Elil stirred in his bed, reaching toward the faint glow cutting through the dimness. His fingers fumbled across the nightstand until they found the lamp switch.Click."Oh… finally."
His glasses came next—his hand searching blindly until he found them. He slid them on, blinking away the blur.
He stood up.
The bathroom was only a few steps away. Cold water slapped his face. His toothbrush moved mechanically. The room he lived in was nothing more than a 3-by-4 box: a narrow bed, a small wardrobe, an old TV, and a lone lamp hanging above a cluttered nightstand with paper scraps and a half-drunk cup of stale coffee.
He stepped into the kitchenette, which was barely more than a counter, a sink, and a battered fridge.He filled a glass with water, drank it slowly, then turned to change into his work clothes.
This morning, he chose a black leather jacket, simple western trousers, and his standard fedora hat. His uniform of discontent.
He left his cramped apartment and descended the spiral metal staircase that groaned under each footstep.
— "Oh! Good morning!"
Catherine Leonder, the young woman from the fourth floor, greeted him with a smile.
— "Good morning, Detective Elil. How's the job?"
— "Fine, Miss. See you around."
Catherine owned a small coffee shop nearby. Always polite, always distant—wrapped in kindness but unreachable."She's sweet… but glass-walled," Elil thought as he stepped onto the street.
Downstairs, a steam carriage waited by the sidewalk.
— "To the Criminal Bureau, please."
— "That'll be four coins."
— "Here you go."
The ride through Nihl was bumpy and restless. The streets—modern in structure, ancient in maintenance—shook the carriage as it moved through potholes and uneven stone. Neon signs flickered above cobblestone.
After half an hour, they arrived.
— "Thanks."
— "Have a good day, sir."
Elil stepped out, approaching the entrance of the bureau, when he saw her again.
Naris. The woman everyone talked about. Strikingly beautiful, widowed, mother of two. Men chased her name, but she refused all of them.
"More strength in her eyes than most men I've met," Elil thought as he passed without a word.
Inside, he took a file from the front desk and went to see Captain Loyd.
— "Morning, Captain. I'll need a vehicle. Heading to the countryside."
— "Approved. Here's your authorization."
Elil didn't linger. He left the building and climbed into the police transport.
The road stretched out for over an hour and fifteen minutes—through distant hills and sun-withered farms.
Finally, he arrived at a modest wooden house. An elderly woman stood outside, waiting.
— "Hello, ma'am. I'm with the bureau. May I ask you some questions?"
She nodded and began to speak, her voice shaking, but her words were sharp. She described the attack: a brutal beating, a theft, a faceless assailant.
And this wasn't the first case. Not by far.
It wasn't random.
It wasn't a coincidence.
This was a pattern. A system.
A syndicate. Organized, deliberate. Targeting the elderly of the countryside.
Elil stared at the hills in the distance, the sky overcast and colorless.Notebook in hand, he began to write.