Knock. Knock.
The soft knocking echoed through the room.
Isaac stirred, eyes fluttering open. He turned to glance at the clock.
4:00 a.m.
'What the fuck', he cursed inwardly.
He shifted slightly and saw Patricia sleeping peacefully, her head resting on his chest. He smiled. She looked so beautiful like that—serene, untouched by the chaos outside. This was what he had always wanted: her, beside him, in his arms. Nothing made him happier.
Knock. Knock.
Isaac growled at the persistent knocking. Patricia stirred, murmuring something in her sleep.
He gently laid her head on the pillow and caressed her back, soothing her into deeper rest before slipping out of bed.
His eyes landed on the golden box resting on the table. He moved quickly, grabbing it and tucking it behind the couch cushion.
Then he reached for his phone, switching it on to check the live hallway feed.
A figure appeared on the screen.
Isaac sighed.
He pocketed the phone, walked to the door, and opened it quietly—locking eyes with the man on the other side.
"You could've used a phone, you know. Coming here is risky, and you damn well know that. Not to mention knocking like a maniac at this hour. Are you looking for death?" he whispered.
Standing there was Davis, dressed in a black jacket and cap.
He snorted.
"I walked into death's abyss a long time ago. Funny thing is, it still hasn't swallowed me. Gives me the confidence to keep playing with it."
Isaac snorted back.
"Figures. Still dumb and reckless enough to piss off death and expect to be saved. Typical."
Davis shrugged.
"Nah. I just like to roll with it."
Isaac stepped out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
"What happened?" Isaac asked, his voice low and firm.
Davis leaned in, his tone hushed.
"It's bad." He paused.
"Just got a call from Roy. Our Sleeping Prince is gone."
Isaac's eyes widened. He stared at Davis, stunned.
"What? What do you mean he's gone? Wasn't he in a deep coma? How the hell did he escape?"
Davis shook his head.
"I don't know. I'm just as shocked. But that's not the worst part."
He swallowed.
"He... he took the box with him."
"What!" Isaac whisper-yelled.
"That box was on the other side of the facility—tightly secured. How could he..."
He trailed off, catching the look in Davis's eyes. A look that said: You know how.
Isaac looked away and sighed.
"It did this... didn't it? Aaa..."
He leaned against the doorframe, the weight of realization sinking in.
Silence settled between them. Heavy. Reflective.
"How are A-3 and A-4?" Isaac asked quietly.
"Our mission was more than we bargained for. I'm sorry about that."
Davis exhaled.
"They're alright. But it's gonna take more than a carton of booze to forget what happened yesterday."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"Honestly, I can't wait to hit a tropical island. Just me and my hooligan—her in a sexy, gorgeous bikini. We'd make out on the beach, in the water, under a coconut tree... maybe on a yacht."
He snorted.
"Hell, it might all just be fantasy at this point, with how things are going. Aaa... I wish it was all a dream. That she'd wake me up with a punch so I'd stop wallowing in this shit. Stop worrying that some horrific shadow's gonna creep up behind me and suck the life out of me until I'm nothing but dust."
Isaac's eyes sharpened.
"You saw it?" he asked, voice tight.
"You saw the shadow?"
Davis looked away, jaw clenched.
"I don't know what I saw."
He swallowed.
"And I didn't want to know more. But..."
He turned back to Isaac.
"For you... if it means solving this mystery, helping you get better, finding peace—I'll face it. Nothing's more important than that. Than you. You're worth more than anything. To me. To all of us. And I promise—we'll find the truth. We'll figure out what we're up against. And we'll end this. Together."
Isaac's eyes welled with tears. His mind flashed back to that horrific vision—Davis's severed head in Mr. X's monstrous hand.
Without thinking, he stepped forward and pulled Davis into a tight, heartfelt hug.
Davis stiffened at first, surprised by the sudden PDA. But then, feeling the sincerity, the warmth, the brotherhood affection he relaxed. He wrapped his arms around Isaac and patted his back gently.
"Thank you, Davis. I mean it," Isaac whispered.
Davis smiled and gave a small nod.
"Mmm-hmm."
"Ahem."
Both men froze at the sound of someone clearing their throat.
Davis looked up.
Patricia stood at the door, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.
"Are you two done?" she asked, deadpan.
They quickly stepped apart, clearing their throats and standing awkwardly side by side.
Patricia smirked.
"If you're finished, maybe consider coming inside instead of standing in the hallway like two lovers caught in the act."
Isaac and Davis chuckled nervously as Patricia turned and walked back into the room.
They exchanged a sheepish glance before following her in.
....
A couple minutes later..
"I feel like all of this is happening in a pattern," Isaac said, his voice low and steady.
"Like this thing... whatever it is... is manipulating events. Manipulating us."
He leaned forward in his seat, eyes flicking between Patricia and Davis.
"Think about it. Everything happens after something major. We found the box after Blake died. We found that grizzly chest after Alisha was kidnapped. And now our Sleeping Prince has woken up and taken the box—the box—that was tightly secured, one no one should've been able to access. It's like something is orchestrating all of this... for its own benefit."
He paused.
"For its awakening."
Silence fell over the room.
Each of them lost in thought, the weight of Isaac's words settling like fog.
Patricia exhaled.
"Do you think... this thing—whatever it is—is what my father mentioned in his letter? The thing he said was beyond imagination? The one he discovered Montenegra had and was using?"
Isaac considered it.
"Maybe... maybe it is. But what is it? And how is Montenegra using it?"
"I think the book might hold the answers," Patricia said.
"Father must've left me that clue for a reason—something more than just that box."
"Yeah, but that book's gone," Davis cut in.
"It burned when those bastards torched Blake's mansion. We'll never find it..."
"Unless..." Patricia said softly,
"...someone else has it too."
Both men turned to her.
Isaac narrowed his eyes.
"You think someone else might have the book?"
"Yes. I mean, it's a book, right? Don't books get written, published, and bought by people who find them interesting? Which means there's more than one copy. And a book of such importance must exist somewhere within Montenegra's network. I bet someone else from the club has it. If not one, maybe all of them," said Patricia.
"You're right, Sweeches. Someone else might have the book. But I believe it's only trusted to a few. If it were that easy to get, your father would've had it too, don't you think?" said Isaac.
"You're right. Then someone from the club must have it. And I have to find out who," Patricia replied.
Just then, a knock echoed at the door.
Both men turned to Patricia.
"Are you expecting someone?" Isaac asked.
Patricia shook her head.
"At this hour? No."
Davis and Isaac rose from their seats, moving into hidden positions. Weapons drawn—just in case.
Patricia approached the door cautiously, glancing at Isaac, who gave her a brief nod.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
A hotel attendant stood on the other side. She had long brown hair, a sharp nose, blue eyes, and soft pink lips. Her black-and-white uniform was immaculate, and her smile was polished.
"Good morning, Ms. Milton," she greeted.
"Uh... good morning," Patricia replied.
"My apologies for waking you so early, but I was sent to deliver this."
She produced a thin envelope and handed it to her.
"Umm... thank you," Patricia said with a polite smile.
"You're welcome, Miss. And just a reminder—the race will begin at 7:00 a.m. sharp. If you'd like to use our practice grounds, they'll be open from 6:00 to 6:40. Please be at the arena by 6:50."
Patricia nodded.
"Okay. Thank you."
The attendant smiled and gave a slight bow.
"Have a good day, ma'am. And good luck."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking softly against the corridor floor.
Patricia watched her disappear around the corner before stepping back inside and closing the door.
Isaac approached as Patricia examined the envelope.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Patricia replied.
"The attendant just gave it to me, said someone asked her to deliver it."
She opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of white paper—aged, half-burnt, and scented faintly of old rosewood and ink. Something was written on it:
*The time has come for the lightning to strike the clock at midnight. Don't forget thy pledge nor forsake thy keepsake.
The Race is only one, and thy commitment shall mark history, change the present, and shape the future. So together as one we shall rise like mighty floodwaters and wash away our brittle sorrows into glorious dancing. No matter the challenge, we shall face it together and be victorious. For I believe that it started with a race—and it will end with a race.*
Signed,
The Maiden of the Rose
At the bottom, a seal was stamped into the parchment—a delicate rose, pressed in crimson wax.
Isaac's eyes widened as they landed on the signature.
'The Maiden of the Rose.'
The name echoed in his mind, stirring long-buried memories.
A little girl.
A promise.
A face he had seen in a dream which seemed too real to be imagined.
And now that the name has surfaced in the real world.
The realization sank in him like bitter medicine. Instead of making him feel better it made him feel worse.
"What do you think it means? Who is the Maiden of the Rose? Why did she send this to me?" Patricia asked, her voice hushed.
"This paper looks ancient... and burnt. Who would send something like this? And why?" Davis added, frowning.
Isaac stared at the inscription, reading it again. And again.
"I don't know," he murmured.
"But we need to find out. I'll ask the attendant who gave it to her. Maybe we'll get some answers."
Just then, another knock echoed at the door.
Patricia glanced at the men, then handed Isaac the letter and envelope. She moved slowly toward the door.
She looked around—Davis and Isaac were already in position, weapons ready but hidden.
She opened the door.
Her eyes widened.
It was the same hotel attendant from earlier.
"Good morning, Ms. Milton," the attendant greeted again.
"Good morning... is everything okay?" Patricia asked.
"My apologies for waking you so early. I came to inform you that the derby race will begin at 7:00 a.m. sharp. If you'd like to use our practice grounds, they're available from 6:00 to 6:40. Please be at the derby arena by 6:50. We would've called, but unfortunately, our lines are currently down. We apologize for the inconvenience."
The attendant bowed politely.
Patricia felt her blood run cold. She blinked, confused.
"Wait... didn't you come earlier and tell me this already?"
The attendant shook her head.
"Mmm... no, Miss. I was just instructed to deliver this message a few minutes ago. That's why I'm here now."
"But... what do you mean? You were just here. You gave me an envelope. How can you say you didn't see me earlier?" Patricia pressed.
"I'm sorry, Miss. But I never saw you before now. I didn't give you any envelope. Could it be you're mistaking me for someone else?"
She paused, thoughtful.
"But that's unlikely. Only two attendants were assigned to deliver messages this morning—and the other is a man. Not someone you'd confuse me with. Are you sure it was me?"
Patricia stared at her, disbelief tightening in her chest. She opened her mouth to argue—then stopped.
'Wait... this is definitely the same attendant... but something's different.'
She replayed the earlier moment in her mind.
Long brown hair.
Small, sharp nose.
Blue eyes.
Pink lips.
She looked at the woman in front of her.
Long brown hair.
Small, sharp nose.
Brown eyes.
Pink lips.
That's it. The eyes.
The first attendant had blue eyes. This one had brown.
The realization hit her like a cold wave.
A sickening chill crept up her spine.
She didn't like it. Not one bit.
"Miss? Miss!" the attendant's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Huh?" Patricia blinked.
"Is everything alright? Do you need anything else?"
"What... no. No, thank you. I'll keep the information in mind," Patricia replied, forcing a smile.
The attendant gave her a concerned look, then bowed.
"Very well. Have a good day, and good luck with the race. I'll be cheering for you."
"Thank you," Patricia said softly.
The attendant nodded and walked away.
Patricia watched her disappear down the corridor before slipping back into the room and closing the door behind her.
She turned to face the two men—Isaac and Davis—who were already staring at her.
Their expressions said it all.
The revelation was chilling. Sickening.
Their UNKNOWN wasn't just out there.
It was among them.
Maybe even inside them.
Waiting. Watching. Ready to use them when it saw fit.
Their eyes drifted to the letter.
One question echoed in all their minds.
WHY?