Vaelor woke early in the morning. His eyes shifted toward the clock on the wall.
5:30 A.M.
Without hesitation, he shook Perun's shoulder.
Perun groaned, half-asleep. "What are you doing… at midnight?"
Vaelor stared at him. "It's already 5:30. Did you forget what we decided last night?"
Perun mumbled something unintelligible, a faint memory flashing in his mind, then turned his face away and tried to sleep again. Vaelor shook him harder this time.
A few minutes later, both of them stood outside the apartment. The road was quiet, still wrapped in early-morning darkness. Streetlights glowed dimly.
Perun yawned, barely awake.
Vaelor pointed ahead. "We start from here, run till that advertisement board, then come back."
Perun squinted. "I can't even see it. Where is it?"
"No need to see," Vaelor replied calmly. "Just follow me."
They ran.
After some time, Perun stopped abruptly, breathing heavily but surprised. "I… completed it. Not even one percent tired."
Vaelor nodded. "Good. Now ten more rounds."
Perun froze. "What? Ten?"
"This is impossible for me."
Vaelor crossed his arms. "For now, I'm your teacher."
By the fifth round, Perun hit his limit. His legs felt like stone, lungs burning. Vaelor, meanwhile, completed all ten without slowing down.
"You don't have to run anymore," Vaelor said. "Now push-ups."
Perun collapsed onto the ground. "How many?"
"As many as you can."
Perun struggled. One… two… three. His arms shook violently, and he fell flat.
"Okay," Vaelor said, unfazed. "Crunches. I'll hold your legs."
Perun tried to sit up but failed completely.
"I think… I have to go now," he gasped.
Vaelor looked down at him. "Aren't you trying to become stronger?"
"Yes," Perun said firmly. "With full conviction. But… from tomorrow."
He stood up slowly and headed back home.
A few minutes later, Vaelor finished his workout alone and followed.
They spent the day quietly by watching movies on television, passing time. Vaelor taught Perun a few boxing moves using the book, correcting his posture and stance patiently.
In the evening, Perun went to his old workplace and informed the owner that he was leaving the job. The owner paid him the remaining amount for the month without much discussion.
Two days passed.
Then the landline rang.Perun picked it up immediately. "Hello, Mr. Elane."
"Yes, Perun," Elane replied. "I've found jobs for both of you. You'll start tomorrow morning at 9:00 A.M. Salary is three dollars and fifty cents per week."
Perun listened carefully.
"You'll work at Alpha Angel," Elane continued. "And for your cousin Eagle Eye."
Perun frowned slightly. The names felt… unusual. But money was money.
"Can you give me the addresses?" he asked.
"Elpha Angel—East Norus, Maiden Street, B7. Eagle Eye—Southwest Norus, Crystal Mansion, G5."
Perun noted everything down in his notebook. "Thank you, Mr. Elane."
The call ended.
Perun rushed to Vaelor, telling him the news. Both of them were overjoyed.
That night passed quickly.
In the morning, they wore fresh white shirts and black pants. Perun adjusted Vaelor's collar carefully.
"Don't get it dirty," he warned. "And please don't tear it."
They cooked breakfast, ate together, locked the apartment, and left.
At the crossroads, they split.
Vaelor reached Eagle Eye only find a restaurant.
Confused, he approached the reception counter. A blond-haired boy wearing a yellow-and-blue checkered shirt stood there.
"Hello," Vaelor said. "Mr. Elane sent me."
The boy glanced around and lowered his voice. "Go there." He nodded toward a door marked Store Room.
Vaelor felt uneasy but followed.
Inside was a dusty space filled with rusty furniture. He looked back at the receptionist, who subtly gestured again—there.
Vaelor noticed something odd. A hidden door blended into the interior wall, no handle, barely visible. Beside it was a small circular button.
He pressed it.
The door slid open.
A man stood there wearing a dark yellow deerstalker cap and a brown vest. His eyes were red and sharp.
"Come in," the man said.
The door locked behind them.
They walked along a narrow hallway lined with red carpet and dim corner lights.
"This path is long," Vaelor muttered.
The man stared at him silently.
They entered a room marked Headquarters.
Inside, a man in his late thirties sat behind a desk, sharp glasses reflecting the light, his expression stern. Two others sat beside him but stood up quickly.
"Yes, sir," they said and left.
Vaelor stepped forward. "Hello, sir. I'm Vaelor. Mr. Elane sent me."
The man observed him carefully. "Another privileged one…"
He leaned back slightly. "I'm Augustin. Head officer here. We investigate cases that law enforcement cannot handle."
Vaelor nodded, still confused. "Thank you for this opportunity."
Augustin turned slightly. "Truman."
The red-eyed man stepped forward.
"Take his details. Prepare his ID. Give him an advance. Then show him the case."
Minutes later, Vaelor and Truman exited the headquarters. Truman took down his information—name, age twenty-two—and handed him an envelope.
"Seven dollars," Truman said.
They took a taxi together. Vaelor watched the city pass by, fascinated.
They stopped at a modest house.
The house was not very big just a double-floor structure pressed between two others, its paint faded and walls cracked with age. From the outside, it looked ordinary, almost harmless, but the air around it felt heavy.
Truman led Vaelor inside.
They stepped into the hall. The first thing Vaelor noticed was the floor.
Dark red stains had dried into the surface, spreading unevenly like shadows that refused to fade. Some marks were smeared, as if something—or someone—had been dragged across the room. Near the center, white chalk lines drawn by the authorities outlined the shape of a body, cold and exact.
Vaelor swallowed.
Truman spoke quietly, his tone steady. "You're new. For now, don't touch anything. Just observe. Take notes in your mind."
Vaelor nodded without speaking, his eyes scanning every corner the overturned chair, the broken glass near the window, the faint metallic smell still lingering in the air.
"This case," Truman continued, "is about a serial killer."
Vaelor turned toward him, confused.
"He was murdered."
The words hit hard.
Vaelor's eyes widened slightly. His breath slowed, and a chill ran through him. A serial killer dead. Not arrested. Not executed.
Killed.