about to ring the doorbell when Julian stopped him, whispering in a low voice, "You aren't thinking of just busting in like that, are you?"
Simon clearly understood what Julian was trying to convey. Although the High Table controlled everything, not everyone knew of its existence, much less small workers like him or Julian.
They obviously couldn't just barge in here like any other place.
After thinking for a bit, Simon replied, "Fake detectives?"
Julian responded with a half-hearted smile, "That's the fastest and easiest way possible."
Simon quickly examined his attire—the same black and white formal clothes. Looking at Julian, he thought that wouldn't be an issue.
Finally, he rang the doorbell, but there was no reply.
"Nobody's home, I guess," Julian remarked.
Simon wanted to believe that too, but he rang the bell again two more times and waited patiently for a few minutes.
Minutes passed slowly, like a snail.
Julian had already given up on the possibility of anyone being inside the house, and Simon was about to as well. If they didn't find anything here, then they'd have to check out the office where the man worked.
Seeing Simon turn around to leave, Julian reached out and rang the doorbell very hard, testing their luck.
"Who is it, damn it! Can't even watch my favorite show properly," came a reply with light footsteps approaching.
Hearing the homeowner's voice, Simon stopped himself from leaving and wondered why the owner hadn't answered when he rang the bell earlier.
He guessed it didn't matter.
Both Julian and Simon waited patiently, now that they knew someone was inside. Seconds later, the footsteps reached the door, and with a light creak, it opened slightly.
"Who are you?" a woman asked, peeking through the partially open door. "If you're looking for my husband, he isn't here."
"Well, Madam, I am Julian," said Julian, taking out a black card with his details on it, "and I work for the government's personal affairs branch. This is my senior… uh… Simon. We received some reports pointing towards your husband, and we know he wasn't going to be here. Our main objective was to meet with you, Mrs. Roan. I hope you'll pardon our intrusion."
Mrs. Roan remained behind the door. Upon hearing who these two men were and why they were there, she tensed slightly for a second.
She tried to recall if her husband had done anything suspicious or wrong recently.
"Madam?" Julian hadn't expected her to go silent like this. "Guess my acting is too good."
"Mrs. Roan? You don't need to be tense. This is just a formal procedure. Mr. Roan hasn't committed any crimes," Julian assured her, but—
"No, no, I don't know anything," Mrs. Roan said, trembling internally, quickly trying to shut the door. "Please, gentlemen, come back later when my husband returns."
"Well… we can't leave empty-handed, can we, Senior?" Julian responded, stopping the door from closing with his foot.
"You're trespassing on my property, damn it! I'll call the cops on you!" Mrs. Roan's overthinking got the better of her, as she didn't know what she was doing or what she would do.
"You sure, Ma'am? That'll make the work easier for us. And cops are a bunch of losers anyway, that's why we are—" Julian stopped midway as Simon tapped his back, reminding him that they didn't have much time to waste.
Julian clearly understood, but the woman in front of him didn't. "Ma'am, just listen carefully, okay?"
Julian was trying his best to calm her down. "Just breathe for a second and relax your mind. We don't have much time." Julian waited a second and continued.
"We are from the government's personal affairs, not the police, CIA, FBI, or anything like that. We're not here because of some criminal case, alright? The data we received didn't match perfectly, so higher-ups sent us to check on it. That's all."
Julian breathed out slightly as he waited for a positive response.
"Also, I forgot to mention that if the response is good, there will be a good reward. How much was it, Senior?"
"Ten thousand."
"Did you hear that?" Julian asked, still observing her.
Personal affairs, her husband? She had seen her husband acting weird for the last two weeks, but three days ago, when he left for a business trip, he was in very good condition—totally normal. She recalled this perfectly, but... what was troubling her?
Mrs. Roan contemplated her thoughts for a minute while observing the man in front of her, and she also couldn't get a good look at the person standing behind.
"Alright, but only for a few minutes—that's all I can spare. I have to go somewhere else."
Julian felt a little relieved and nodded slightly.
"Also, show me your card again. I didn't get a good look at it."
"Yes, yes, ma'am," Julian said quickly, taking out a black card and handing it to Mrs. Roan.
Mrs. Roan cast a brief glance at Julian before taking the card. Her eyes narrowed as she studied it closely.
The card was unlike anything she'd seen—matte black, sleek, and cold to the touch, with delicate white circuitry patterns etched across its surface like a map of some hidden system. Subtle red highlights pulsed faintly along the edges, giving it a strangely clinical yet ominous look. It wasn't just a card; it felt like a statement.
In the upper corner, a strange symbol caught her eye—𒄞𒋗 𒉆—ancient-looking characters paired with a minimalistic pyramid emblem. Opposite that, the card displayed a block of information:
NAME – Julian Frost
AGE – ???
BRANCH – Support
SEAT – Low
SCORE – 83%
Beneath it all sat a QR code, unassuming yet unmistakably important.
Mrs. Roan ran her fingers across the surface, noting how the information shimmered slightly, not quite static. The details weren't printed; they were alive, digital, mutable. With the right access, this card could say anything—or nothing at all.
"It really looks high-tech."
She looked up at him again, brow raised.
"What kind of business card is this?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Julian gave a faint smile, offering no answers.
She handed the card back and asked, "What about him? Your senior?"
"Oh." Julian moved aside a little, and Mrs. Roan finally caught sight of Simon.
"Young, handsome—
"Here," Simon said, taking out his card and handing it to Mrs. Roan.
And polite.
She was startled for a second after looking at Simon.
"No, no need to. I finally understand who you gentlemen are."
"Thank you very much for understanding, ma'am. Also, if you are generous enough, can we talk inside?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Why not?" Mrs. Roan replied, slowly opening the door, but something clicked in her mind, and she stopped.
Both Julian and Simon noticed that she was acting nervous again.
"Can you gentlemen wait for a minute? I'll be back in two minutes," she said, slamming the door shut.
"What do you think?" Julian asked casually, since they had to wait there anyway.
"What do I think?" Simon mumbled slightly to himself.
She looked nervous... kind of off. At first, he thought maybe she was hiding something.
I mean, people usually are, in one way or another. But then he saw her eyes. That wasn't the look of someone keeping a secret; it was more like... she didn't know everything herself.
Like she was trying to figure it out, too.
"We'll know when we get there," Simon's response was casual, but Julian saw the layer of uncertainty under those words.
"Sorry for the wait; please come in."
Mrs. Roan quickly came back and opened the door wide. The nervousness from before had vanished from her eyes.
"Pardon our intrusion, then," Julian remarked slightly and stepped inside, followed by Simon.
The house wasn't anything extravagant—just polished wooden floors, a clean hallway, and the faint trace of tea leaves drifting in the air. Their shoes tapped softly as they crossed the hallway.
Julian and Simon followed Mrs. Roan's lead, not speaking, just observing things.
Framed photographs from seaside vacations. A canvas painting hung just off-center on the wall. Julian remembered that even after five years of marriage, the Roans had no children.
But that thought wasn't his to keep. He was only here to hunt for the piece—hoping it was hidden somewhere inside these walls.
Nobody spoke, just observed. It wasn't their home, and the silence carried a quiet formality.
They moved into the parlor, where the atmosphere seemed to ease, if only slightly. The room was modest: a sofa pressed against one wall, two chairs by the window, and a small table that looked well-used.
Mrs. Roan, with a slight smile on her lips, gestured for them to find a comfortable seat.
Simon sat down cautiously, brushing at the armrest as though testing the place before finally leaning back. Julian lingered at the threshold, eyes wandering across the room before settling on the sofa's edge.
Mrs. Roan made herself comfortable right away, dropping onto the sofa with a half-smile, legs crossed as though trying to puncture the stiffness of the moment.
"Anything you guys want? Water, tea… wine?" Mrs. Roan asked, trying to be casual.
"No, we're fine. We don't want to waste your time," Julian replied quickly.
"Oh, don't need to be so formal," Mrs. Roan responded, shrugging.
"We are here for work, after all," Julian said with a bitter smile.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Start your questions before I get bored."