The room felt suffocating as Isaac and Davis sat opposite the man they had caught earlier.
It was the interrogation room at the WFAB base camp in Peruz—sterile, titanium‑black walls pressing in on them.
The man sat rigidly across from them, his gaze fixed almost entirely on Isaac. The intensity of it made Isaac shift uncomfortably, as though the stranger knew him from before their earlier encounter.
The man studied him intently, then averted his eyes to scan the room, sighing aloud before returning his focus to Isaac. He looked him up and down, then asked, "Are you Josh's kid?"
Isaac immediately tensed, leaning forward to meet the man's stare. His voice dropped low. "Who are you—and how do you know my father?"
The man smirked, shaking his head. "If I just tell you that, what do I gain? What do I benefit from it? Huh? Especially for a jerkass father like yours. I should at least benefit from telling you about him, right?"
Isaac flared at the insult, nearly lunging across the table before Davis grabbed him, holding him back.
"What did you just say about my father? You bastard! Say that again and I'll kill you right now!" Isaac growled, his fury boiling over.
"Hey! Hey! Easy, easy! Calm down, Isaac—relax, it's okay!" Davis said firmly, holding Isaac back to stop him from striking the man.
"Relax, alright? Calm down." Davis continued to soothe him as Isaac fumed over the insult to his father.
The man, meanwhile, nearly toppled from his chair when Isaac lunged. He released a shaky breath of relief as Isaac slowly began to settle, realizing he wasn't about to be attacked again.
"Isaac, please," Davis urged. "He's a witness. He has important information to share with us. Just hold your temper for a moment and let him speak. Then he can leave."
Isaac looked at Davis, saw the seriousness in his eyes, and reluctantly eased back, the tension draining from his shoulders.
Davis exhaled in relief before turning to the man. "Listen. If you're here to cause trouble, let me advise you to stop. Otherwise, things won't end well for you. Say what you need to say, then leave. Because if you provoke him again, I can't promise you'll walk out without a broken limb or two. Do you understand?"
The man glanced at Isaac, still twisted with rage, then at Davis, whose expression was deadly serious. He realized his taunts would no longer work and what he wanted from them could no longer be achieved. These men meant what they said. If he tried anything foolish, they would break him.
Sighing aloud, he relaxed his posture and settled back into his chair.
Looking at Davis and Isaac, the man spoke in a calm voice.
"Look… I'm not here to cause trouble. Okay. I only came to say what I needed to say—to get justice for my grandfather, and for my family. That's all I want. So yes, I'll tell you what you want to know. I want justice to prevail, and I hope we can talk peacefully now."
Isaac and Davis exchanged a glance before turning back to him.
Isaac leaned forward. "Alright. Go ahead. Tell us what you know about the disappearance of the McCoys. And I hope you're telling the truth—because if you're not, things won't end well for you."
The man sighed, leaned back, and said, "Believe me, what I'm about to say might sound crazy. But it's something—and it might help you uncover the mystery of the McCoys, while clearing my great‑grandfather's name from their murders."
He removed his woolen hat, revealing a bald head covered in thick scars from old stitches.
"I just want to clear my family's name from the McCoys' murders so justice can prevail. It's hard and tough you know, living in a place where you're always stigmatized, rejected, sneered at, called murderers for a crime committed centuries ago. Do you know what that's like? It not like I don't want to leave this place. No. On the contrary I do want to leave, to escape the danger and negativity, to live a life of happiness and safety—but I can't. None of us can.
It's not just about the Trifle family—my family—but all of us. Anyone with relatives who lived here during the time the McCoys disappeared, 620 years ago. And here's the crazy part: whenever someone tries to leave this town, they vanish. No trace. Gone. It's a mystery that remains unsolved even now.
So people stay, trapped in fear that they'll disappear too. That's life here in the little town of Peruz. This is the bloody case. And nobody knows exactly how it began—except that it all started with the McCoys. It all started with them."
Isaac and Davis exchanged another uneasy glance before fixing their eyes back on the man.
Davis leaned forward and asked, "So tell us—what do you know about what happened to the McCoys that day? What exactly were they involved in, to the point that the entire town hates them? And why did the blame for their disappearance fall on your grandfather? Tell us what really happened."
The man sighed, then fixed his gaze on Isaac. "Are you asking me because you don't know what happened—or because you're just trying to get on my nerves?"
Isaac blinked, leaning in. "Why are you asking me that?"
"Well… didn't your old man tell you? Didn't he explain what happened?" the man pressed.
Isaac blinked again, confusion etched across his face. "Why should my father have told me? What are you talking about?"
The man studied him, baffled. At first, he thought Isaac was joking—trying to trick him into repeating the story. But as he looked closer at Isaac's serious expression, he realized the truth: Isaac genuinely didn't know. His father had told him nothing. The blankness in Isaac's eyes was proof enough—he had no clue what the man was talking about.
The man shook his head and exhaled. "My great‑great‑grandfather, Thomas Trifle, discovered that the McCoys were up to no good. They were trying to get their hands on something—something beyond imagination. He didn't know exactly what it was, but the McCoys were obsessed. Obsessed enough to indulge in the darker side… the kind that chills your bones and makes your blood run cold.
They began performing supernatural acts—witchcraft—to get what they wanted. My father told me that on the day the McCoys disappeared, Grandfather Thomas saw them acting strangely. They wore black robes—the kind evil cults wear—and he even saw them sneaking baby doll heads into the house, along with something he had never seen before." He paused, swallowing hard. "A big black velvet chest."
Isaac and Davis stiffened, their minds flashing back to the old McCoy mansion, where they had seen that very thing. The memory was grisly.
"He saw them vanish through a secret passage, carrying the chest and their ritual objects one by one. No one knows what they were trying to summon—or provoke. But whatever it was… tsk… it didn't like it. Not one bit. My father said Grandpapy Thomas only saw a flash of blinding, smoking blue gas filling the house. Then came the agonizing screams—and poof! They were gone. No trace. Except for streaks of blood smeared across the banquet hall walls. Nothing else remained.
And the truth is…" He wiped sweat from his brow. "The McCoys weren't the only ones who disappeared that day. Others vanished too. I don't know who they were. But whatever that thing was, it cursed this town—and everyone in it. Especially our ancestors, 620 years ago. It cursed all of us. Now we can't even step outside this town. Try it, and you'll disappear like the others. No one dares take that risk."
The man sighed and looked directly at Isaac. "Your father… Joshua Phillips, came to this town eight years ago. He was searching for the same thing you are—investigating the McCoys, trying to uncover their disappearance. At first, it was fine. I opened up to him, told him everything I knew, hoping he could help us find answers. But I didn't realize he wasn't alone."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "He brought trouble with him. That's why I called him a jerkass earlier. Because the people he involved are nothing but scumbags —real pieces of trash who honor no one but themselves. They are the one who crushed my head like a watermelon, leaving me with the scars you see now. Your father betrayed me. I don't know who he sold me out to, but I remember being hurled from the bar and beaten to a pulp just hours after I spoke to him. And I remember hearing his name praised by the men who attacked me—saying he was the one who sold me out. I'll never forgive him for that. Never."
Isaac's eyes narrowed, his voice tight. "Did you see him there when you were beaten?"
"No. Didn't I just tell you? I was hurled unexpectedly—I didn't even see my attackers' faces," the man replied, before Isaac cut him off.
"So you didn't see my father there? Then how are you so sure he sold you out?" Isaac pressed, his teeth clenched.
"I didn't say he was there. I said I heard my attackers praising him for selling me out. That's all," the man shot back.
"And how are you so sure they weren't lying to you? How do you know it wasn't someone else?" Isaac demanded, his tension on the verge of breaking.
"He was the only one I told! If it wasn't him, then who? Care to explain that? I shared the information with him in a secure and safe place no one else knew about. So if he didn't betray me—then who did?" the man exploded.
Isaac wanted to lash out at him for the accusations, but forced himself to keep his cool.
There was no point in arguing with him. Isaac hadn't been there when his father spoke to the man, nor when the attack happened, so he couldn't clearly defend Joshua.
He knew his father had been involved in an undercover operation years ago before he was killed. Maybe—just maybe—Joshua had slipped up because he was cornered, or perhaps he had used the situation to uncover a bigger conspiracy.
Isaac couldn't fully defend him now without knowing exactly what had happened. The fact that his father had kept it from him broke his heart, leaving him to wonder why.
Isaac sighed, his expression conflicted, and asked, "Did you hear anything else from the people who hurt you—besides mentioning my father's name? Any other names, anything that could help us move forward in this case?"
The man saw Isaac's turmoil and realized the boy was deeply burdened by what he had just revealed about his father. And truthfully, it wasn't Isaac's fault.
So the man sighed and shook his head. "Look, kid. I'm sorry you had to find out about your father's betrayal like this. I didn't mean to impose it on you. I really didn't. But this place is crawling with troublesome people—dangerous people. And the worst part is, they're tied to the government and authorities. Including your faction."
Davis and Isaac exchanged questioning gazes. "Our faction?" they asked in unison.
The man nodded, then leaned in and whispered in a low voice.
"I can't believe I'm trusting you with this… but you two seem honest. So if you want more answers…"
He pulled a photograph from his pocket and slid it across the table.
Isaac picked it up, glanced at it—and both his and Davis's eyes widened at the sight.
It was a WFAB agent they knew well, speaking with none other than the Sleeping Prince. The two appeared to be exchanging documents and cash.
Davis and Isaac exchanged a tense glance before turning back to the man.
"Who took this photo? You?" Isaac asked.
The man shook his head. "No. My friend did. His name is Chivo. He's a policeman—a detective in the Costa Rican government. He's been investigating the Bulldog and his gang for years. He has a brawl with them, same as I do. But that's a story for another day. If anyone can help you uncover more, it's him."
Isaac studied him intently. "What do you want in exchange for giving us this information?"
The man smiled faintly. "Justice, my friends. Justice—with a little benefit, of course. But that's up to you now, isn't it, agents?"
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
An agent poked her head inside. "Captain. Agent A‑2. A word with you, please." She withdrew quickly.
Isaac and Davis looked at each other.
"We'll be back soon. Don't worry—we still have a lot to discuss. Why don't you wait here and have some coffee? We'll have someone bring it while you relax," Davis said, before he and Isaac stepped out of the room.
They walked into another office and found the agent who had called them earlier.
"What is it, Ray? What have you got for us?" Isaac asked.
Ray handed them a file.
"His name is Nicholas Trifle. He's forty‑two years old, a local resident of this town, and a retired policeman. He left the force eight years ago after being brutally attacked near a local bar. Poor guy nearly lost his life, but was rescued in time. But that's not the juicy part…"
Isaac glanced at her briefly before flipping through the pages. He stopped at one, his eyes narrowing.
"Well, what do you know. Our witness was a close friend of our dear late policeman from Rosa, Gabriel Otto Peruz. No wonder he has a brawl with the Bulldog and his gang. The guy wants revenge. Figures," Isaac said, closing the file and handing it back to Ray.
"Thank you, Ray. Now I want you to help us get in touch with Officer Chivo. Trifle said he has information that could help us gain more ground in this case. But be careful—and as discreet as possible. We don't want our enemies knowing what we're up to. We've come too far to lose everything now. Got it?"
Ray nodded. "Understood, Captain. I'll take care of it."
"Good," Isaac replied.
"Any word on what I asked you to find out earlier?" Davis asked.
Immediately, Isaac's ears perked up at the mention of Patricia and her siblings.
"Yes, Ray. What did you find out? Are they okay?" Isaac asked frantically.
Ray looked at Davis with a conflicted expression—a silent warning that things were not good. She feared Isaac might lose control if she told him the truth.
Davis caught the sign and was about to coax Isaac out of the room, but—
"Don't you dare even try!" Isaac snapped, stopping him in his tracks.
He had already read the exchange between them and knew things weren't okay. His piercing gaze locked on Ray.
"Well, Agent? Aren't you going to answer me? Just tell me what happened." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I promise I won't freak out—as long as it isn't too much. I'll stay calm."
Ray looked at Davis, who gave a reluctant nod. She exhaled before speaking.
"Okay, Captain. As you wish." She placed the file on the desk. "According to intel, everything was fine at the coronation banquet until an ugly fight broke out between Mr. Jethro Morales's nephew and Ms. Patricia's brother, Zach. It seems Morales's nephew provoked Zach by saying vile things about Ms. Patricia's sister, Alisha. The two fought, and it got so bad that Morales's bodyguards and security intervened. Zach was beaten by the bodyguards before Ms. Patricia stepped in, broke the fight, and called for security to restrain them."
Isaac exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair. "The bastards," he growled. "So what happened next? Did Patricia manage to salvage the situation and get Zach to the hospital? Are they okay now?"
Ray swallowed and glanced at Davis.
"What happened? Are they okay now?" Davis pressed.
Ray bit her lower lip. "Well… no. Not really."
Isaac's voice sharpened, his patience breaking. "What do you mean, not really? What happened, Ray!" He was already on the verge of grabbing her by the arms to shake the truth out of her.
"Ms. Patricia and her siblings have disappeared. We cannot find them. We tried everything, but we still can't locate them," Ray finally blurted out.
Isaac felt his heart drop into his stomach. "What? What do you mean you can't find them? What happened? Tell me!"
Ray exhaled frantically. "They vanished from the party right when…" She hesitated, glancing between them. "Before the Golden Horse of the club arrived."
If the first revelation had been a grenade to Isaac, this felt like a nuclear explosion.
"Ricardo Montenegra came to the party. And Ms. Patricia and her siblings…" Ray continued, but couldn't finish. Isaac stormed out of the room like a madman, consumed by frenzy.
Ray looked helplessly at Davis, who stood with his hand on his waist, shaking his head in disbelief.
He took a deep breath, then turned to Ray and sighed. "Get the Hounds to sniff out their trail immediately. And call Agent E‑20. I have a feeling we'll need him more than ever to keep those raging twin blue flames from blowing out of proportion." With that, Davis left the room to follow Isaac.
Ray released a shaky breath as soon as he was gone. "Oh God… this is going to be one heck of a storm," she whispered, pulling out her phone and dialing a number.