A young man sat at a table by the window inside a café, holding his phone as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Customers came and went, their voices mixing with the hum of the espresso machine and the clinking of cups. Dark coffee in hand, he took a sip, frowning at the unusually sharp bitterness, yet drank it anyway.
Scrolling through the article with his finger, the murmur of the café faded into the background. Eyes narrowing, he set the cup down abruptly, as if the taste of coffee couldn't compete with the strangeness of what he
The headline revealed little, only mentioning that a ten-year-old girl had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Something in the phrasing made him raise an eyebrow; a subtle pattern lingered in the words, a hint that this was no ordinary missing person case.
Finishing his coffee, a decision seemed to settle over him. The black jacket hanging from the chair was lifted and adjusted with precise motion. Approaching the counter, a calm smile accompanied the payment to the employee. Phone and wallet were tucked into pockets before the café door opened to the street.
Sunlight struck him, blinding for a few seconds. His hand rose to shield his eyes, letting only a soft beam touch his face. A deep breath preceded a faint sigh, and then he began to walk. Streets teemed with life; pedestrians crossed paths, some laughing, others absorbed in private worlds, all flowing with the city's rhythm.
Moving among them, his expression remained serene, observing the surroundings with natural detachment. Each step drew him closer to a destination already chosen, yet no hurry pressed him forward.
After considerable walking, Elliot Gray arrived before a building that seemed to scrape the sky. A massive skyscraper, adorned with refined finishes and elegant decor, rose above the city's flow. Glass doors welcomed a stream of luxury cars while impeccably dressed people entered and exited.
Worn hiking boots, black jeans, a simple white shirt, and a black jacket marked him as different, yet no one gave him a second glance. Polite smiles reached him, so perfect they nearly hurt the eyes, and each gesture was returned calmly, composure intact.
A hand reached toward the door just as he prepared to touch it, but an older figure moved forward confidently. "Welcome, Mr. Elliot Gray," came a measured voice, accompanied by a smile neither exaggerated nor false. "I'm glad to see you here."
A brief nod was all Elliot offered; words were unnecessary. The tone and gaze alone were sufficient to grant him passage. It wasn't mere courtesy—an edge of knowing lingered, as if the building itself recognized him before he did.
Crossing the threshold, his smile vanished, replaced by a subtle sigh. The elegant lobby extended ahead as he approached the elevator, pressing the button for the second-to-last floor.
The doors began to close, only to be halted by a gloved hand. Looking up, he saw a middle-aged man step inside. Thin, dressed in a suit that seemed from another era, with a monocle gleaming in the lobby light, the stranger smiled calmly.
"I see you are Elliot Gray," the man said, measured yet clear.
Elliot's nod was minimal, silence holding him steady as he studied the stranger. Calm continued in the man's next words:
"I didn't want to miss the chance to welcome you personally."
The elevator doors shut behind them. Forward eyes met the motion of the car, filling the silence as the city receded below.
A deep sense of unease settled over him, waiting for the man to speak again, yet words never came. The elevator glided smoothly, elongating moments in a strangely tense rhythm.
Approaching the second-to-last floor, the man finally broke the quiet:
"Undoubtedly, you are an extraordinary young man. Allow me the pleasure of welcoming you."
A slight bow accompanied a swift gesture; a playing card appeared between his fingers, extended toward Elliot. Suspicion and confusion met the gesture. No attempt was made to take it; the young man stepped out instead.
Continuing down the hall, he passed several rooms separated by wide, silent doors. Steps echoed faintly across polished floors. Reaching a door, his hand slipped into his jacket pocket for the key, and tension immediately tightened his gaze.
There it lay: a Joker card that hadn't been there moments before. Rotating it under the light, he struggled to understand how it had arrived.
Eyes narrowed, he searched for the moment the man might have done this. The elevator was gone, closed doors reflecting only the faint hallway light, leaving no trace of the event.
Options scarce, the card returned to its pocket. The room awaited.
A spacious, luxurious space greeted him, flawless in finish, designed to impress—but Elliot remained unmoved. Crossing without hesitation, he headed straight for a large wardrobe, moving clothes aside to reveal a hidden bulky backpack at the back.
Placed on the bed and opened, its contents revealed: a flashlight, a rain hood, and several survival tools, each examined in turn. Hands moved with practiced efficiency, choices made without doubt.
At one point, a combat axe, ergonomically designed with black steel, was lifted. Seconds were spent evaluating its weight before returning it to the backpack, expression unchanged.
With necessities selected, items were stowed in pockets, and the backpack was closed. Standing, he moved toward the door, swiping the card to lock it before stepping into the hallway.
A pause followed.
The elevator drew a glance, briefly considered, then abandoned as stairs became the chosen route.
Daylight shifted as he descended; the sun tilted on the horizon, casting warmer tones through landing windows. More than thirty floors fell beneath him, yet fatigue left no mark. Breathing steady, movement uninterrupted, effort seemed irrelevant.
The lobby emerged below, as polished as before, though attention in the crowd had subtly shifted. Eyes followed him; some pointed discreetly, others whispered, confirming in muted tones.
No change in pace marked his progress.
Passing a large screen mounted on a wall, a commentator's restrained excitement filled the space, recounting how another major case had been solved by a prodigious young detective. Details unfolded, and an image appeared: a young man with white hair, serene gaze, and piercing blue eyes.
Heads turned, comparing without disguise.
By the time he exited, the scene behind him faded.
Outside, air was cooler. An ordinary car waited; door opened, seat claimed, engine roared to life on the first try.
Before moving, eyes met the rearview mirror.
Distantly, the monocle-wearing man exited the hotel with the same calm as before, unhurried, as if nothing could hold him there. No glance in Elliot's direction; simply a retreat into the distance.
A slight frown passed his face. Hands adjusted on the wheel.
Pressing the accelerator, he merged into the street's flow, heading toward a destination already decided.