The door of the interrogation room closed again behind Shade. The air inside was different from the previous confrontation. Shade didn't sit at the table. He stood, directly opposite Miroslav. The dust on his trench coat and the weariness on his face made him appear even more solemn.
Miroslav looked up. The scornful glint was gone from his eyes, replaced by a deep seriousness.
"The pawn was sacrificed, what does that mean?" Shade repeated. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
Miroslav nodded slightly, not in agreement, but in acceptance. "It had to be done. Those are the rules."
"What rules?" Shade's voice sharpened, cutting through the sterile air of the room. There were no more clever word games, no psychological traps. Just bare truth.
"The rules of this game, Detective. Not the one you're playing." Miroslav's voice was tired. "You chase evidence. They... chase power."
"Who are 'they'?" Shade took a step forward. "The Crimson Charter? Karlac Holding? Give me a name."
"Names are irrelevant. They are just clothes to be worn and discarded." Miroslav moved his cuffed hands slightly. "I was a garment, too. One that is no longer being worn."
Shade leaned forward, unable to stay still, bracing his palms on the cold metal. "Why did they kill Elena Varga?"
"She got too close." Miroslav's gaze drifted into the distance. "She had started to understand what her husband's 'business trips' really were. That Kardak's logistics company wasn't just about logistics..."
"What were they transporting?" Shade pressed, his voice rising. "Thiocurat? Something else?"
Miroslav took a deep breath. He seemed to be adjusting to Shade's new, impatient, direct manner. "Chemistry is everywhere, Detective. In medicine, in photo development... and in darker places. The formulas in the ledger aren't just equations. They are prototypes."
"Prototypes of what?"
"Mechanisms of control," Miroslav whispered. There was almost a regret in his voice. "Control of the mind, the body... Elena realized Mark's role was just a distribution network. But the real danger lies with those testing those control mechanisms."
Shade straightened up. Pieces were beginning to click into place in his mind. Poison... paralysis... control. This wasn't just a murder. It was the result of an experiment.
"Who is testing them?" he asked, his voice becoming controlled again. "Who has that kind of power?"
Miroslav finally looked Shade in the eye. For the first time, his gaze held a genuine warning.
"Don't look so high that you miss the void beneath your feet, Detective," he said. "In this city, who is the most invisible? Who can make every wall a door? Who could carry a ghost organization on their back for decades?"
Shade's face furrowed. His hands were clenched into fists. He was about to start questioning again when the interrogation room door burst open. Logan rushed in, his face pale and his manner urgent.
"Sir, you need to come!"
Shade threw one last meaningful look at Miroslav. The old man's words were now ringing in his ears. Without a word, he walked out.
In the corridor, the young agent was breathless. "Mark Varga... was found dead in his home. Drowned. It looks like a burglary, but..."
Shade's face, after a moment of shock, slowly became expressionless, icy. He turned his head and looked back at the now-closed interrogation room. "Keep him inside."
---
The front of Mark Varga's luxurious house was surrounded by flashing blue and red lights. Shade got out of his car, the cold night air hitting his face. Immediately after, a sleek black sedan pulled up and Harvenn got out. Her attire was as impeccable as ever, but her eyes held that sharp, focused expression.
"Shade," she said, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"Harvenn,"the detective reciprocated. "It's a surprise to see you here." There was a hint of surprise in his voice.
"This is no longer just a murder investigation," Harvenn said, stepping towards the house. "This is about tracking a poison circulating in our city's veins. And I am a part of this now."
As they entered, they were met by the flashes of the forensics team. Mark Varga was slumped in an armchair, his empty gaze fixed on the ceiling. The bruises on his neck bore the same terrifying symmetry as Elena's.
Logan and Chane were already inside. Logan was talking to a neighbor at the other end of the room, under Chane's silent authority.
"What do we know?" Shade asked the nearest forensics technician.
"Forced drowning. A professional job. Very little signs of struggle allowed. His wallet was rifled through, cash taken, but credit cards left behind." The technician pointed at Mark's neck with a gloved hand. "But look at this. The two thumbprints are very distinct. Someone very strong."
Harvenn paced the edge of the scene, taking in the details. "The burglary scene is a bit too classic, don't you think, Shade? As if someone wanted to say 'take me seriously,' but added, 'but not too much'."
Shade nodded in agreement. His eyes scanned the room. "The window," he murmured. "Could be a point of entry or exit."
Chane approached them quietly. "The neighbor reports seeing a 'well-kept, quiet' van on this street around the time of the incident. Doesn't remember the plate."
"A van," Harvenn repeated. "Reminds me of the unmarked van from the KempaTek warehouse."
Shade was crouched by the window, examining the sill. "Logan! Bring the light over here."
Logan brought the flashlight. Where Shade pointed, on the dusty windowsill, was the almost unsmudged, large and distinct tip of a footprint. It was the outer edge of a foot, as if someone had stepped carefully while approaching the window, but left the impression with the side of their foot on the way out.
"Size forty-eight, maybe fifty," Shade muttered. "The same person. The tall man from the photo. The man from KempaTek."
Harvenn crouched beside Shade, examining the print. "So confident, he didn't even bother to clean it. Or... he wanted to leave it."
Shade looked at Harvenn for a moment before signaling for an evidence bag. They were both thinking the same thing. This was a challenge.
"This print will lead us not just to a killer," Shade whispered, in a voice only Harvenn could hear, "but to everything behind him."
Harvenn stood up to respond, her voice now clear for all to hear. "Then let's not delay. Let's follow this trail."
Shade moved closer to the windowsill where the footprint was. In the flash of light, he noticed another detail emerging from the dust. Right next to the print was a small, dark, almost invisible stain.
"Look here," he called to the forensics technician. "Sample this stain. Could be oil or some other liquid. Maybe it leaked from his shoe."
Harvenn took a few steps toward the center of the room and looked back at Mark Varga's body. Her attention was caught by his left hand. It wasn't clenched like a fist, but the fingers were slightly curled, the palm facing down.
"Shade," she called, her voice sharp and thoughtful. "Look at his hand."
Shade came over. Harvenn gently lifted Mark's wrist with her gloved hand. Beneath it, almost lost against the dark color of the carpet, was a small, metallic glint. A small, flat key.
"It was in his palm at the moment of death or just before," the woman murmured. "His hand opened as he fell, and it dropped."
Logan approached. "What key is that? Doesn't look like a house key."
Chane joined them, silently examining the key. "A padlock key. Or for a storage unit."
As Shade watched them place the key into an evidence bag, connections were forming in his mind. "The KempaTek warehouse... The logistics company... This key might belong to another link in that chain."
Just then, a message came from Sierra. Shade took out his phone and showed the screen to Harvenn.
"Kardak Holding's logistics company, 'Nexus Logistics,' has several warehouses outside the city. One is only two kilometers from KempaTek's old warehouse. Sending the coordinates now."
Harvenn looked at Shade. The same determination was in both their eyes. They were no longer just following a trail. They were on the hunt.
"We're done here," Shade said, his voice tearing through the heavy air of the room. "Logan, Chane, stay until the crime scene investigation is complete. Bag every detail, every fiber, every speck of dust."
Harvenn straightened her jacket. "I'm coming with you, Shade. Let's see what door this key opens together."
Shade looked at her for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Harvenn wasn't just a bureaucrat. She was as sharp and effective in the field as she was in the office.
As they stepped outside into the cold night air, Shade looked back at the house's dim lights. Two people were dead. One, a silent execution; the other, an open warning. But both were leading them to the same place. Into the depths of a dark labyrinth. And this time, Shade was not alone.
---
As Shade and Harvenn moved silently towards the outskirts of the city, the car was filled with a tense silence. Shade gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes scanning the road. Harvenn was studying satellite images of the Nexus Logistics warehouses on her tablet.
"The coordinates came from Sierra," Harvenn said, her voice mixing with the car's grumbling engine. "Warehouse Number Two. Surrounded by high walls, a few smaller structures besides the main building. There should be security cameras, but Sierra couldn't detect an active signal on the network."
"Either they're cut, or they're powered from another source," Shade muttered. "The warehouse's security system going down at the same time as Mark Varga's death is no coincidence."
Half an hour later, the city lights were behind them, and they had entered the dim and shabby streets of the industrial zone. Warehouse No. 2 was as Sierra had described: high walls, barbed wire on top, and a rusty lock hanging on the gate. There were no lights around, only the feeble illumination from a distant street lamp.
They parked the car a block away from the warehouse, in a dark corner. Shade examined the lock on the gate with his flashlight.
"Padlock. The kind the key we found on Mark would fit."
Harvenn was observing the surroundings. "It's too quiet. Far too quiet."
Shade took the key from the evidence bag and approached the lock. With a soft click, the lock opened. They paused for a moment, listening for any sound from inside. There was only the hum of the wind.
They pushed the gate open. It was pitch black inside. The air was a mixture of dust, oil, and a sharp chemical smell. Shade turned on his flashlight, and the beam swept across a vast, seemingly empty space. The ceiling was high, and in one corner, the silhouette of a van loomed like a monstrous beast in the darkness.
"That's the van," the young woman whispered.
They slipped inside carefully. As Shade swept the flashlight around, Harvenn found the electrical box by the door. The main switch was off.
"Power's cut," she confirmed.
As they moved towards the van, Shade's foot stepped into a puddle of liquid on the floor. He pointed the flashlight down. The floor was covered with a dark, sticky fluid. Just like the one at Mark's house window.
"An oil leak," he said. "The same vehicle."
The van's rear doors weren't locked. Shade signaled Harvenn to stop, drew his gun, and pushed one door open with his free hand.
It was empty. But the floor was covered with a white, powdery substance. And on the walls, there were scratches, as if clawed by fingernails...
Shade took some of the powder with his finger, sniffed it, and quickly pulled his hand away.
"Thiocurat. In its pure form. They were transporting the poison in this vehicle."
Harvenn moved to the front of the van, to the driver's seat. She shone the flashlight through the window. The seat was pushed all the way back for a very tall driver. And on the steering wheel, there were areas marked for dusting, places where prints might remain despite gloves.
At that moment, Shade's flashlight caught a small door at the very back of the warehouse. It was different from the others; newer, more solid-looking. On it was a familiar symbol: two intertwined 'C's.
"Harvenn," Shade called, his voice tense with excitement. "Look."
As they moved towards it, the sense of reality intensified with every step. This wasn't a ghost organization. It was the heart of something very tangible, very dangerous. He could feel it. It wasn't right to proceed here, now, without backup. Yet, he couldn't curb his curiosity.
Shade calmly gripped the door handle. It wasn't locked.
Harvenn took up a position beside the detective, holding her gun. "Ready?"
Shade took a deep breath and opened the door. The door swung inward with a slight creak. The beam of Shade's flashlight stretched into the dark room.
It wasn't an office. It was a laboratory.
The walls were covered with whiteboards filled with complex chemical formulas and electrical circuit diagrams. Some of the formulas were identical to those in Miroslav's ledger. The tables were cluttered with interconnected test tubes, oscilloscopes, and computer screens. The screens were dark, but a laptop lying open on a table glowed faintly even in sleep mode.
But what truly caught Shade's attention was the thing in the middle of the room.
A rectangular, metal table... with leather straps. At the head of the table, a series of electrodes and an injection mechanism, connected by complex cables, hung suspended. Everything resembled a medical torture bench.
"My God," Harvenn whispered, her voice shaken by genuine shock for the first time. "This is... an experimentation room."
Shade's face turned to stone. As he moved the light over the table, he saw a dried, dark brown stain on one of the straps. A bloodstain.
"Disgusting. Too disgusting." The female detective couldn't help but grimace.
Harvenn moved towards the trash can next to the table. It was filled with empty Thiocurat ampoules, along with a series of torn photographs and notes. She reached in and pulled out a few pieces.
"Shade, look at these."
The photographs were of different people—men, women. All of them had dates written on them in red pen. And each date matched one of the dates in Miroslav's ledger.
"A list of victims," Shade whispered. "Or... test subjects."
At that moment, on one of the torn notes in Harvenn's hand, a name typed out by a typewriter stood out: "Dr. A. Kael."
"Who is that?" Shade asked.
"I don't know," Harvenn replied, examining the note more carefully. "But this name doesn't appear in the official records of Karlac Holding's scientific advisory board. He works in the shadows."
Shade headed towards the laptop in sleep mode. He touched the touchpad, and the screen lit up. It asked for a password. But a note was stuck to the bottom of the screen, as if scribbled in haste: "Q: Nightowl"
Shade gave Harvenn a meaningful look. Was this a hint for the password, or a trap?
Harvenn pointed to the filing cabinet on the other side of the room. "Let's search there. Maybe there's more."
As Shade moved towards the cabinet, Harvenn found a folded piece of paper that had come out of the printer next to the laptop. She unfolded it.
It was a shipping manifest. It bore the heading "Sender: Nexus Logistics - Recipient: 'Nightowl'". In the section for the cargo's content, only one word was written: "Cleaning."
Shade opened the filing cabinet drawer. It wasn't empty. A single, thick file lay inside. On it was a title:
"PROJECT: ARCHITECT"
He opened the file. The first page was a photograph of a series of high-ranking military and industrial representatives shaking hands. In the background, the symbol of two intertwined C's was hanging.
Shade turned the page. The next page was a personnel file. On it was a name and a photograph...
Shade's breath caught. He recognized the face in the photo.
Harvenn, seeing his stunned expression, came to his side. "What is it? Who is it?"
Shade turned the file towards Harvenn. The photo showed a young, determined-looking man. He was in uniform. But it wasn the pipe-smoking, trench-coat-wearing, weary detective Shade knew.
The person in the photo was himself, years ago.
On the file, stamped in red, it said:
"Candidate: Detective Silas Shade - STATUS: ACTIVE SURVEILLANCE"