Alina woke up to her soft, luxurious bed. She groaned slightly and looked at her alarm clock placed on top of a nightstand. Clothes are lying on the ground and some books are opened on her study table. Thick curtains covered the large glass windows, preventing the sunlight from peeking in. She rubbed her temples and stepped into the bathroom. The faint scent of soap lingered in the air as she brushed her teeth, then let the warm water of her bath wash over her, easing the last traces of sleep from her body. Her closet smelled faintly of cedar. Silks, cottons, and wools hung in muted tones, each piece cut with precision. After a moment of contemplation, she selected a cream blouse with subtle pleats—simple, refined, and perfectly inconspicuous for the day ahead.
The city was alive with its usual rhythm. Buses rumbled past, brakes screeching faintly as passengers hurried on and off. Street vendors called to their next patrons, the scent of grilled meat and roasted chestnuts hanging in the air, while white-collared workers rushed toward the early trains, ties flapping in the morning breeze.
Eldric's car wove through the bustle and into the city square—the heart of commerce and luxury. A massive screen lit up the tallest building, advertising the most prestigious company in the country. The light briefly washed across his windshield as he pulled over to the curb.
The passenger door opened.
"Morning. Coffee?" Alina slid into the seat, handing him a cup still steaming.
"Morning. Thanks," Eldric replied, his voice softening with warmth.
"It's a two-hour drive. There are snacks at the back."
"You brought the papers, right?" Alina asked, sipping carefully.
"Yeah. I also called them yesterday."
Her smile flickered, brief and delicate, before her gaze shifted to the blur of passing windows outside.
Soon, the city gave way to open roads. Poplars lined the edges like silent sentinels, and golden wheat fields rolled endlessly on the western side.
"Music?" Eldric asked, scrolling through his playlist.
"Sure." Alina turned toward him, her eyes curious.
He tapped play. A gentle guitar riff filled the car. His fingers began drumming the steering wheel in rhythm.
Alina raised a brow. "I didn't know you liked Danny's Song. Kenny Loggins—your favorite?"
"Maybe," he admitted with a small grin. "I just like how it feels. How about you? What kind of music do you turn to?"
Alina lingered on his face for a moment before turning back to the serene countryside rolling past her window. "I used to attend orchestral concerts. My father loved them. He said the music eases your soul."
"He sounds like a good man."
"He is," her voice softened, but then dipped with something heavier. "And he doesn't deserve this world."
Eldric glanced at her, but her expression was already hidden by the glass reflection.
He cleared his throat lightly. "We'll be there in thirty minutes."
"That's shorter than expected."
"We got fortunate. Missed the traffic."
The town held only a handful of residents. Humble houses lined the road, their porches bright with ornamental flowers. The scent of lavender lingered in the northern air, where children's laughter spilled through the streets.
Eldric pulled over beneath an alder tree. Alina scanned the quiet community, an unexplainable warmth blooming in her chest.
"That house—with the azaleas in front," Eldric said, pointing to a modest croft home two doors down.
"You know your flowers well," Alina chuckled.
He answered with a sheepish smile.
They walked up to the croft. The azaleas in front were still aflame with color, though some petals had browned and curled, surrendering to the late breeze. Eldric raised his hand and knocked gently.
The door creaked open. A thin voice wavered from the dim interior.
"Who is it?"
"Good day, ma'am." Eldric's smile carried the warmth of an old friend rather than an intruder.
"Oh, it's you." The old woman's eyes softened. "Come in."
She ushered them into a modest sitting room, where the faint scent of brewing tea clung to the air. The house carried a lived-in hush, like a place that had learned to hold its breath.
"Thank you for receiving us," Eldric said as he took a seat. "The town feels so peaceful—it's almost like stepping back in time."
"I'm glad you think so. Care for some tea?"
"That would be lovely."
A few minutes later she returned with a tray—three porcelain cups steaming lavender-scented warmth, accompanied by a plate of neatly stacked cookies.
"Thank you," Alina said, accepting a cup.
Eldric set down the small paper bag he'd been carrying, sliding it gently across the table toward Olivia. "Just something for the house," he said almost offhandedly. Inside were neatly wrapped jars of honey and dried herbs, the kind of gift that spoke of quiet observation rather than extravagance.
"I haven't introduced my colleague." Eldric inclined his head. "This is Alina, our new Senior Inspector."
Alina extended her hand. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"I'm Olivia. It's my pleasure." Her hand was frail, yet her grip steady.
Alina lifted her cup, inhaling the floral fragrance. "Did you make this yourself?"
"Yes," Olivia said, her eyes brightening. "This town is known for its flowers—and its tea. We've kept the tradition alive for generations."
Eldric smiled faintly. "I remember the first time I visited. The alder trees were in bloom then. You served me jasmine tea—it was unforgettable."
"Ah." A wistful smile touched her lips. "Marla loved that tea too. She used to come here just for it. That girl… she was her mother's daughter in every way—kind, radiant… and stubborn as the day is long."
Her voice faltered. She pressed her lips together, fighting the tide that threatened to rise. The silence that followed was fragile, the kind one hesitates to break.
Alina leaned forward, gently resting her hands on Olivia's. "We're doing everything we can to uncover the truth about her death. We've found new leads, and we'd like to ask about her parents. You once mentioned they died in an accident. Was it the fire, fifteen years ago?"
Olivia drew a trembling breath. "Yes. That company took my precious child away. And now my granddaughter too…" Her gaze fell, shadowed. "My daughter and her husband were brilliant. Researchers for a great company, though they rarely spoke of it. They'd visit me with Marla every year—until the fire." Her voice cracked, then steadied with effort. "Afterward, I raised Marla myself. But when she grew older, she started searching for answers about her parents. She was determined and left home. A month before her death, men in suits came here, asking about her. Cold men. I knew then… something was wrong."
Eldric's jaw tightened. "Perhaps that's why you didn't tell us before."
"You're right. I've been too wary of anyone involving my family." She hesitated, then added quietly, "But after she left, Marla sent me a package. I've kept it hidden ever since."
Alina's voice softened. "You were right to be careful. But you can trust us. We want to end this, for all of you."
Olivia studied them for a long moment, then nodded. She rose and shuffled into the back room. When she returned, she held a small box to her chest, as though it were a heartbeat she dared not let go.
"I've kept this close. Always." She opened the lid. Inside lay a worn diary, its corners smudged with age—and a necklace.
The pendant caught the light, ornate silver cradling a jet-black stone. At first, it seemed no more than an heirloom. But Alina's eyes sharpened.
"May I?" she asked.
Olivia nodded and placed it in her hand.
Up close, the silverwork betrayed its secret. Beneath the lattice was a seam so fine it nearly disappeared into the design. Alina pressed carefully at the lower tip. With a faint click, the casing slid free—revealing the unmistakable shape of a USB connector.
What seemed a relic of tradition was, in truth, something far more dangerous: technology hidden inside the skin of an heirloom.
The small living room grew quiet after the last word was spoken. The USB, cold and inconspicuous in Alina's hand, seemed heavier than its size should allow. Olivia's eyes lingered on it, and for a moment, she looked far older than before.
"It may not look like much," she said softly, "but Marla… she thought it was important. If it can help you find the truth, then keep it. Her diary too. They belong in your hands now."
Alina swallowed hard, slipping the items carefully into her bag. "We'll treat them with care. Thank you for trusting us."
Olivia managed a tired smile and pressed a small box into Leif's hands—tea leaves wrapped in paper, fragrant with dried flowers. "She used to brew this when she wanted the house to feel like home. Take some with you. A little piece of her."
They said their farewells beneath the slant of the setting sun. The house seemed to fold back into silence as the door closed behind them, a silence that felt like both grief and release.
On the road out of town, the car hummed steadily. Alina stared out the window, the diary on her lap. "We can't tell too many people about the USB," she murmured. "Not yet. It's too fragile—and if someone was willing to bury this for fifteen years…"
Eldric nodded, his grip tightening on the wheel. "We'll keep it among us. Just until we know what's inside. The wrong ears could kill the case before it begins."
The wind swept through the half-open window, carrying with it the faint scent of dried jasmine from the box beside them. It mingled with the weight of memory they now carried, fragile and unspoken, as they drove.