His dark eyes, sharp beneath straight brows, carried an air of focus as his gaze flickered to the badge pinned to Damon's coat, a lion insignia etched in gold. The man approached as His expression brightened with enlightenment. "You're Specters!"
"You're here about their daughter, right? I'm glad the authorities are finally taking this seriously enough to get special investigators involved."
What?… Damon and Henry exchanged looks and saw the puzzled expression on each other's faces.
It wasn't surprising they weren't informed about a single missing person report considering they weren't locals, but it now became apparent how dismally the officers ran the precincts.
"I'm afraid we weren't briefed on any missing persons, sir," Henry said carefully. "Could you tell us what happened?"
The man's eyes widened as he looked at them in astonishment, confusion flickering across his features. "You weren't told?" He frowned, lowering his voice as if worried someone would overhear them. "Cecil Watson, Mr. and Mrs. Watson's only child. She vanished a week ago. The whole street's been on edge since then."
Damon's brow knit. 'Cecil Watson…' The name meant nothing to him, yet the way the man spoke carried weight, as if it should.
Noticing their expressions, the man continued with a sigh, "We've made several reports to the local police and churches about it. Cecil was the star student at the Quintet Music College. She'd been chosen by a priest from the church of Olympia to perform at this year's Summer Festival." He fell silent for a few seconds, his gaze drifting toward the shuttered windows of the Watson house.
The man straightened, seeming to remember himself. "Ah, forgive my manners. My name is Chéng Rǔchuān," he said with a courteous nod. "I work as a freelance detective…but these days I mostly help the neighborhood watch with what the constables overlook."
"Isn't that dangerous... I can tell you have quite a bit of spiritual energy yourself, but you don't strike me as the fighting type." Henry asked with a raised brow.
Detective Rǔchuān gave a small, rueful smile. "Indeed, I'm usually accompanied by my son, who is a Specter, but he was recently deployed to Resburg for the beast tide. You too aren't locals, right?"
Realizing they'd been seen through, Damon nodded. "We were recently sent here to investigate another case that may be connected to this house… If possible, could you introduce us to th—"
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as a faint disturbance brushed against his spiritual perception once more, subtle yet impossibly cold, vanishing before he could grasp its source.
Then for a split second...everything went silent.
Crunch! Splat!!!
Like a watermelon breaking on stone, a wet, sickening sound rang out behind them.
Damon's expression tightened as the scent of iron drifted in the air; Henry inhaled sharply beside him, the breath catching in his throat. Detective Rǔchuān staggered, his complexion draining to ash as he stared past Damon with widening eyes.
Slowly, Damon turned around, and his heart sank.
Now plastered on the ground was the body of an older woman.
Like a broken doll, Her neck was bent at an impossible angle, with one leg twisted underneath her. A dark, red-black puddle was slowly seeping from her head, staining the clean gray stone. She hadn't fallen; she had just… appeared there, as if the world had skipped a frame.
Damon's heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, so loud he was sure the others could hear it. He raised his gaze abruptly and faced the Watsons' attic.
The attic window was open.
Yet it had been closed a minute ago. He was sure of it!
A thin, gauzy curtain stirred in the gentle breeze, its movement a pathetic counterpoint to the violence it now framed. Damon's vision sharpened as he increased the spiritual flow to his eyes, peeling back the veil of the material world to peer into the mystical.
There, at the threshold of the attic's gloom, a figure stood.
It was not a thing of flesh; rather, it was a silhouette carved from shadows, a humanoid-shaped void that seemed to absorb the very light around it. It was perfectly still, a spectator to the aftermath of its own work.
The curtain went still.
The icy feeling in Damon's mind vanished, leaving a hollow, ringing silence in its wake. His hands were clenched into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.
"D-Damon…" Henry's voice was a shaky whisper. "You saw that, right? That… that thing."
Damon didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the dark, empty square of the attic window.
'She didn't jump. Something made her fall.'
The thing wasn't at the window anymore.
But the crawling feeling on his skin told him a simple, horrifying truth: it was still inside.
"H-How could... Why would Mrs. Watson do this...!"
Hearing Detective Rǔchuān's hollow voice, Damon was stirred from his thoughts; turning around, he said to the detective, "This is no time for panicking. Instead, find some patrolling cops and have someone inform Mr. Watson." We'll seal off the area until they arrive."
As if emboldened by his words, the detective's eyes regained clarity. "Y-you're right, s-she might have been under some kind of influence; I'll get the officers." With shaky breaths, the detective stood up and quickly ran off to find the nearest policemen.
After waiting until he was out of sight, Damon signaled to Henry. They were about to search the house.
"Shouldn't we ... wait for the officers first? We might contaminate the crime scene..?" Henry asked nervously.
"Trust me, waiting for the police is a waste of time. Let's gather some clues and leave before we attract too much attention; this will be ruled a suicide either way." Damon explained with a somber look. "We can't go back to Vincent empty-handed."
Following Damon's lead, Henry reached his hand towards the gate before leveraging himself to jump over. With a dull thud, the brothers landed on the walkway, merely a foot away from the body.
Damon's eyes flickered to Mrs. Watson's contorted body for a moment, but he didn't hesitate to step past the blood; taking a stride, he approached the front door with caution.
After assessing the type of lock the Watsons used, he crouched, reaching into his inventory for a set of tension wrenches and small hooks.
The world quickly narrowed to the tip of his tool and the silent, metallic chamber before him. He inserted the twisted tension wrench into the bottom of the keyway, applying the faintest counterclockwise pressure.
Click! Click! Click!
He continued his methodical probe as satisfying clicks sounded in quick succession, like tiny, metallic footsteps in the dark. "Jackpot!"
"I think you're enjoying this way too much, brother."
"Well... It's not every day we get to use the basic skills we were taught." Damon turned his head and smiled. He then stood up, casually stowed away his tools, and opened the wooden door.
Henry, however, was not as confident in him in what they were doing. Taking one last glance at Mrs. Watson, he then reached into his inventory, drew his daggers, and increased his spiritual energy output, ensuring he was prepared for any unexpected attacks.
As the door swung back on silent hinges, the interior lit under flickering lights was revealed.