He lowered his eyes to the papers once more. But something had changed.
His fingers continued tracing lines and making corrections, yet every few seconds a faint tremor passed through his left cheek.
Despite his efforts to concentrate, tension lingered plainly in his eyes.
The tension of a man walking toward a place where he no longer belonged.
As though the university had ceased to be merely classrooms and buildings, becoming instead something deeper…
Something that slowly consumed him the closer he came.
Kayden noticed it reflected in the carriage window.
Without turning his head, he spoke in a sleepy, mocking tone while watching the gray streets drift past.
"Jealous? That's only natural. My field doesn't depend on any of this. It depends on research… patience… persistence. But you?"
"Routine will burn you alive. It'll melt you down until you're nothing more than another number on a list."
Henry looked up and shot him an irritated sideways glance before returning to his papers.
"You're the worst."
Wanting to distract himself from his uneasy stomach and restless heart, he forced a conversation.
"Working on another research project? Besides… that one about poisonous flowers?"
He paused before adding, "It was fascinating. Horrifying… strange… but fascinating."
Kayden remained silent, watching the buildings drift by like ghosts.
After a while, he spoke softly, almost as though describing a dream. "The stars… perhaps?" Henry stopped turning the pages.
He let out a slow breath and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Somehow, that single word stars was enough to calm him.
If only for a little while.
"That's good…" he whispered, as though his heartbeat had finally settled into its proper rhythm.
Kayden looked at Henry with quiet curiosity, leaning forward slightly before asking, "So, what kind of cases did you get? My first target was a man who was almost snake-like an expert at disguising himself. I only realized who he was when he was already about to disappear. The second one, though… was just a cheap creep."
Henry answered with little interest. "The first one was such an idiot that I dealt with him almost immediately. He was all noise, no real danger. The second one, however… was a smuggler."
Henry's gaze drifted toward the window as if the memory had begun replaying before his eyes. After a brief silence, he turned back to Kayden.
"He wasn't just a smuggler. He knew every loophole, every hidden route. He dealt with people who disappeared before their names could even make it into official records."
The previous night.
Henry made his way toward the harbor, his steady footsteps accompanied by waves crashing against the wooden docks and the distant cries of ship horns. He approached an elderly dock cleaner who was slowly sweeping the ground.
"Do you know someone named Eric?" Henry asked quietly.
The man lifted his head for only a moment. A flicker of unease crossed his face before he muttered, "I'm just a cleaner."
He turned away, clearly hoping the conversation would end there.
Yet after only a few steps, he stopped.
Without looking directly at Henry, he said, "I heard he got fired. I can give you his mother's address. She lives nearby."
Henry slipped a hand into his pocket, pulled out several coins without bothering to count them, and placed them into the man's palm. The cleaner closed his fingers around them immediately and looked away.
Henry continued through the harbor, weaving between towering stacks of shipping containers that rose like silent steel mountains. Each one cast long shadows across the docks. The air was thick with the scent of salt and engine oil, while the darkness swallowed the distance, turning the harbor into a maze where even familiar paths seemed eager to disappear.
After a brief moment of thought, he decided to visit the address.
He expected very little.
The house was painfully ordinary weathered walls, faded paint, and windows worn down by years of neglect. Henry stopped in front of it and looked toward a dimly lit window on the second floor. Warm yellow light seeped through the curtains. Resting on the windowsill was a bouquet of wilted flowers, carrying a sorrow that seemed to belong not only to them, but to the house itself.
Breaking in through the front door had never crossed Henry's mind.
Nor did he want to risk running into Eric's father before learning more. One reckless move could ruin everything he had planned.
Instead, he circled around to the back of the house, where the silence felt strangely heavy compared to the sounds outside.
There, he spotted a half-open window.
The metal frame looked dull beneath the porch light.
Henry paused, carefully weighing the situation. A heartbeat later, he pulled himself upward with a muted movement, gripping the windowsill firmly before easing the window open just enough to slip inside.
One foot touched the cold wooden floor.
The rest of his body followed.
His heartbeat remained calm but deliberate, as though even it understood that making too much noise could cost him everything.
Inside, Henry moved with measured steps, each one placed as though the floor itself might betray him if he became careless.
The air felt heavier than outside, thick with dust and the stale scent of a room left untouched.
The bed stood near the window beneath a faded blanket whose color resembled days that had long since lost their warmth.
He approached quietly.
Lifting the pillow, he searched beneath it.
Nothing ,He returned it to exactly the way he had found it before crouching to peer beneath the bed.
Only darkness greeted him , Empty , Far too empty.
Rising once more, Henry scanned every corner of the room until his eyes settled on a desk tucked away in the corner.
Several books and novels were stacked across its surface, many with worn edges.
They were instantly familiar, they were books he and Kayden had once spent countless hours reading together.
There had even been a time when Henry believed reading too much carried a danger of its own.
'I love books. I love reading. Watching fictional people struggle through impossible dilemmas is endlessly fascinating.'
His thoughts darkened. 'But every problem in these pages comes with a solution… and every solution is born from the mind of a single author. One perspective. One limited imagination.'
His expression hardened. 'Isn't that, in its own way, a form of madness?'
His fingers tightened slightly. 'What happens when I face something no one has ever written about? What if reality is crueler than fiction?'
His eyes narrowed. 'Then I have to experience it myself. I have to collide with the world before comfort turns my mind into something stagnant… before I begin to rot from the inside.'
He frowned and pulled open the first drawer. Inside were carefully drawn sketches of blooming flowers and stars scattered across dark skies.
Beautiful.
Yet they lay abandoned inside the drawer like silent corpses.
The next drawer contained Eric's graduation certificate, alongside several congratulatory letters written in different handwriting.
The ink had faded with time, as though even the memories preserved on the paper had begun to disappear.
Henry's eyes swept across the wooden shelves mounted above the desk. A handful of small figurines had been arranged with meticulous precision, as though someone had placed each one with deliberate care, giving every piece its own silent meaning. To Henry, however, they offered nothing of value.
His gaze wandered around the room before he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, granting his mind a few quiet moments to rearrange its thoughts.
He rose again. This time, every step was slower.
He pressed the heel of his foot lightly against the wooden floorboards, listening for even the slightest change in sound.
After several careful steps, he stopped.
There it was.
One floorboard sat ever so slightly higher than the others a difference so subtle that an untrained eye would never have noticed it.
Henry knelt down, running his fingertips along its edge before lifting it free.
Hidden beneath it rested a small iron lockbox, coated with a thin layer of dust. An old rusted padlock secured it, the kind that suggested its owner had never intended anyone else to open it.
Henry let out a quiet sigh, staring coldly at the lock. "…How annoying."
Resting his elbow on his knee, he pressed a hand against his chin, silently weighing his options as his mind constructed one plan after another to steal whatever lay inside without leaving a trace.
A vague memory surfaced. Kayden had discovered those journals under equally strange circumstances.
The recollection stirred something in Henry's instincts.
He crouched once more and reached beneath the bed, carefully feeling along the wooden frame until his fingertips brushed against something metallic.
A small key. It had been hidden there with remarkable care. A brief spark lit up his eyes.
The faint smile that appeared disappeared just as quickly once he realized the key didn't fit the lockbox.
He exhaled through his nose in quiet annoyance before straightening up, running a hand through his hair to chase away the disappointment.
Then— A muffled sound drifted upstairs.
Someone was crying , Henry froze He listened carefully before slipping toward the bedroom door and opening it just enough to look downstairs.
Eric's mother was kneeling on the floor.
Her head remained bowed , her hands were clasped tightly together as tears fell onto the wooden floor beneath her. Between broken sobs, fragmented prayers escaped her lips, pleading for mercy upon her son.
Henry watched without a hint of emotion.
His expression never changed. After silently observing the scene, he returned to the bedroom, picked up both the lockbox and the key, and restored everything else exactly as he had found it.
Without making a sound, he climbed back through the window, landed lightly outside, and disappeared into the darkness.
He waited in the shadows for several minutes.
Only then did he walk around to the front door and knock gently.
Moments later, the woman opened the door with obvious caution.
Her worried eyes met a young man wearing a calm smile. "Good evening, ma'am. I apologize for disturbing you so late."
Henry bowed politely before continuing in a gentle voice. "I work with Eric. He accidentally left several important documents with me documents that belong only to him. Could you tell me where he's staying now?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she studied him for several long moments, as though measuring whether he deserved her trust. "Why didn't you ask him yourself?"
Henry replied without hesitation, reciting a lie polished long before this conversation. "I've been away on a long business trip. I only returned recently, exhausted… and when I started asking around, people told me he'd already left."
Confusion crossed the woman's face. "That's strange. He's still living in the workers' quarters. Customs employees receive housing benefits. Judging by your age… you should know that, shouldn't you?"
Henry offered a faint smile. "I live in my own house. I've never dealt with those arrangements."
She nodded slowly. "I suppose that's much better than living there… but what did you mean when you said he'd left?"
"I asked several workers. They all told me he'd gone."
Her expression crumbled.
Her voice trembled. "He's still working there… What do you mean, gone? Has he… has he abandoned his mother?"
In that instant, Henry became almost certain.
Eric had been preparing to disappear.
Looking at her with calm, unreadable eyes, Henry smiled ever so slightly. "Gone… means gone."
"There is no coming back."
He allowed the words to sink into her like a slow-moving blade.
That was exactly what he wanted.
Shock. Panic. Noise.
The more people searching for Eric, the fewer places the smuggler would have left to hide.
Without another word, Henry turned away.
Circling back to the side of the house, he retrieved the iron lockbox and disappeared into the night, heading straight for the harbor.
Before reaching the docks, Henry stopped.
Gripping the lockbox with both hands, he slammed a heavy punch into it.
The rusted lock shattered.
He tore it open immediately. Inside…Nothing but a bundle of papers.
As he skimmed through them, a faint smile spread across his face.
Detailed smuggling records.
Every shipment. Every transaction.
Every name connected to Eric's operation.
Henry slipped the documents inside his coat and broke into a run toward the harbor.
His breathing quickened as he searched every corner between the docked boats and towering stacks of cargo.
Nothing.
He stopped near the water's edge, pacing in slow circles while frustration crept across his face.
Then He spotted a familiar figure.
The cleaner.
Henry strode toward him before grabbing him violently by the collar. "Where is he?"
"Stay out of this," the man answered coldly. "Why are you involving yourself now?"
"If you don't tell me…I'll break your hand."
The cleaner showed no fear."Go ahead. Show me what you've got."
Henry obliged.
One finger then another.
Bones cracked one after another beneath his grip before a brutal kick sent the man crashing to the ground.
"I'll destroy you. And your family all because you wasted my time!!!"
Henry spoke with frightening composure.
The cleaner slowly raised his head.
His face remained almost completely blank.
"…Let's finish the last job."
Without warning, he bolted toward a small boat tied to the pier.
Henry's eyes followed him.
Standing aboard the vessel was the man he'd expected to find from the very beginning.
Eric.