The afternoon sun of Nova City slanted through the dust-filmed windows of the Greyhawk Detective Agency, casting mottled patches of light on the floor. The air inside was a familiar blend of musty old paper, the burnt scent of cheap coffee, and the lingering greasy odor that clung to the boss, Old Grey—a smell that had become Ryan's constant companion in the three weeks since he'd started.
As the agency's only intern, Ryan's daily tasks had almost nothing to do with the word "detective." Right now, he was carefully pouring coffee from a chipped enamel pot into Old Grey's "Fortune and Prosperity" mug. Old Grey was slumped in his office chair, his belly straining against his shirt, squinting at his phone and occasionally letting out a satisfied grunt.
"Ryan, steady hands! Spill any and it's coming out of your pay!" Old Grey didn't look up, his voice carrying its usual lazy, critical tone.
Ryan rolled his eyes inwardly but replied respectfully, "Understood, Boss Grey." Just as he set the mug down on Old Grey's desk, the agency's glass door swung open, the wind chimes letting out a clear yet slightly jarring ring.
A man and a woman entered. The man wore a tailored suit, his face etched with anxiety, a briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. The woman was dressed in professional attire, her expression solemn as she murmured words of comfort to the man. Their clothing and demeanor stood in stark contrast to the slightly shabby office.
"Excuse me, is this the Greyhawk Detective Agency? I'm looking for Detective Grey," the suited man asked, a slight tremor in his voice. His eyes swept quickly across the room before settling on Old Grey.
Old Grey slowly set down his phone, cleared his throat, and instantly switched to a professional demeanor. "That's me, Old Grey. What can I do for you?"
"My name is Philip, Chairman of Global Trade," the man said, handing over a business card, urgency sharp in his tone. "My father vanished mysteriously from his home last night! The police found no signs of forced entry, no security footage of him leaving… they suggested we try a private detective…"
Philip hadn't even finished speaking before Old Grey raised a hand to cut him off. "A missing persons case, huh? Simple enough. But I've got a full plate right now. Let my capable assistant take you to the scene." He turned toward the inner room and called out, "Marcus! Get out here!"
From the inner room emerged a tall man wearing a black leather jacket, a狰狞 scar running down his face. His eyes were dark and brooding, looking at people as if sizing up prey. Ryan's heart skipped a beat. In his three weeks at the agency, he'd never seen this man, let alone heard of any "capable assistant."
"This is Marcus, our agency's senior detective. Solved countless cases," Old Grey said, slapping Marcus on the shoulder with exaggerated flair. "With him leading the way, you're guaranteed results." He then turned to Ryan. "Ryan, you go along too. Assist Marcus, learn how to investigate a case."
Ryan was stunned. He was just an intern; he hadn't even learned basic investigative procedures. But under Old Grey's unyielding gaze, and tempted by the chance to work on a real case, he nodded. "Yes, Boss."
Marcus didn't say a word, merely casting a cold glance at Ryan before turning and heading out. Philip hurried after him, and Ryan quickly grabbed his backpack and followed.
Sitting in Marcus's beat-up pickup truck, Ryan couldn't help but secretly observe the man beside him. Marcus's presence was oppressive, carrying an indefinable sense of strangeness. Moreover, the way he looked at Philip wasn't like looking at a client—it was more like eyeing prey about to be claimed.
"Detective Marcus, my father is usually kind-hearted, has no enemies. How could he just disappear like that?" Philip kept fretting aloud, his voice thick with worry.
Marcus grunted in response, said nothing, and simply pressed the accelerator harder. The pickup carried the three of them toward Philip's home. Watching the city streets flash by outside the window, Ryan felt a growing sense of unease. He couldn't shake the feeling that this seemingly ordinary missing persons case hid unusual secrets, and this suddenly appearing "senior detective" beside him exuded a distinctly dangerous aura.
Twenty minutes later, the vehicle stopped in front of an opulent villa. Philip led them inside. A few police officers were conducting a final sweep of the living room. "The police said there were no clues at the scene, just told us to wait for news," Philip said, despair creeping into his voice.
Marcus paid Philip no mind, heading straight for the master bedroom on the second floor. Ryan followed, his unease intensifying with each step. He noticed Marcus moved with light, deliberate footsteps, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings as if confirming something.
Just as Ryan was about to step into the master bedroom, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a strange, twisted smile curling at the corner of Marcus's mouth. It vanished in an instant, but it chilled Ryan to the bone. He instinctively halted, a single thought screaming in his mind: This Marcus is definitely not right. But it was too late to turn back now. Steeling himself, he followed. He had no idea that with this step, he was walking into terror and strangeness far beyond anything he could have imagined.