Vaelor and Truman arrived at Dr. Morris's clinic just as dusk bled into night. The street itself felt abandoned, as if even sound avoided the place.
Vaelor glanced at the door."It's locked."
The words echoed faintly in the stillness. As he stared at the metal knob, a thought surfaced in his mind If senior wasn't with me, I could've simply used my ability without restraint.
Truman exhaled softly, almost amused."Well, you forgot something," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Remember how we opened the door in the serial killer case?"
Vaelor said. "…Yeah."
Truman reached into a small leather pouch hanging at his waist. From it, he took out a thin pin, its surface dull but well-maintained. He stepped closer to the knob, movements precise and practiced, as if this wasn't his first time trespassing into forbidden places.
The pin slid in.
Minutes passed.
The corridor behind them felt longer with every second, as though something unseen was watching, counting their breaths. Then—
Click.The lock surrendered.
They pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The clinic was divided neatly there was
an office to one side, wards for patients extending deeper into the building. Yet the air was stale, heavy with an indescribable smell—something between medicine and decay.
"I'll check the wards," Truman said quietly. "You check the office."
They separated without another word.
Vaelor entered the office. A single table and chair sat in the center, illuminated faintly by the streetlight seeping through dusty windows. He went straight to the table drawers.
Inside were scattered papers, notes written in hurried handwriting, along with unfamiliar tablets and injections. Their labels meant nothing to him—chemical symbols, coded abbreviations, things clearly not meant for ordinary treatment.
Nothing immediately important.
Then his gaze shifted.A painting hung on the wall.
It depicted a woman walking toward a man, leaving another figure behind. The abandoned one stood shrouded in darkness, almost swallowed by shadows. The composition felt wrong—too intentional, too emotionally heavy for a simple decoration.
Vaelor frowned.What's the meaning of this…?
In the corner of the painting was a small autograph.Helen.
Vaelor's pupils shrank slightly.So it's him…
Then Morris is also connected to him. He studied the painting more closely, tracing the brushstrokes, the unnatural emphasis on shadow. Suddenly, something caught his eye.
There was a hole—right where the heart of the figure standing in darkness should have been.
But it wasn't painted.It was real.A keyhole.
His breath slowed.Vaelor instantly reached out and tried to pull the painting from the wall but it didn't budge. It wasn't hung like normal art. It was a door. A concealed locker, seamlessly fused with the wall.
Without hesitation, he whispered:"Sans estoppel~"
His head passed through the painting as if it were mist.
Behind it was darkness. A narrow hidden space. Dim light slipped through the heart-shaped hole, revealing what lay inside. There was a box placed carefully within
and beside it, bottles of chloroform.
The same kind.The same brand.The same as the ones they had found in the art museum basement.
And there—resting silently—was a pendant.
Vaelor didn't touch anything. Instinct screamed at him not to. He withdrew his head and canceled his ability, his heart pounding steadily but coldly.
He called out,"Senior—"
Before he could finish, Truman's voice came from the other side of the building."I found something. Dr. Morris's house it's here, on the left."
Vaelor moved quickly.The door was already open when he arrived.
He entered the living room look ordinary at first glance, but the air felt tense, disturbed. A staircase led upward. Truman was already there, in one of the rooms.
Inside—A man was tied with ropes, slumped in a chair. Truman was untying him, peeling the tape from his mouth.
It was Dr. Morris.Both of them recognized him immediately.
Truman spoke first, his voice firm and official."We're from Eagle Eye Special Investigation."
Vaelor stepped closer."Who did this to you?"
Dr. Morris swallowed hard, his hands trembling as circulation returned."Kite… Hetchman," he said hoarsely. "He went crazy."
His eyes were filled with panic, almost madness."When I was with Selena and he misunderstood. We were just… just starting to date. Only a few days ago."
His breathing quickened."I think he's going to kill Selena," he pleaded. "Please—help her, officer."
The man looked utterly helpless.
Vaelor's thoughts sank into a cold spiral. No… no, he can't be innocent. It was his locker—the locker where the chloroform had been hidden. Coincidence was a luxury this case could no longer afford. With a subtle gesture, he pulled Truman aside, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves were listening. "Isn't he hiding something from us?" Truman hesitated, then replied that Morris is a victim too.
Vaelor didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted back to Dr. Morris, bound to the chair, sweat glistening faintly on his temples. If he was truly kidnapped, Vaelor thought, why didn't the police find him the first time? The house was already searched. Every corner turned inside out. The contradiction gnawed at him like a slow poison. Truman seemed to reach the same conclusion, his expression darkening as the silence stretched.
Without warning, Truman stepped forward and asked directly, "Dr. Morris, before you were tied here… did Kite stop you from going anywhere?"
Morris frowned, eyes unfocused. "I… I don't really remember. He used chloroform—F."
Vaelor's pupils narrowed. He pulled Truman aside again, his tone sharp and controlled. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes," Truman said. "He doesn't remember anything."
"Then tell me," Vaelor whispered, "how does he know it was chloroform F?"
That detail struck Truman as well. The brand. The exact type. Worse still, it was the same company's chloroform they had recovered earlier. "But then… how did he tie himself? And how did he even know we were coming here, if this wasn't planned?"
Vaelor straightened. "That," he said quietly, "is what I'm about to ask him."
He turned back to Morris. "Dr. Morris, do you have the key to the locker in your office?"
Morris stiffened. "Is there… any reason?"
"The painting," Vaelor replied calmly. "The one by Helen."
"Helen?" Truman echoed, startled.
That name shouldn't have been there. Helen was not the artist who painted for Kite. Morris tried to speak, tried to wrap the mistake in hurried explanations, but the lie collapsed under its own weight. Vaelor's voice grew colder. "We know you're the culprit, Dr. Morris."
"Yes," Truman added, stepping forward. "We have proof."
Morris swallowed. "What proof?"
Truman's eyes were sharp. "How did you know it was chloroform F?"
"Because I'm a doctor," Morris snapped.
Vaelor didn't flinch. "Then why didn't you give it to us earlier?" A pause. "Because there was something in that locker you didn't want us to see."
After a long, suffocating silence, Morris finally handed over the key. Yet he quickly added, "I don't want to be present when you open it." Truman stayed with him outside the office, the corridor lights flickering faintly like a dying pulse.
Inside, Vaelor opened the locker. The stench of chemicals hit him first. A chloroform bottle sat neatly inside. Beside it's a white box, and a pendant. He opened the pendant. A photograph stared back at him. There was lady other than selena. Smiling softly, frozen in time. His fingers tightened. Then he opened the box and his breath caught.
Moments later, Vaelor stepped out, holding the box. Truman looked at him, unable to hide his curiosity. "What is it?"
Vaelor opened it. Inside lay a pink bra and panty.
Dr. Morris turned away in visible embarrassment. Truman let out a dry, incredulous laugh at Vaelor first. "What are you? A bra-collecting enthusiast? And the another one who keeps something like this locked away?" He looked straight at Morris.
Morris's voice dropped to a whisper. "It… it was a gift. For Selena."