The sirens signaled an end, not salvation. Rotating blue and red beams cast stripes across the pine trunks as four police cars gathered around the mountain cabin. Officers advanced with care guns raised, flashlights piercing the swirling smoke and dust. They encountered a moment of capitulation.
Jacques remained with his hands in sight the knife lying on the ground near his feet. Isabella crouched next to Arthur applying pressure on his wrapped leg her face marked by smudges of soot and a look of resolve. Maria rested on the floor back, against the wall completely drained. Meanwhile Giovanni was positioned in the middle standing silently his sleeves drawn over the active scars.
Raphael Ronald came in at the end his detective's expression marked by a deep tired inner turmoil. He observed the door the dropped net, the blood staining the ground and the strange pistol resting on the floor. His eyes fixed on it—a device, beyond the possession of a solitary librarian.
"EMS is trailing us by two minutes " he remarked, his tone devoid of formality. He glanced at Arthur. "Doctor Alexander?"
"The femoral artery was grazed. It's controlled. I require a hospital " Arthur answered, his tone tense yet professional.
Raphael gave a nod to an officer, who promptly contacted the radio. Then he turned his gaze to Giovanni. "Helena Helga?"
"Vanished " Giovanni remarked.
"Was it she who did this?"
"She certainly did."
Raphael clenched his jaw. He was in possession of the neighbour's drawing. He had the toxicology findings from the coroner. He observed evidence of a calculated aggressive intrusion.. He carried instructions to apprehend the librarian. The unpredictable element, within the institution had hit its limit. He resolved to act.
"Giovanni Graham " he declared, his tone official but laden, with regret. "You are being arrested for the killing of Oliver Osborne. You have the right to remain silent." He carried on with the statement his gaze fixed firmly on Giovanni's silently communicating: This is the enclosure I can provide that may protect you from the rest.
When the cold unyielding handcuffs snapped shut on his wrists Giovanni experienced no fear. Instead he felt a distant sense of relief. The intricate pattern, on his arm lay quiet. The chase lurking in the dark had halted. He was now stepping into another labyrinth, composed of rules and stone.
The Grenoble Palais de Justice stood as a symbol of truth. Its chambers featured ceilings and resonant spaces crafted from light stone that absorbed both noise and feelings. Giovanni underwent processing his fingerprints taken before being confined to a isolated cell. It was the environment he had ever experienced. No falsehoods existed there harsh procedural realities. The lack of the persistent tingling feeling was another form of torment—a remnant of his affliction.
His solitude lasted a short while. Isabella drawing on all her credibility and capitalizing on the uproar sparked by her article arranged a meeting with Louis Lancelot, a senior prosecutor recognized more for his political savvy than his enthusiasm in the courtroom. She did not come by herself. She was accompanied by Ibrahim, whose connections had located a retired gendarmerie colonel to confirm Helena Helga's presumed connections, to private military firms. She also brought Olivia Marigold, who had quietly collected leads tying Siegfried's research funding to Osborne's front companies. She also delivered Raphael Ronald's formal though guarded, account describing the situation at the mountain cabin, which clearly indicated the involvement of a third-party killer.
Lancelot, a man possessing the gaze of an official who has witnessed the ascent and decline of vast deceptions sat in his office lined with wooden panels. He brought his fingers together in a steeple. "You bring forth a plot of proportions, Mademoiselle Ivywood.. At its core you position a librarian with… an uncommon health issue." His eyes were sharp. "The court requires proof, not metaphor."
"The proof is on his skin " Isabella stated, her tone quiet yet intense. "However that's not the proof for the court. The proof, for the court includes the door, the high-end weapon, Detective Ronald's testimony and the financial corruption documents you already possess. Giovanni Graham isn't the killer. He is the witness.. They're attempting to silence him just as they did Osborne."
Lancelot remained quiet for a moment considering the gravity of a neat certainty against the monumental upheaval of a reality that might dismantle his city's political framework. "The initial hearing is in forty-eight hours " he declared at last. "I won't dismiss the charges. The pressure is immense. Yet I will permit an… display of his nature and his involvement, with the incidents. Should it fall short he will be held for trial.. He will be found guilty."
It was a risk. An ambiguous proposal, from someone who existed in ambiguity.
The hearing chamber was more compact than a courtroom yet equally daunting. A judge sat at the helm accompanied by clerks. Louis Lancelot stood for the state. Giovanni wearing a suit he had borrowed that fit him loosely was seated next to a court-assigned attorney who appeared overwhelmed. The audience was full—a combination of journalists, interested officials and quietly positioned in the row Sebastian Siegfried, watching his subject, in its unfamiliar environment.
The procedures were concise. The accusation was announced. Then Lancelot rose. "Your Honor, due to the nature of the links, in this matter the state desires to set a foundation of the defendant's… perceptual bond with the late Oliver Osborne."
A whisper swept across the chamber. The judge scowled. "This is extremely unusual Prosecutor."
"It is, Your Honor. However the conditions surrounding Osborne's death and the attack, on Mr. Graham's life are also relevant. I request a procedural extension."
The judge gave a nod and permitted it.
Lancelot walked up to Giovanni. "Mr. Graham. Did you attend Oliver Osborne's public address at the municipal library?"
"I was."
". While delivering that speech did you develop a distinct strong perception of the individual?"
Giovanni's mouth felt parched. He understood the question posed. His gaze shifted to Isabella, who offered a nearly unnoticed nod. Then he glanced at Siegfried, whose face showed scholarly interest. This was the moment of the demonstration. His role, as the Living Archive was to transform into a document.
"Yes " Giovanni responded, his voice resonating through the space. "I developed a thought intense it created a tangible trace."
He rose. With a measured gesture he undone his cufflink and started to fold back his sleeve. The chamber was silent. The judge inclined forward. Siegfried's pen paused above his notebook.
Giovanni exposed his forearm. The labyrinth was present. It differed from before. The public disgrace, the clash with Helena, the burden of the law—all had transformed it. The spirals were now sharp, black and elevated, like keloid scars. The center wasn't hollow. A complicated twisting mass of flesh looking like a sealed stone-like eye. It was evidently not a tattoo. It was a wound infused with power.
"This showed up on my skin while Osborne was speaking " Giovanni stated, his tone steady. "It stung as he talked about honesty and togetherness. It's a chart of his falsehood. A falsehood this it not only seems incorrect. It feels off. It engraves itself inside you."
The judge was left without words. The courtroom sketch artist drew hurriedly. Siegfried's grin was serene.
Lancelot continued his voice detached. "Could you identify features of this… mark… that align with the signs of corruption revealed afterward?"
Giovanni followed a winding spiral. "This path here. It goes to the core. It emerged when he mentioned 'clearing out the industrial debris.' That is the channel where he hid the documents." His finger pointed to a curved intersection. "This appeared at the words 'private partnership.' That is the Ariadne's Thread shell corporation."
He was converting his curse into testimony. Turning the symbolic into proof.
The defense attorney, spotting a chance rose. "Your Honor this is absurdity! The court must not accept… body markings, as proof of a condition!"
However the judge was gazing at the maze at the unnatural reality of it. "How do you account for this Mr. Graham? If it isn't a tattoo?"
"I can't explain it " Giovanni said, looking directly at the judge. "All I can do is testify. It's a record. I am that record. Oliver Osborne was untruthful. His falsehood caused his death.. The very individuals who ended his life attempted to kill me to erase that record."
He pulled his sleeve down the instant slipped away. The space exploded with conversation. The hammer came down.
Siegfried, seated at the rear shut his notebook with a contented click. The presentation had gone flawlessly. Insufficient to prove guilt or innocence legally. Yet in the realm of intellectual judgment it was groundbreaking. The Living Archive communicated, not through speech but, through scars.
As the guards escorted Giovanni off Lancelot came over to the bench for a discussion. The bureaucratic system was churning, compelled to handle a case.
Giovanni returned to his cell. The silence was gone. He could feel the ripples from the hearing room—the shock, the skepticism, the avid curiosity—like distant vibrations through stone. He had done his duty. He had shown them the map. Now it was up to them to decide if they believed in territories they could not see.