A faint glow from the oil lamp danced in the darkness, casting Edward's elongated shadow across the wall of his office until it nearly vanished in the gloom. He sat listening to Charles's report with a thoughtful expression, his keen gaze fixed on the old map spread out on the desk.
"The sulfur mine to the north…" Edward repeated slowly, his deep voice echoing in the hush of the room. "It does sound like the perfect place to hide a secret laboratory."
"That's why I'm requesting permission to leave the city to investigate," Charles said. "And I'd like someone to accompany me. I think it's too risky to go alone."
Edward stroked his chin, studying the young detective. The flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes. "I can grant you authorization to leave the city," he replied with a soft sigh, "but as for providing additional manpower, I'm afraid that's out of the question."
He paused, gazing out the tall window at the night sky, where dark clouds hung low. "All of our forces have already been deployed to investigate the incident at the Darcy mansion," he explained.
Charles felt a twinge of disappointment, though he had anticipated such a response. Still, he refused to give in so easily. "What if I ask for help from the Suppression Division or the Arcane Science Division?" he suggested.
"That might be possible," Edward said with a slow nod. "Tomorrow, I'll submit a request."
"Can't you do it now?" Charles's urgency was clear in his voice. "I plan to leave tonight."
Edward shook his head. "At this hour, everyone's gone home. The officials who handle the paperwork aren't here. Wait until tomorrow. It's already late, and pushing yourself too hard will only reduce your effectiveness."
"I can't," Charles insisted. "Roland, our key witness, is already dead. If we don't move quickly, all the evidence might be destroyed."
Silence enveloped the room. Only the sound of wind passing by the window and the flickering flames broke the stillness. Edward weighed the young member's words. Though Charles had only joined the unit less than a month ago—and was still quite new to the world of the supernatural—his experience as a detective was extensive, and his reasoning made sense.
"So, what do you intend to do?" Edward asked in a low voice, his sharp eyes studying Charles's face.
"There's no other choice," Charles answered firmly. "I'll have to go there alone."
The lantern's flame quivered in a gust of wind, making their shadows dance along the walls.
"In that case…" Edward drew out a piece of parchment and dipped a quill in ink. The dim light posed no hindrance to his writing; his hand was steady, without a hint of hesitation. "I'll approve your request to leave the city myself."
The gentle scrape of quill on paper broke the silence, followed by the soft thud of a seal being pressed onto the document. Then Edward handed it to Charles.
Taking the parchment, the young detective immediately noticed something odd. The seal on the paper wasn't the emblem of the Department of Supernatural Suppression and Defense but belonged instead to the City Guard Department. Questions stirred in his mind, but before he could voice them, Edward spoke.
"Our division operates in secrecy," Edward explained before Charles could ask. "So for general permits, we have to use the stamp of a different department. Don't worry—no one will arrest you for carrying forged documents."
Charles nodded. "Then I'll take my leave."
Edward gave a slight nod in return, watching the detective's figure disappear through the doorway. The echo of footsteps gradually faded into the darkness, leaving only silence and the unsteady glow of firelight in the late-night office.
Charles walked down the dim hallway, where only widely spaced oil lamps provided intermittent points of light. His shadow stretched and twisted across the floor. An oppressive stillness filled the corridors.
A chill wind blew in through an open window, bringing with it the damp scent of the season. Charles paused beside the window, gazing out into the night sky, where thick black clouds drifted overhead. The once-bright moon was reduced to a faint glow, allowing darkness to creep into every corner of the city.
His hand brushed against the permit in his coat pocket.
'I need to prepare my gear quickly…' he thought, hurrying down the old wooden stairs. 'I only hope it doesn't rain along the way.'
Outside the office building, the gusting night wind caused the street lanterns to flicker, casting bizarre, wavering shadows across the cobblestone road. The sharp clop of hooves echoed in the silence as he urged his division-issued horse onward toward his lodgings, thoughts turning over what he would need for the journey.
Though he was already armed—he still had Humphrey's confiscated pistol and that strange handkerchief—he knew a longer trip required more than that.
In the distance, thunder rumbled like some omen from the heavens. Cold air whipped past his face and neck, prompting him to pull his coat tighter. Dark clouds gathered ominously, hiding the moonlight almost completely, leaving only the shadows that seemed ready to devour everything in sight.
When he arrived at his lodging, Charles's room was steeped in near darkness, with just a single lantern providing a faint glow.
He set the lantern on his desk, then took out the old leather satchel he had used on many previous cases. The musty scent of the worn leather mixed with the damp odor of approaching rain. Carefully, he began packing.
He set aside two changes of clothes, one rainproof cloak, a long coil of rope, a spyglass, and a newly refilled waterskin. Each item went neatly into the bag.
On his desk lay Humphrey's confiscated firearm alongside the handkerchief. The lantern's glow glinted against the polished wood and metal.
Pulling open a drawer, Charles reached inside. The faint scrape of wood was the only sound in the quiet room. From it, he took a small leather pouch containing silver coins; they jingled softly. He left behind any paper money, knowing how easily rain could ruin it. Then, he placed a small dagger and a compass into the satchel as well.
Thunder rumbled again in the distance, louder this time, causing Charles to pause. It reverberated like a warning from the skies. His hand brushed the pistol's handle on the table. A memory of Humphrey flashed through his mind: the old man who had borne a seven-year burden of guilt, that remorse eating away at him until he nearly took his own life.
A breeze drifted through the open window, making the lantern flame flutter and carrying the scent of imminent rainfall into the room. Charles picked up the compass, turning it over in his hand. The black needle pointed steadfastly north—toward the sulfur mine, and toward the hidden truth lurking there.
He hoisted the satchel onto his shoulder, slipped both weapons into his coat pocket, then snuffed out the lantern before stepping out. Darkness swallowed the room once more behind him.
Midnight cloaked the northern checkpoint in shadow, with only the lanterns at the guard post providing a small pool of light, illuminating the thin drizzle that had begun to fall. The rhythmic pounding of his horse's hooves echoed intermittently with distant thunder.
"Halt!" An officer's firm voice cut through the night as he raised a hand. "Get down from the horse."
Charles complied without protest. He understood that leaving the city in the dead of night would entail strict scrutiny, but he was well prepared. Reaching into his coat, he produced the document Edward had given him.
"What business do you have leaving the city so late?" the officer demanded, eyeing him suspiciously while taking the parchment. By the glow of the lantern, the City Guard Department seal was perfectly visible.
The officer's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the special permit. His demeanor shifted at once; he no longer dared interrogate Charles too closely, aware that anyone carrying such authorization was on vital business.
"You may pass," he said, returning the parchment respectfully, then gestured to the dark road stretching beyond the gate.
Charles tucked the document away, deftly swung himself back onto his horse, and took up the reins. Leaning forward, he urged the horse on. The sharp clatter of its hooves resonated off the high stone walls, echoing into the empty night.
A cold night wind blew harder, bringing with it the damp scent of rain and earth. Heavy clouds crept slowly across the sky, smothering the moon's light until only a dim glow leaked through narrow gaps. The lantern on his saddle cast only a small pool of brightness, revealing the path ahead in short segments. On either side, open fields gave way to tall, looming trees, their branches clicking in the wind like the mournful wails of trapped spirits.
…
By early morning's dim light, in a cramped meeting room, the sound of fierce debate filled the air. Tension hung heavy, like a shroud over those assembled around the old wooden table. Everyone in the Special Investigation unit looked haggard and on edge, their eyes exhausted from working ceaselessly on the Darcy mansion case, which still had no leads.
"Let's have the people who came into contact with that black fluid track down the parasite," Andrew Hope proposed.
Joseph sprang to his feet. His face contorted in anger and alarm. "No! That's far too dangerous," he objected, voice intense. "From what Charles uncovered, anyone exposed to that substance could end up as either prey or a carrier. If something goes wrong…"
"But we don't have any other options!" Andrew shot back, also standing abruptly. "We've got no leads, and whoever's behind this is still out there somewhere. We can't just let them continue their work!"
"That doesn't justify risking innocent lives!" Joseph snapped. "There must be another way…there has to be."
"What way?" Andrew demanded. "Tell me—if you have a better plan, let's hear it."
"Right now…right now, I don't know. But give me a little more time. We'll figure something else out…"
"Time for what?!" Andrew's shout echoed through the meeting room. "The criminal is still out there, and we have no idea what they're planning next! Even if I wasn't at that party that night," he lowered his voice, "you were there. You saw what happened with your own eyes."
Silence descended on the room for a moment. Joseph stood there, memories of that harrowing night rushing back: the screams of relatives and friends, splashes of the black fluid claiming its victims, and the terror in people's eyes.
Their shadows stretched across the floor in the morning light, intermingling in a strange shape—like a conflict between righteousness and necessity in some hidden realm.
"Both of you, stop arguing," Amelia Hartley interjected, breaking up their confrontation before it could worsen.
"What if we use death-row inmates?" Sebastian Morrow's low voice cut through the uneasy quiet. Everyone turned toward him. "Instead of innocent people…have those prisoners be of some final use before they die."
Joseph stood speechless, inner turmoil laid bare on his face. The shadows slanting in from the window highlighted each anxious line.
"Well?" Sebastian turned to Edward, seated quietly at the head of the table. "What do you think, Captain?"
Again, silence overtook them, broken only by the steady ticking of the large clock in the corner. All eyes rested on Edward, awaiting his verdict as though it were an edict that would seal someone's fate.
"If no one objects…" Edward said at last, his voice unwavering, "we'll proceed with the plan. Find a death-row inmate and put it into action."
That pronouncement weighed heavily in the air. Though it was a solution everyone could agree on, there was no escaping the grim price that came with it—another life to be sacrificed, even if that person might deserve no mercy.