The elevator doors shut behind them, sealing off the surveillance floor like the world's quietest vault. Ms. Vos walked fast—heels clicking with purpose—while Aldric followed, silent, mind spinning.
On the large monitor behind them, the image was still frozen:
Havelrath Cain standing at the window, watching them.
A man who was supposed to be a ghost.
A myth.
A phantom that even the LCO couldn't get a fingerprint from.
And somehow he followed Aldric here.
Ms. Vos didn't waste time. "We're not letting him slip."
Her ID card flashed red across a scanner, and the hidden stairwell door slid open.
Aldric descended beside her. "For someone who vanished for half a decade… he didn't look like he was hiding."
"He wasn't," Ms. Vos replied. "He wanted us to see him."
"Correction," Aldric said. "He wanted me to see him."
Her silence confirmed it.
They exited into the underground garage. Within seconds, the LCO's black unmarked sedan screeched out of the parking bay. Varron was already in the driver's seat, hands steady on the wheel, eyes cold.
"Location?" he asked Ms. Vos.
"The telecom building," she answered. "Top floor."
Varron slammed the accelerator.
The city blurred past—lights, traffic, people unaware that a silent war threaded beneath their feet. Aldric watched the streets through the window, every detail storing itself neatly inside his mind.
"He was standing still," Aldric murmured. "Arms behind his back. No tension in the shoulders."
"Meaning?" Varron asked.
"He wasn't running. He was waiting."
Ms. Vos shot Aldric a glance. "You think he expected us?"
Aldric gave a small, humorless smile. "If he followed me… he expected everything."
They reached the building in minutes.
Aldric didn't wait—he pushed the door open and headed straight inside. The lobby was normal: employees chatting, customers complaining at the counter, phones ringing.
Too normal.
Aldric pressed the elevator button. As it ascended, Ms. Vos folded her arms, watching him.
"You're calm," she said.
"If I panic," Aldric replied, "I'll miss details."
The doors opened on the top floor.
And the world changed.
The scent hit them first—iron and something sharp. Something final.
Two bodies lay on the floor.
Havelrath Cain
head blown open by a single bullet, gun still loosely gripped in his hand.
Beside him—
a woman slumped against the wall, stabbed once, clean through the heart. She wasn't LCO. Not an agent. Not surveillance.
A civilian.
But the precision told a different story:
She had seen something she was never meant to.
Aldric's jaw tightened.
Varron checked pulses—nothing. Ms. Vos scanned the area professionally, but Aldric walked straight to the desk beside the bodies.
A note lay there.
Neat. Clean. Cold.
"Don't think you can find me with your level of intelligence."
The handwriting was sharp, elegant.
Taunting.
Aimed at the LCO.
Ms. Vos exhaled slowly. "He killed himself before we got here. Why? To avoid interrogation?"
Aldric didn't answer. He was staring at the bottom of the page—where a second line was written.
Tiny. Almost invisible.
A different hand entirely.
Letters angled and ancient.
Old Norse.
So small only someone who knew what to look for could even notice it.
ᚠᛚᚨᛏᛁ ᚾᚨᛁᚱ…
Aldric's pulse sharpened—fast, focused. His eyes traced the strokes automatically, the translation forming instantly.
Ms. Vos stepped beside him. "What is that? Code?"
"No," Aldric said softly.
"It's a sentence," he continued.
"A very… old one."
"What does it say?" Ms. Vos asked.
Aldric lifted the note slightly, voice low and steady.
"Flatí nair… The corpse that breathes."
Ms. Vos blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"You—" she whispered. "You can read Old Norse?"
Aldric smiled faintly.
"Ms. Vos… I can read thirty-one thousand languages."
Her breath caught.