Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the apartment.
Sian glanced toward the front door.
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
He quietly stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, rose from his chair, and brushed the ash from his sleeve.
"I'll get it."
He crossed the apartment at an unhurried pace and unlocked the door.
Three policemen stood outside.
Dark uniforms.
Polished boots.
Rounded hats cast narrow shadows across their eyes.
The man in front appeared to be in his forties. Nothing about his face stood out—except his eyes. They were unnaturally still, almost devoid of emotion.
The two officers behind him wore the same expressionless faces, so devoid of emotion they resembled moving dolls.
Sian rested one hand against the doorframe.
A faint, courteous smile appeared.
"How may I help the law today, officers?"
The lead officer returned neither the smile nor the greeting.
His gaze drifted past Sian's shoulder and into the apartment.
Without asking permission, he stepped inside.
The other two followed close behind.
Only then did Sian step aside.
The apartment suddenly felt smaller.
No one spoke.
Silence lingered as the lead officer slowly surveyed the room.
Nothing escaped his attention.
"Mr. Sian Lumiere."
He spoke each word with deliberate precision, as though unwilling to waste even a syllable.
"Lives alone. Apartment thirty-three."
His eyes wandered upward, as if reading invisible notes.
"Monthly rent. Thirty-six Albedo."
Another glance swept across the furniture.
"A well-furnished residence."
His gaze shifted to the open curtains.
"Excellent ventilation."
Only then did he meet Sian's eyes.
"You live comfortably."
Sian's faint smile remained.
"I work."
The officer neither agreed nor disagreed.
With the slightest inclination of his head, he signaled the other two officers.
They immediately spread through the apartment.
Cupboards opened.
Closet doors creaked.
Drawers slid out one after another.
Not hurriedly.
Methodically.
Like men who had performed the same search a hundred times before.
Sian watched them in silence, his expression unchanged.
The lead officer eventually made his way into the kitchen.
The moment he crossed the doorway—
Beatrice erupted into fierce barking.
The officer stopped.
His eyes slowly lowered toward the dog.
She stood rigid beside the table, lips curled back, a low growl rumbling deep in her throat.
He paid the furious animal no mind.
Instead, his gaze drifted to the kitchen table.
A half-empty glass of fresh milk.
Beside it...
A worn children's book.
He picked it up.
Turned one page.
Then another.
Only then did he speak.
"Mr. Sian... did you have a visitor today?"
He turned around, the book still resting in his hand.
"I can understand drinking milk in the morning..."
His eyes lingered on the faded cover.
"...but aren't you a little too old for children's stories?"
The officer nodded toward the table.
"One glass."
His eyes shifted to the bottle beside it.
"Fresh milk."
"Did you have a visitor this morning?"
Sian's gaze drifted to the table.
Only for a moment.
When he looked back, his expression had already settled into its usual calm.
"Does a glass of milk suggest company?"
"It suggests two possibilities."
"And the second?"
"You suddenly developed a fondness for children's breakfasts."
For the first time, a faint smile appeared on Sian's face.
"I wasn't aware breakfast habits had become criminal evidence."
The officer ignored the remark.
Instead, he raised the book slightly.
"A children's story."
He turned another page.
"The milk."
Then another.
"And only one glass."
He closed the book.
"Interesting combination."
"I picked the book up by mistake," Sian replied evenly. "I intended to return it today."
"To whom?"
"It belongs to someone else."
"A child?"
"I never said that."
The officer's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"No..."
"You didn't."
Another silence settled between them.
Beatrice's growling continued from across the kitchen.
The officer glanced toward her.
"Your dog doesn't seem to like strangers."
"She usually doesn't."
"Usually?"
Sian shrugged.
"Animals have instincts."
The officer looked back at him.
"So they do."
His gaze returned to the book.
"And instincts are rarely wrong."
Sian answered almost immediately.
"They're also impossible to question."
The officer tilted his head slightly.
"You don't trust instinct?"
"I trust proof."
"And what does proof tell you?"
Sian met his eyes without hesitation.
"That you've searched nearly half my apartment already."
He paused.
"And found nothing."
For the first time since entering, the officer remained completely still.
No smile.
No irritation.
Only silence.
Finally—
"You're confident."
"I'm observant."
"There's a difference."
"There usually is."
The officer slowly closed the book and placed it back on the table exactly where he had found it.
"I wonder..."
His fingers rested lightly on the cover.
"...whether you're observant enough to notice what I haven't asked you."
Sian said nothing.
The officer continued.
"I never asked whose book this is."
He looked directly into Sian's eyes.
"I asked whether anyone visited you."
Silence.
Only the ticking clock answered.
Then Sian spoke.
"And I answered."
"I said I intended to return the book."
A pause.
"I never said someone had been here."
The officer watched him for several seconds.
Then...
Very slowly...
He smiled.
It wasn't a friendly smile.
It was the smile of a man who had just realized the person standing before him was far more careful than he had expected.
The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.
The officer folded his hands behind his back and began strolling slowly around the kitchen, his eyes lingering on every object as though each had a story to tell.
"The neighbors speak highly of you."
Sian remained silent.
"They say you're polite."
A step.
"They say you keep to yourself."
Another step.
"They say you leave every evening..."
His gaze drifted toward the hunting rifle.
"...with that rifle."
"And return before sunrise."
The officer stopped beside the window.
"They also say your dog is remarkably quiet."
He turned.
"She never barks."
Almost on cue, Beatrice erupted into another sharp bark.
The officer glanced at her.
"Interesting."
Sian calmly rested a hand on the back of a chair.
"She's barking now."
"Exactly."
Their eyes met.
"So tell me..."
"What changed?"
"You're a stranger," Sian replied without hesitation.
The officer did not answer immediately.
His gaze drifted back to Beatrice.
She was still barking.
For the first time since entering the apartment, a faint crack appeared in the certainty he had carried with him.
Even so, he pressed on.
"The walls in this building are thin," he said almost absentmindedly.
"They heard footsteps."
"They heard voices."
"They even remembered a crimson cloak."
His gaze settled on Sian once more.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Sian lowered his eyes for only a heartbeat.
Not because he lacked an answer—
Because he was choosing the right one.
When he finally spoke, his voice remained perfectly calm.
"My neighbors hear more than they see."
The officer's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly.
"They fill silence with imagination."
"One person notices something unusual..."
"...the next adds a detail..."
"...and before long..."
"...everyone remembers the same story."
"A flaw in eyewitness testimony."
"Partly."
"The mind has a habit of completing unfinished stories," Sian said.
"It's called confirmation bias."
"When people expect to find something..."
"...they begin to notice only the details that support what they already believe."
"So you study people," the officer said.
"I read about them."
"And has it been useful?"
"It taught me that people rarely remember events."
A brief pause.
"They remember the version that makes the most sense to them."
The officer remained silent.
"But barking is difficult to imagine."
"It depends."
"On what?"
"Expectation."
The officer waited.
"If someone believes there's an intruder..."
"...every sound becomes suspicious."
"If they believe nothing happened..."
"...ordinary sounds disappear from memory."
The officer studied him for several long seconds.
"You've thought about this before."
"I've met people."
"No."
The officer shook his head once.
"You've studied them."
Before Sian could answer, one of the officers returned from the hallway.
"Nothing."
The lead officer gave a slight nod.
Moments later, the second officer emerged.
"Nothing here either."
Again...
A nod.
The apartment had been searched from one end to the other.
Every cupboard.
Every room.
Every corner.
Nothing.
The lead officer slowly turned toward Beatrice.
She was still barking.
Still baring her teeth.
Still refusing to let him take another step without protest.
His eyes narrowed.
He drew a slow breath.
"So..."
His eyes swept across the apartment one last time.
"A locked apartment."
"No trace of another person."
"No evidence."
He turned back toward Sian.
"Logic appears to be on your side today."
Sian allowed himself a faint smile.
"I've always found logic more dependable than suspicion."
The officer returned the smile.
It carried no warmth.
"Perhaps."
He took one slow step closer.
"But suspicion has a habit of arriving before proof."
"And proof..."
"...sometimes arrives too late."
Another silence settled over the kitchen.
Neither man looked away.
Neither intended to.
The officer held Sian's gray eyes for a long moment.
Then, at last...
He looked away.
"It seems we've interrupted your breakfast for nothing."
A brief pause.
"Our apologies, Mr. Sian."
"We'll be leaving now."
A faint smile touched Sian's lips.
"Think nothing of it."
He gestured toward the hallway.
"Allow me to see you out."
The three officers turned toward the front door.
Sian followed a step behind.
As they crossed the living room, the lead officer's gaze wandered almost absentmindedly across the room.
Books.
They were everywhere.
Some were stacked beside the sofa.
Others rested on the small table by the window.
A few lay open, as though their owner had merely stepped away for a moment.
History.
Philosophy.
Psychology.
His eyes lingered there only briefly.
Something shifted inside him.
Not agreement.
Recognition.
The man wasn't speaking off the top of his head.
He knew exactly what he was talking about.
The officer reached the front door.
His hand settled on the doorknob.
Then he paused.
Without turning around, he said,
"Quite an expensive apartment..."
A brief silence.
"...for a man who makes his living selling rabbit hides."
Sian's faint smile never faded.
"In my experience, people rarely pay for the hide."
A pause.
"They pay for the rabbit."
The officer listened without interrupting.
"Especially the ones foolish enough to believe they can outrun the trap."
For the first time, the officer let out a quiet chuckle.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He opened the door.
The three officers stepped into the corridor.
Sian quietly closed the door behind them.
The lock clicked.
He remained standing where he was.
Beyond the door, the sound of polished boots echoed through the corridor before descending the stairwell.
Slower...
Fainter...
Until silence reclaimed the building.
Only then did the smile leave his face.
He then returned to the kitchen, where Beatrice was waiting for him.
"You saved me," he said, looking at the dog.
Beatrice responded with a dog-like nod and wagged her tail.
He looked toward the open kitchen window.
The iron fire escape clung to the outside of the building.
Empty.
She had escaped that way before the officers arrived.
Through the window, he caught sight of the three men leaving the building and disappearing into the street.
A flutter of wings broke the silence.
A crow descended onto the windowsill.
Its ebony feathers gleamed beneath the pale daylight.
It stood perfectly still, its head tilted ever so slightly.
Watching him.
Unblinking.