Ricardo entered the tavern with three of his mates, the creaking door announcing them like a warning bell. James walked at his side, eyes sharp, scanning the room out of habit rather than curiosity.
Ricardo stopped at the counter. "Hey, Tony," he said casually, fingers tapping the bar in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You told me someone's asking to buy this place… and already acquired few other properties around here. People with too much money and too little history. Who are they?"
Tony swallowed. His eyes flicked—just once—toward a corner table. "Yes… they're here," he murmured, nodding subtly.
Perun and Lukman sat there, quietly eating their meal, movements unhurried, expressions calm. They looked like men untouched by the tension of the room, as if Ricardo and his crew were nothing more than background noise.
Tony leaned closer. "They look like travelers. The white-haired one—Arthur Conan—that's the name he gave. Feels like he's the real deal. The other guy, the one with the traveler's hat… probably his partner. Or something close to it."
Ricardo smiled faintly. "Good job," he said. "You've earned yourself a bonus."
He tilted his head. "Hey, Saggy."
Saggy reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a few folded notes, and slid them across the counter. Tony accepted them with trembling hands.
One of the men behind Ricardo stepped forward. "Big brother," he said cautiously, "shouldn't we check their identities first?"
Ricardo turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing just a little. "Yes," he replied. "Simpson. That'll be your job."
Then, without another glance at the table, he added, "Now move. We've got work on Maridona Street."
The group turned and left, their footsteps fading into the night.
Only then did Perun lift his gaze. "So," he muttered, lowering his voice, "did it work?"
Lukman didn't look relieved. "It seems like it," he said. "But we don't know. Not yet."
Perun set his utensils down, eyes dark with thought. "They don't lack money. That much is obvious. What they're really searching for…"
He paused.
"…is control. Influence. People."
Lukman nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Silence returned to the table—but this time, it was heavy with calculation.
Ricardo sat in the back seat beside James, the dim glow of passing streetlights sliding across his calm, unreadable face. In the front, Saggy was driving, both hands steady on the wheel, while Simpson sat beside him, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror.
Breaking the silence, Saggy asked, "Big brother Ricardo… why did you take interest in those traveler guys? It's not like we're short on money."
Ricardo leaned back, his fingers loosely intertwined. "Yes," he replied slowly, "but money attracts power—power attracts influence, and influence brings control. Travelers that wealthy don't move alone. They have connections. Pulling them into our circle will help our plans far more than gold ever could."
Saggy let out a low chuckle. "Huh… you're right."
Simpson hesitated before speaking. "But what if those guys turn out to be troublesome?"
Ricardo's gaze sharpened slightly. "For now, I have all of you. And James."
James responded with a faint smile—thin, unreadable, almost unsettling.
An awkward silence followed. Saggy and Simpson quickly shifted the topic, uneasy with the weight of Ricardo's words.
At the same time, inside the Eagle Eye headquarters, Robert and Jackson stood before Augustin, delivering their report.
"We searched every place Kite's wife, Minsley, could possibly hide," Robert said grimly. "But we found nothing."
Jackson clenched his jaw, frustration clear on his face.
Augustin remained silent.
Then Robert continued, "Senior Truman and Vaelor went to Mount Coco—the hill station Dr. Morris mentioned. Minsley planned to go there after disposing of Kite's wealth. It's taking time… but I believe they're almost there."
Cold mist rolled across Mount Coco as Truman and Vaelor moved through the narrow road. Fog clung to the trees like grasping hands.
Truman shivered slightly. "Aren't you feeling cold?" he asked.
Vaelor glanced at him. "No. Why?"
"I don't feel cold either," Truman said, forcing a laugh. "But people always say hill stations are freezing."
Despite his words, his hands trembled.
"Enough talk," Truman added. "Let's find them."
"But where?" Vaelor asked. "We don't know the exact location."
Truman reached into his coat and pulled out a small square device—a faintly glowing screen covered in shifting maps and blinking points.
"I found this in Dr. Morris's house," he said. "A tracker. I'm not completely sure it works… but it's pointing somewhere close."
Vaelor studied the device. "Then let's move."
Minutes later, they stood before an isolated house half-hidden by fog and pine trees.
Truman knocked.
A voice came from inside.
"Who is it?"
"We're here to deliver a parcel," Truman replied calmly.
The door creaked open.
A man stood there—eyes glowing red, his face twisted and half-destroyed, as if something had gnawed away his humanity.
Vaelor's expression darkened. "Kite…"
The man suddenly lunged, a knife flashing toward Truman.
In a blur, Vaelor seized him midair and struck his neck with brutal precision. The body collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
Vaelor raised his voice, echoing through the house.
"Minsley! This is the Special Investigation Unit—Eagle Eye! Surrender yourself! You are under arrest!"
Truman frowned. "Why warn her? She could run."
"She won't," Vaelor replied coldly. "I'm here."
They entered the house.
A muffled sound came from the living room.
Rushing in, they saw a woman tied to a chair, her mouth taped shut—Selena. They recognized her instantly.
But a knife rested against her throat.
Minsley stood behind her, eyes burning with desperation.
"Surrender," Truman commanded, pulling a gun from behind his back.
Vaelor's eyes widened. "You had a gun this whole time?"
"If you don't comply," Truman said, his voice steady, "I will shoot."
Minsley laughed softly. "No… you won't."
She slowly lowered her knife. "Put the gun down."
Truman did as she said, lowering the weapon and dropping to one knee—but his eyes flicked briefly toward Vaelor.
In the next second, Vaelor moved.
He was suddenly in front of Minsley.
Startled, she lashed out in panic—
Bang.
Truman fired.
The bullet tore through Minsley's hand, sending the knife clattering to the floor as her scream pierced the room.