The LCO building was quieter than Aldric expected. Usually, the hum of monitors and the low murmur of specialists filled the halls with a constant rhythm, but today, it almost felt… sacred. Ms. Vos, still in her professional composure as President Sky, guided him personally through the glass corridors, past rooms labeled with codes he didn't yet understand: Ops-47, Surveillance Grid-9, Data Vault-X3.
"Welcome," she said smoothly, her voice calm but tinged with an undertone of respect. "I've cleared this room for you. You'll have access to everything we've gathered on anomalies, cases, and logs that were once dismissed as coincidences. We've pulled every piece of data that might help you understand the chain behind Raktomb's murder—and its connection to the broader network."
Aldric nodded, taking in the screens, the walls lined with monitors displaying multiple locations, and the stacks of encrypted drives waiting to be unpacked.
The workers moved efficiently, transferring terabytes of information to the main console Aldric was stationed at. Logs of financial anomalies, surveillance footage, off-grid communications, old case files from multiple continents, even files that had been "archived for irrelevance" were slowly displayed on his screens.
Sitting down, Aldric exhaled, stretched his fingers over the keyboard, and began his descent into the labyrinth of data.
Day One:
Aldric scanned through the logs, finding subtle irregularities in transactions that spanned decades, anomalies in movements of people who were once thought to be low-level operatives, and communications between figures who should have had no reason to interact. He cross-referenced old cases—murders, missing persons, and unexplained financial collapses—and gradually began connecting dots.
By evening, he had compiled a list of twenty names who appeared across multiple channels, either through financial transactions, communications, or proximity to past incidents.
Day Two:
Aldric shifted focus to the video of Elijah Raktomb's final hours. He watched frame by frame, slowing it down, freezing, enhancing, adjusting angles. Something in the way the room was arranged didn't make sense. Tiny inconsistencies in shadows, furniture placement, and the subtle flicker of a reflection in a glass pane suggested someone else had been present—someone who wasn't supposed to be on camera.
He documented everything meticulously. He noticed timestamps that didn't match expected sequences. He traced financial movements that occurred minutes before the murder. And then there were the personnel logs, showing people accessing restricted areas without clearance.
By nightfall, his notebooks were filled with scribbles in multiple languages, symbols, and shorthand. Aldric stretched, letting the stiffness in his back melt away.
Day Three:
The third day was a blur of meticulous analysis. Aldric barely noticed the time passing as he cross-checked names, alibis, and locations.
Finally, in the small hours of the morning, he looked up and noticed Ms. Vos sleeping in the adjoining room, her chair tilted back slightly, her usual composure softened in slumber. He didn't disturb her. Instead, he stood, moved to the whiteboard beside his workstation, and began mapping out what he had deduced.
He wrote four names in bold strokes.
"Hmm," he muttered, running a finger along the letters. "These look… familiar."
Aldric paused. His mind raced. Most of these names were people who had been close to Elijah. Others were rivals, the kind of men and women who would've been unhappy with Raktomb's rise.
He wrote them out, spacing them carefully on the board, each name in its own quadrant: allies, friends, rivals, potential enemies.
Ms. Vos stirred and slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze swept the board.
"Did you… deduce it down to these four, Aldric?" she asked, rubbing her eyes and peering through the haze of sleep.
"No," Aldric replied. "These are not necessarily the perpetrators. These are the ones who could've given the orders to take out Raktomb. And the way the network functions, it's rarely the hand that acts; it's the mind that commands."
He pointed to the first two names. "These were his closest friends—those he trusted, allies in everything he had built."
He pointed to the last two. "And these… were his rivals. Men and women who could've had reason to want him removed quietly."
Ms. Vos leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she studied the board. Even in her extensive experience, she recognized the precision of his logic. "It fits," she said finally, almost in a whisper. "The way the events unfolded… the network… you're right. The pattern confirms it. Those were the only people with both motive and access."
Aldric exhaled. "I'm going to get some rest. Prepare for tomorrow. I leave Castria for Xylanthia then." He looked at her steadily. "So don't do anything reckless while I'm gone, Ms. Vos. Think long term, always. And protect my family. I'll be back in a few days."
Ms. Vos nodded, the weight of responsibility clear in her expression. "I'll make sure of it," she said.
Aldric turned and left the room, the echo of his footsteps in the hallway marking the transition from research to action.
Day Four:
The morning sun in Castria broke over the horizon as Aldric bid farewell to his family. His mother, noticeably healthier thanks to the medicines he purchased and the check-ups he had arranged, smiled faintly. His father, still crippled but in better shape than before, gave him a nod of quiet approval. His younger siblings, Mira and his little brother, clutched their new school bags—branded with their school's insignia, Castria Academy for Scholars—and waved energetically as he stepped into the waiting taxi.
"Be careful," his mother said softly. "Remember… you're our anchor."
"I will," Aldric said, voice calm but carrying the weight of promise.
The taxi pulled away, weaving through the quiet streets of Castria as Aldric stared out the window, thoughts already racing ahead to Xylanthia. Fox's message played over in his mind: a son in a predicament, a man of influence, and a challenge tailored to someone of his intellect and moral compass.
Arriving at the terminal, Aldric paused before the boarding gate, thinking of the fragments of information he had gathered over the past days. The names on the board, the anomalies in the old case, the financial networks—all of them were pieces of a larger puzzle. Pieces he was only beginning to fit together.
The trip to Xylanthia wouldn't just be a journey across continents—it would be a journey into the underbelly of corruption, influence, and power. And Aldric Benedict, Castria's unlikely prodigy, would face his first test against a man whose reach spanned borders, whose cunning had eluded the most disciplined agencies, and whose motives were wrapped in secrecy.
He checked his watch. Four days of preparation had brought him here. Now, the real game began.
And as the plane lifted off the runway, Aldric allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Challenges were meant to be conquered. Mysteries meant to be solved. And he was ready for both.