The sun hung high over the White City, bathing its marble streets in gold.
Mousan stood still in his dark uniform, a faint tension in his posture, while Taylor stood beside him, gun in hand. Both were staring at a small house.
It was a one-story structure tucked between taller buildings, old but oddly clean.
It looked like any other house—no cracks in the windows, no strange symbols, no broken doors.
And yet… everything had led them here.
After combining Taylor's early findings with their joint investigation, and with cooperation from local police and rental agencies, they'd narrowed the entire city down. This place was the last anomaly—a house with no recorded owner, no known resident, and no listed visitor in weeks.
It was the final thread.
