"You are saved."
The man's voice was a low, resonant note, perfectly calm. With a slight flick of his wrist, a small white rectangle cartwheeled through the air, clicking against the floor near Elias's feet.
"My name is Victor Hensley, the constable investigating your case. The kidnapper has been taken care of."
At those words, the crushing fear that had gripped Elias since waking finally loosened. The tension in his new shoulders faded, replaced by a wave of shaky relief. He reached down to pick up the card. It bore the heavy insignia of the Empire.
Below the emblem were crisp lines of text:
Victor Hensley.
Rank: Senior Inspector.
Posting: Braston.
A thin sheen of sweat formed on Elias's brow. The relief was short-lived, chased away by a sharp, cynical instinct. He'd read enough to know that rescues like this never went smoothly.
Am I really saved? The thought echoed, cold and doubtful.
He couldn't let his guard down. Even if he lacked the strength to fight, he needed leverage. More men entered the room, all clad in the same dark, sharp uniforms as Hensley. Only then did Elias allow himself a slow, measured breath. He was out of the cell, but he wasn't yet free.
---
Later, Elias sat in an interrogation room that smelled of stale tobacco and ozone. A single bulb hummed overhead, casting a harsh, pale light on the peeling walls. Across the table sat an officer whose posture was as stiff as his unreadable expression.
The officer adjusted his collar. "So, you're saying you don't remember anything from the past few weeks? You never once saw the kidnapper's face?"
Elias—now Reinliar—nodded, keeping his voice carefully level. "That's right."
Inside, his mind was a whirlwind. Why the interrogation? I'm the victim. Shouldn't there be a doctor? Anything other than these cold questions?
He forced a faint, trembling smile. "Officer, could you please contact my family? Or am I still needed for the investigation?" He hesitated, then lowered his voice. "And… who was he? The kidnapper?"
The officer studied him for a long second before answering. His gaze flicked up, eyes hard and clinical. "The kidnapper hasn't been identified. He committed suicide before we were able to catch him. He used a volatile chemical. His face was destroyed beyond recognition. We have no way to confirm his identity yet."
Elias stared, stunned. Suicide?
The word felt wrong. Someone capable of hiding a kidnapping for months in the heart of a city wasn't a coward who panicked at the sound of a door being kicked in. That kind of man didn't vanish into a cloud of chemicals—unless he was erasing a trail.
"Can I see the body?" Elias asked quietly.
"That won't be possible," the officer replied. "The remains have already been transferred for specialized inspection."
"I see." Elias leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Then… tell me where you found me."
A flicker of hesitation crossed the officer's face—a momentary break in his professional mask. "On the outskirts of Braston. An abandoned mill. You were being kept in a sealed chamber, one clearly designed for observation from the outside."
Observation.
Like a specimen in a jar
The officer closed the file with a sharp snap. He rose, straightening his cap. "That will be all for tonight, Mr. Reinliar. You'll need to sign a formal statement later. For now, you should rest. You've been through an ordeal."
He gestured to the door as a younger man entered. The newcomer was tall and clean-shaven, his uniform immaculate. Yet there was a profound tiredness in his eyes—the look of a man who had seen too much and slept too little.
"Sergeant Hale," the senior officer said, "escort Mr. Reinliar back to his residence. Ensure his family receives him."
---
The air outside the station was cold. As they stepped onto the street, Elias spotted a figure leaning against the stone wall near the entrance.
Victor Hensley.
The constable didn't speak. He simply watched Elias before pushing off the wall and disappearing back into the station's shadows. Elias kept his head down and followed Hale into the night.
They walked in silence through narrow streets lined with weathered row houses. A stray dog darted across their path, vanishing into an alley. Eventually, they stopped before a two-story house at the end of a quiet lane. The paint was peeling, the exterior dark. A single, weak lantern hung by the door, but every window was pitch black.
Elias paused at the gate, a sudden weight settling in his chest. Hale stood behind him, scanning the empty road.
"Go on," the sergeant said. "Your family is waiting."
Elias had fragments of Reinliar's memories—enough to know these people mattered—but not enough to know how to face them. He didn't know how a son was supposed to act. Worse, he didn't know if they would see through him. If they would realize he wasn't really their quiet, shy boy, but something else wearing his skin.
Hale's gaze pressed into his back. Elias had no choice.
He stepped onto the porch and knocked.
The instant his knuckles struck the wood, a cold ripple ran through him. The fine hairs along his arms and neck stood up all at once, as if a chill had passed straight through his body.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though someone on the other side of the door was looking straight at him.
Elias drew a sharp breath and waited.
Nothing moved. No footsteps. No latch turning.
He knocked again, harder this time.
The feeling was gone. The door stayed closed. The house remained silent.
"Sergeant," Elias whispered, turning back. "There's no answer."
Hale stepped onto the porch, brow furrowed. He tried the handle; it was locked tight. "We were told someone would be here. Wait."
Before Hale could reach for his lantern, a voice drifted from the shadows.
"Everything alright, Officer?"
An older woman stepped into the light, clutching a thick cardigan to her chest. It was Mrs. Petrov, Reinliar's neighbor.
"Good evening, ma'am," Hale said, tone shifting to professional. "We're escorting Mr. Reinliar home, but there's no response from the house."
Mrs. Petrov's eyes landed on Elias. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "Reinliar! Oh, bless the moon—you're back! We had all given up hope! Your mother… oh, she'll be overjoyed!"
She hurried closer, but as she looked at the dark house, her joy curdled into worry.
"Did you see them leave tonight?" Hale asked.
"Leave? No, dear," Mrs. Petrov whispered. "His mother hasn't left the house in months. But… I haven't seen a light on in hours. And earlier, I saw something strange."
Hale went rigid. "What did you see?"
The old woman pointed toward the front windows. "Around eight o'clock. I was having tea when suddenly—a flash. A blinding white light burst from the windows. It only lasted a second, and it was completely silent. When it vanished, everything went dark. I thought it was children playing pranks, but I haven't heard a sound since."
She shivered, clutching Elias's arm. "It was too quiet. Quiet as a grave."
Hale's hand tightened on the doorknob until his knuckles turned white.
Then the sergeant straightened his cap.
"Thank you, ma'am," Hale said. "Could you take him into your home for the night while I call for backup and secure the area?"
Mrs. Petrov nodded and gently took Elias by the arm.
As she led him away, Elias remained silent. The hairs along his arms were still standing on end. He couldn't explain why, only that the feeling hadn't faded.
It was as if someone—or something—was watching him from the other side of the door.
The certainty made his skin crawl. He didn't know how he could be so sure, only that something was wrong.