Cedric (placing a sealed envelope on her desk):
"...This one's different. No noise, no ransom. Just a letter and a missing girl."
Celeste (reading the letter, frowning):
"'You've stolen from the forgotten. Now she belongs to the silence.'
What the hell is this supposed to mean?"
She looked up sharply at Cedric, her violet eyes narrowed.
Celeste (tone suddenly serious):
"Tell me this isn't another noble house scandal."
Cedric (sighing, avoiding her gaze):
"...It's worse. The letter came from the Saint Merith Orphanage."
Celeste went silent. Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk, and her expression darkened.
Celeste:
"...When?"
Cedric:
"Three days ago. Her name's Lora. Thirteen years old. One of the quiet ones, always stayed inside the gates. The matron didn't even know she was missing until yesterday morning."
Celeste:
"And the letter?"
Cedric:
"Left on the chapel altar. No one saw who put it there."
Celeste slowly exhaled.
Celeste:
"I'm going."
Cedric:
"Don't you want to ask more first? Get the full report?"
Celeste (already heading for the door):
"No. I've seen this before. And if I'm right… she doesn't have much time."
Celeste grabbed her revolver from the drawer and strapped her sword-cane to her side. Without wasting another second, she threw on her coat and sprinted out of the office, her footsteps echoing down the quiet street of Silverpalace's outskirts.
The sky was already darkening, casting an eerie twilight over the city. The orphanage wasn't close—but she wasn't about to wait for an escort.
As she darted through alleyways and winding roads, the letter's words repeated in her head like a curse:
"You've stolen from the forgotten. Now she belongs to the silence."
Her expression was grim. She'd seen plenty of twisted things over the years. But something about this felt off—not just cruel, but calculated.
Her expression was grim. She'd seen plenty of twisted things over the years. But something about this felt off—not just cruel, but calculated.
By the time she arrived at Saint Merith Orphanage, the wrought-iron gates loomed like prison bars. The place was half-hidden behind ivy-covered stone walls and framed by crooked trees that looked like claws in the moonlight.
The door creaked open before she could knock.
A tired woman in a black habit, her face pale and anxious, stood there clutching a rosary.
Sister Marianne:
"You must be Miss Walker... the detective."
Celeste (nodding sharply):
"Where did she go missing?"
The nun stepped aside silently, gesturing toward the dimly lit interior.
Sister Marianne (voice shaking):
"Her name is Clara. She vanished after the evening prayer. No broken locks, no sounds... Just that letter on the chapel altar."
Celeste stepped inside, her boots echoing on the cold stone floor. Her gaze swept over the worn-out interior, the silence almost too perfect.
Celeste (to herself):
"No signs of forced entry. That means one of two things... Either she left willingly—or someone very familiar with this place took her."
She tightened her grip on her coat and turned to the sister.
Celeste:
"Show me the chapel. And I want to see her room after."
As Celeste followed Sister Marianne down the narrow, echoing corridor, candlelight flickered across the worn stone walls. Her footsteps were steady, but her thoughts raced.
Celeste (thinking):
This can't be real…
I solved that case myself. That handwriting, that message—it's identical. But the man who wrote it... he's dead. I watched him hang.
So what is this? A copycat? A surviving accomplice? Or… could this be the work of his descendants, trying to pick up where he left off?
The corridor curved slightly, leading to an old wooden door. The air grew colder as they neared the chapel.
Celeste (thinking, jaw tightening):
No one should even know about that case. It was sealed. Buried.
Someone went through a lot of effort to bring it back into the light. But why now? And why here?
They stopped outside the chapel doors. Sister Marianne hesitated, glancing at Celeste as if silently asking whether she was ready.
Celeste (aloud, calmly):
"Open it."
The nun pushed the doors open slowly.
Inside, the chapel was deathly quiet. Rows of old pews faced a cracked marble altar. On it, a single piece of parchment lay pinned down by a rusted candleholder—its edges curled, the ink unmistakable.
Celeste stepped inside and stared at the paper.
Celeste (softly):
"Same phrasing. Same blotches in the lettering. Same cruel elegance in the penmanship."
She didn't touch the letter. Not yet. She scanned the floor, the walls, the broken stained-glass windows—taking in every detail.
Celeste kept her gaze fixed on the letter for a moment longer, then turned to the nun beside her.
Celeste (serious tone):
"Sister… before Clara disappeared—had she been saying anything strange? Acting differently than usual?"
Sister Marianne's hands clutched her rosary a little tighter. She hesitated, her eyes flickering toward the cracked stained-glass window as if searching for the right words.
Sister Marianne (quietly):
"Yes... about a week before she vanished, she began waking up from nightmares—screaming about 'the quiet ones in the walls'… and that 'they whisper only when the candles go out.' At first, we thought it was just the dark playing tricks on her—children have vivid imaginations. But then she stopped eating. Barely spoke. Just... stared into corners of empty rooms."
Celeste's brow furrowed.
Celeste:
"Did she ever mention someone new? A visitor, a gift, anything unusual left behind?"
Sister Marianne slowly nodded.
Sister Marianne:
"She said a 'lady in gray' came to her in her dreams. And once… once she swore that lady stood at the foot of her bed, humming a lullaby she didn't recognize."
Celeste's eyes darkened.
Celeste (thinking):
Lady in gray. Whispering voices. Identical handwriting. Either someone is pulling strings with a cruel purpose… or this case is about to spiral into something I didn't expect.
Celeste (muttering to herself, stepping away from the Sister):
"A lady… So it's not him. It can't be. The dead don't rise and start killing again."
She pauses mid-step, her eyes narrowing as the thought deepens.
"But his family…"
She flips open her notebook, flipping through past case files hastily scribbled in shorthand.
"They were chased out by the Crown. Stripped of title, wealth seized. But nowhere—nowhere—does it confirm their deaths. His wife… his children… they just vanished into obscurity."
She stops walking altogether, a strange chill brushing the back of her neck.
"...I think I'm on to something. This isn't a ghost. This is a legacy."
She snaps the notebook shut and mutters:
Celeste:
"I need to dig deeper—into the records, the descendants, everything tied to the Wyrth family."
Thunder rumbled as Celeste shut the door behind her, water dripping from the edges of her coat. She tossed her gloves to the desk, letting out a sharp exhale before pulling open the drawer labeled "Old Case Files."
Her fingers moved fast, flicking past faded names—until she froze at the one marked:
She yanked it out, scattering a few loose papers in the process. Inside, sketches, bloodied notes, and court documents—one showing the noble's execution… and beside it, the last known photo of his wife and children. No death record. No burial. Just… silence.
Celeste (gritting her teeth):
"They vanished into thin air—and I let them."
Her eyes darted between the letter from today and a page she had once ignored. The penmanship, the trailing loops in the lowercase 'f,' the angular tilt…
It was the same hand.
Without a moment's pause, she grabbed the phone and dialed. The line clicked and hissed before finally connecting.
Celeste:
"Get me Cedric. Now."
Seconds passed.
Cedric (groggy):
"…This better be life or death,miss Walker—"
Celeste (snapping):
"Spare me the sarcasm, Cedric. This is life or death. That message—the one you brought? I've seen that handwriting before. It's from the Wyrth case."
Cedric (immediately alert):
"You mean the one that Celeste noir closed? Years ago?"
Celeste:
"So the record says. But there's something off about all of this. His family vanished without a trace. No confirmed deaths. No trails. Just… wiped clean."
Cedric:
"You're saying his wife… or kids…?"
Celeste:
"I don't know. But whoever sent that letter, they've picked up right where he left off. And if this is personal, then the victim they took… won't survive another day or two."
She pulled out a notepad, furiously scribbling: "Wife = possible lead," "Motive = revenge/justice twisted?"
Celeste:
"Meet me at the central records hall. I want everything the Crown buried about that family. Names, former estate servants, sightings—whatever they've swept under the rug."
Cedric (firmly):
"I'll be there in thirty."
The line went dead.
Celeste holstered her revolver, fastened her coat, and paused just as she reached for the door. Her violet eyes lingered on the old photo one last time.
Celeste (quietly):
"If I missed something back then… I'll make it right now. No matter what."
Cedric enters, holding a worn case file thick with dust and notes. He drops it onto her desk with a heavy thud.
Cedric (exhaling):
"Found it. The Wyrth case file. Had to dig through half the archives. Most of the rookies don't even know this one exists."
Celeste (flipping the file open calmly):
"Then it must've left an impression.
Cedric:
"It did. Back then it was chaos. A priest murdered in his chapel, blood everywhere, scripture twisted into death threats. And this—"
(taps a page) "—that same message: 'She belongs to the silence.'"
Celeste (studying the document):
"Handwriting's identical. Structure, phrasing—eerily similar."
Cedric:
"It gets worse. This case was closed by Celeste Noir herself. You've heard of her, right?"
Celeste (without looking up):
"Of course."
Cedric (pulling out another sheet):
"She tracked down the killer—Matthias Wyrth. Religious fanatic, they said. Confessed to everything before they executed him. Case wrapped up in record time."
Celeste (quietly):
"But no mention of his wife or children."
Cedric:
"That's the weird part. After his execution, his family just… vanished. Some say the crown dealt with them quietly. Others think they ran."
Celeste (frowning):
"And now, someone with the exact same style resurfaces. Either a mimicry... or a continuation."
Cedric (crossing his arms):
"Exactly. And if this really is linked to the Wyrths, we're on borrowed time."
Celeste (closing the file):
"The last time a letter like this appeared, the victim was dead within forty-eight hours."
Cedric:
"Then we need to move fast. This time, we catch whoever's behind it before another body drops."
Celeste (coolly):
"Then get your gear, Cedric. We're going hunting."
Celeste crouches beside a shallow print in the mud — faint but still fresh enough to follow. She had trailed the pattern from the orphanage to the edge of this quiet town, where the trees grew sparse and a chilling mist hung unnaturally low.
Celeste (muttering):
"The trail ends here… like they vanished into the fog."
Cedric looks around warily, hand instinctively resting on his sidearm.
Cedric:
"This place gives me the creeps. Locals call it Gray Hollow. Half of them have never left. The other half? They don't talk much."
Celeste stands up slowly, brushing the dirt off her gloves.
Celeste:
"A gray lady, huh? Fits the whispers. Every child in the orphanage described the same thing—gray veil, gray dress, gliding like a shadow."
Cedric (tense):
"You think it's her? His wife?"
Celeste (cool and calculating):
"If it is, she's either a ghost… or the one pulling the strings."
Cedric:
"But she vanished after Matthias's execution. No body. No leads."
Celeste:
"Exactly. Which means if she's alive, she's smart enough to stay hidden… until now."
She scans the quiet town ahead — windows shuttered, doors bolted, not a soul in sight.
Celeste (softly):
"And she's got Clara. That means she's not done yet."
Celeste's eyes narrow as a faint figure moves between two buildings in the mist — too tall for Clara, too slow to be a passing local.
Celeste (quietly):
"There."
She draws her revolver without hesitation.
Celeste:
"Time to meet the lady in gray."
Celeste and Cedric dashed between the weathered buildings, boots hitting wet cobblestone, eyes locked on the faint silhouette drifting through the fog. The figure moved like smoke—graceful, gliding, and silent.
Celeste (gritting her teeth):
"Don't lose her."
They rounded a corner into a narrow alleyway.
Nothing.
Only mist.
Cedric (panting):
"She was just here…"
Celeste (voice low, cautious):
"No. She wanted us to follow. And now… she's gone."
She scanned the alley—damp walls, muddy footprints suddenly ending mid-path. Not even a shift in the mist remained to trace her.
Celeste (sternly):
"This is no coincidence. This woman knows this town better than we do. She's leading us somewhere—or away from something."
She stepped back, tightening her grip on the revolver.
Celeste:
"Cedric. Call your men. Don't move them in yet—just get them on standby around the perimeter."
Cedric (nodding, pulling his communicator):
"Copy that. This is Lieutenant Wynthorne—team Gray Hollow perimeter, eyes up, weapons cold. We may have a visual on a target, but she's gone dark in the mist."
Celeste (to herself, scanning the rooftops):
"She's toying with us. Like a cat watching its prey scramble."
She knelt, brushing her fingers along the last visible footprints. They didn't fade—they stopped. Like she vanished into thin air.
Celeste (quietly):
"Or like she never existed at all…"
The church bell in the distance rang once.
Loud. Hollow. Ominous.
Celeste's violet eyes narrowed as she stood up slowly.
Celeste (coldly):
"She wants us to find her. But on her terms."
The cold mist clung to Celeste's coat like fingers refusing to let go. Cedric moved a few steps away, quietly speaking into his communicator, while Celeste crouched down and narrowed her eyes, letting her instincts take over.
Celeste (thinking):
"She didn't just vanish. Someone like that… always leaves something behind."
She scanned the cobblestone again—this time, slower. Every crack. Every groove. Her eyes caught something just slightly off. A faint smear. Not dirt—ash.
She pulled a handkerchief from her coat and carefully scooped it up.
Celeste (murmuring):
"Burned… not natural. This was deliberate."
She followed the direction of the ash, her boots crunching softly against gravel as she reached a crooked stack of crates tucked near the back wall. A faint symbol had been scrawled into the side of the wooden box in what looked like black charcoal—barely visible under the mist's dampness.
A spiral intersected by three sharp lines. Celeste's eyes narrowed.
Celeste:
"That's not random."
She pulled out her notebook and sketched the symbol.
Then, as she moved one crate aside, she spotted it—tucked between two broken stones in the wall. A folded slip of parchment.
She opened it slowly. Inside was a single phrase, handwritten in a neat but unnatural style:
"The silence never forgets. She will walk again."
Celeste's grip tightened on the paper.
Celeste (under her breath):
"Poetic threats. How original…"
She glanced up, the mist beginning to thin just slightly in the alley. Something about this message tugged at her memory.
The handwriting.
The tone.
The ritualistic phrasing.
Celeste (sharply):
"Cedric!"
He turned toward her as she held up the note.
Celeste:
"She left this. She's taunting us. Or worse—inviting us."
Cedric (taking the note):
"'She will walk again'… what the hell does that mean?"
Celeste (darkly):
"It means this case just got personal. And whatever they've started…"
She turned toward the thickening fog at the alley's far end, where the symbol had been scrawled.
Celeste (cold):
"…they're not finished yet."
Just as Celeste and Cedric pushed forward, the mist seemed to thicken unnaturally—and from the shadows, they emerged.
Figures cloaked in patchwork leather and cloth, faces hidden by scarves and masks. At least a dozen. Armed with jagged swords, crude crossbows, and rusted axes.
Celeste (eyes narrowing):
"Tch… they set a trap beforehand."
Cedric (drawing his sword):
"We've been followed all this time. You okay over there, Miss Walker?"
The clang of metal rang through the alley as Cedric blocked a blow from a bandit's curved blade, then parried another swipe coming from behind. He gritted his teeth and retaliated with a sweeping strike.
Celeste (firing two quick shots, then spinning her sword into a ready stance):
"Worry about yourself, Cedric!"
She ducked under a swipe and kicked one attacker into the wall, then turned her revolver sideways and shot another's weapon hand clean before slashing across his thigh to take him down.
Bandit (hissing):
"She's the one! The witch with violet eyes!"
Celeste (coldly):
"You must've been paid well to die tonight."
One bandit lunged at her with a spear. She side-stepped smoothly, catching his wrist, twisting it, and disarming him before throwing him into another charging attacker. Without hesitation, she fired a precise shot through both of their legs, dropping them.
Cedric (backing toward her):
"Any bright ideas?! They're trying to cut off our exit!"
Celeste (flicking blood from her blade):
"Use their greed against them. These aren't zealots—they're paid muscle. Hurt a few bad enough and the rest will scatter."
She raised her voice loud enough for the attackers to hear:
Celeste:
"Whoever hired you clearly didn't mention I don't die easily."
Her words cut through the chaos, and a few bandits visibly hesitated. One looked at the others—then ran. Another followed. The group began to break, the illusion of coordination shattered.
Cedric (panting):
"Well… that worked."
Celeste (lowering her weapon slowly):
"They were waiting for us. Someone knew we were tracking the woman in gray."
Celeste (lowering her weapon slowly):
"They were waiting for us. Someone knew we were tracking the woman in gray."
Cedric:
"Meaning this wasn't just about the girl anymore…"
Celeste (coldly):
"No. This is about me now."
The mists cleared just enough to reveal it—a looming warehouse, long forgotten by time. Rusted metal beams, broken windows, and ivy creeping up cracked walls. Yet the footprints ended here… and something about it reeked of deliberate placement.
Celeste (muttering):
"This place wasn't chosen by accident…"
Cedric (hand on sword, eyes narrowing):
"Huge, isolated, and perfect for a trap. We should be cautious—"
The warehouse doors suddenly creaked open by themselves with a long metallic groan.
Celeste (stepping forward):
"That's an invitation."
Cedric (grimacing):
"And we're taking it?"
Celeste (with a faint smirk):
"You're free to run, officer. But I'm not walking away now."
She stepped inside, her footsteps echoing against the cold concrete floor. Just as Cedric moved to follow—
BANG!
The massive iron doors slammed shut behind her with violent force, the sound reverberating like a gunshot.
Cedric (banging on the door):
"Miss Walker! Damn it—!"
Celeste (raising her weapon, voice calm):
"Well, that confirms it. I was expected."
She looked up. A faint ticking noise echoed from above, followed by dim overhead lights flickering on, casting long, eerie shadows across the hollow space. Empty crates, chains dangling from beams, and a single chair at the center of the room.
Celeste (murmuring to herself):
"Classic setup. But let's see what little game you're playing."
She cautiously approached, scanning for pressure plates or traps, her senses sharp.
Somewhere, unseen, someone was watching.
Suddenly, a bright white beam of light blazed down from the ceiling, blinding her momentarily. The rest of the warehouse remained shrouded in shadow.
Voice (from above, distorted through a speaker):
"You finally arrived… the great detective, Miss Walker… or shall I say—Celeste Noir?"
Celeste's eyes narrowed. Her hand instinctively tightened around her revolver. The shadows flickered around her like phantoms, but she didn't flinch.
Celeste (coldly):
"So you know. Congratulations. Now cut the theatrics."
She looked up, finally catching sight of the figure standing behind reinforced glass high above on a steel walkway—dressed in gray, obscured by mist and shadow, but unmistakably orchestrating the scene.
Celeste (voice sharp):
"Where is Clara?"
Voice (mocking):
"Oh, straight to the point? No witty deduction first? No notes? I'm disappointed."
Celeste (low and lethal):
"If you've hurt her—"
Voice (cutting in):
"If, Celeste? Tsk. You should know better than anyone. Everything that's happening now... is because of what you failed to finish five years ago."
A screen crackled to life on the far wall, static clearing just enough to show a grainy image: Clara, unconscious, bound to a chair inside what looked like another part of the same warehouse.
Celeste (stepping forward):
"What do you want?"
Voice (whispering through static):
"I want justice… The kind you never delivered."
Celeste (voice cold and biting):
"Cut the bullshit. Justice? That man was nothing but a serial killer. A butcher who smiled while tearing lives apart."
Voice (sharply, with a tremble of rage):
"You don't know anything about him! Don't you dare talk about him like that!"
Celeste (stepping forward, eyes locked on the windowed walkway):
"As I deduced… you were close to him. Family, lover, disciple—doesn't matter. You're just another lost soul clinging to a monster's ghost."
Voice (bitter laugh echoing through the warehouse):
"Wow! Amazing deduction from the legendary Violet Phantom! What's next? Will you guess what I had for breakfast too? Honestly, a five-year-old could've figured that out!"
Celeste (smirking):
"Then maybe I should dumb it down for you. Because if you think this little puppet show is going to shake me—you really don't know who I am."
Voice (hissing):
"Oh, I know who you are, Celeste Noir. And I'm going to make sure the world remembers who you failed to stop."
The lights in the warehouse suddenly flicker. The video feed showing Clara vanishes into static. The walkway above is now empty.
Celeste (tense, under her breath):
"…Damn it. "
Celeste (drawing her sword with a dry smirk):
"They weren't gonna let me walk out of here that easily, huh?"
The clang of metal echoes as a dozen figures step from the shadows—faces masked, weapons drawn. The warehouse doors slam shut behind her. She's surrounded.
Bandit Leader (gruffly):
"You made a mistake coming alone, detective."
Celeste (tilting her head slightly, eyes cold):
"Wrong. You made the mistake... thinking I ever come unprepared."
Without another word, she flicks a smoke pellet from her belt. It explodes on impact—thick fog filling the warehouse. Screams and confusion erupt as Celeste moves like a phantom, silent and lethal.
Bandit (gasping, stumbling):
"I can't see her! She's—!"
Steel flashes in the haze. A gunshot. A scream. One by one, the bandits fall.
Celeste (to herself, moving fluidly between attackers):
"Keep the rhythm… five on the left… two behind the crates..."
A blade slashes through the fog but she ducks and counters, the sound of metal scraping echoing eerily.
Bandit Leader (coughing, backing away):
"What are you—?!"
Celeste (appearing behind him, pressing the barrel of her gun to his back):
"The reason this whole operation is going to collapse."
One final shot rings out. Silence returns to the warehouse, broken only by the soft clatter of a weapon falling to the floor.
Meanwhile, outside the warehouse—
Cedric (pounding on the steel door):
"Miss Walker! …Damn it, she's not responding."
He backs away, frustrated, glancing around the area.
Cedric (gritting his teeth):
"This door's too damn thick… even my bullets won't dent it."
He grabs his comm device and barks into it.
Cedric:
"All units—get over here, now! Bring the charges or anything you've got. Miss Walker is trapped inside!"
Moments later, several officers rush toward the warehouse with reinforced gear, equipment in hand.
Officer:
"Sir! We brought the breaching kit!"
Cedric (pointing to the door):
"Then what are you waiting for? Break it down! That's an order!"
They quickly set to work, planting charges and preparing tools. Cedric watches, tense, the sound of distant gunfire and shouting faintly audible from inside.
Cedric (clenching his fists):
"Hang in there, Miss Walker... You better not die on me in there."
He steps back as the squad counts down.
Officer:
"On my mark… Three… two… one—"
A loud blast shakes the ground as the door finally gives way, crumbling inward in a cloud of dust and smoke.
Inside the warehouse—
As the dust settled from the blast, Cedric and his men rushed into the vast, dimly lit space—only to be met with silence.
Officer (sweeping the area):
"Clear… clear… no sign of her, sir."
Cedric (stepping over unconscious bodies):
"These… they're all bandits. She took them all out."
He knelt beside one of them, still breathing but out cold, then looked up—eyes scanning the room.
Cedric (murmuring):
"Where the hell did you go, Miss Walker…?"
He turned and saw a cracked door on the far side of the warehouse, just barely ajar. Faint muddy footprints trailed out from it and into the mist beyond.
Officer:
"Sir, she's already moved on. Looks like she's gone after whoever was behind this."
Cedric (grimly):
"Of course she did… she wouldn't wait. Not with a life on the line."
He straightened up, voice firm.
Cedric:
"Get those bandits tied up and ready for transport. I want every path out of this warehouse tracked—if she's chasing someone, we're not far behind."
He clenched his jaw, then added under his breath:
Cedric:
"You better be okay,miss walker"
Celeste stood at the edge of the cliffside structure, breathing heavily. Sweat and dirt streaked her face, her coat fluttering in the wind. The sun was dipping low, casting the clouds in a crimson hue.
Celeste (gritting her teeth):
"Please make it in time…"
She kicked the rusted metal door open and entered the abandoned warehouse. The inside was dim, barely lit by hanging lights that flickered ominously. She sprinted through the narrow corridors, the sound of her boots echoing against concrete and steel.
Then—
A voice echoed, metallic and cold, projected through a speaker.
Voice (taunting):
"As expected from the legendary Celeste Noir… to find this place in mere hours. Truly terrifying."
Celeste (snapping):
"Shut the hell up! Where is Clara? What did you do to her?!"
Voice:
"You better hurry, then. The clock's ticking. It's been 46 hours since sweet little Clara went missing."
A wall-mounted clock ticked ominously. 01:53:28… 01:53:27…
Voice (mocking, sing-song):
"Two more hours… then you won't have to worry about Clara anymore, Purple Phantom."
Celeste's hand twitched at the name.
Celeste (coldly, drawing her gun):
"…You've just signed your death sentence."
She took a deep breath, eyes narrowing as she stepped deeper into the maze of steel and shadows. Her every step now sharper, faster.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The further Celeste advanced, the louder it grew.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound echoed through the steel bones of the warehouse—amplified, unnatural, intentional. Each tick was like a nail driving into her skull, distorting her focus.
Celeste (clenching her jaw):
"Tch… damn it. He's trying to throw me off…"
The voice returned, smug and venomous:
Voice:
"What's wrong, detective? Losing your edge? Or maybe… losing your nerve?"
Her fingers tightened on her revolver.
She turned a corner—
And there it was. A massive antique clock, bolted high on the wall like a twisted centerpiece. Its pendulum swung violently, each tick reverberating through her chest like a war drum.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It wasn't just telling time.
It was mocking her.
Celeste (growling):
"Not. Another. Word."
BANG!
One clean shot. The glass shattered. The gears screamed as metal jammed and burst from the impact.
The ticking stopped.
Silence fell.
Celeste (lowering her gun, exhaling):
"Finally… I can think."
The warehouse now felt clearer. Her mind unclouded. She glanced around—calculating every path, exit, and probable ambush point. She wasn't rattled anymore.
She was ready.
Celeste (under her breath):
"Keep playing games. I'll make sure they end with you."
Celeste kicked the door open.
The rusted metal shrieked on its hinges as it slammed against the wall.
There—
In the center of the cold, dim room—
Clara.
Her wrists were bound tightly above her head, chained to a hook on the ceiling. Cuts lined her arms and face, dried and fresh blood staining her tattered clothes. Her head was slumped forward, barely conscious—if at all.
Celeste (whispers, eyes widening):
"Clara…"
Her expression hardened. The fire in her chest ignited into a full blaze. Rage… controlled, focused rage surged through her.
Celeste (low, dangerous):
"I won't let you go."
The shadows behind her stirred—
And the voice returned, playful and venomous.
Voice:
"Oh, come now, detective. She's just the beginning. You can't possibly protect everyone who once spat on his name."
Celeste (aims her revolver at the shadows):
"You have no idea who you're dealing with."
She stepped forward, never breaking her aim, and reached for a hidden dagger at her waist.
Celeste:
"Now step into the light—
Or I'll drag you into it myself."
A young blond man stepped out from the shadows, the overhead light finally catching the sinister glint in his eyes.
Ceaser Wyrth:
"How terrifying… yet futile. You can't save anyone."
With a casual flick of his finger, a hidden mechanism clicked—and a massive curtain dropped. Behind it, rows of caged children emerged from the darkness, their frightened eyes reflecting the pale moonlight.
Ceaser (mocking):
"Perhaps it was a mistake to challenge the so-called great detective. But tell me, Celeste Noir—how do you plan to save them… while fighting me?"
Celeste (clenching her jaw, voice like ice):
"I'll make sure you rot in hell. Just like your old man did… Ceaser Wyrth."
Ceaser grinned, slowly applauding her deduction.
Ceaser:
"Bravo. You really are terrifying. To think you actually know my name."
Celeste (raising her voice):
"Cut the crap!"
Ceaser (grinning wider):
"You think Clara was the only one we took? These little rats were snatched from the streets. No one noticed. No one cared. The guards were bribed. And the commoners? They can't lift a finger against the Wyrths!"
Celeste (seething):
"You're a sick bastard—just like your father. And don't act like the gray lady wasn't part of this!"
Ceaser (tilting his head):
"What gray lady?"
Celeste (fists trembling):
"Your mother!"
Ceaser's grin twitched, twisting into something darker.
Ceaser (coldly):
"That decrepit woman? I tossed her aside. Her and my cowardly brother, both sobbing about how father was 'wrong'."
laughs
"I didn't kill them. I just left them in the middle of the forest—where the beasts howl loudest. I wonder if they cried for help before being torn apart?"
Celeste (voice rising with fury):
"You're insane."
Ceaser (spreading his arms):
"Perhaps. But insanity runs in the family, doesn't it?"
Ceaser (grinning maniacally, pressing a hidden button):
"Now, what can you do?"
He stepped back, arms outstretched like a conductor of a twisted symphony.
"In exactly two minutes, that metal plate above will come crashing down and crush every single child in that cage. Or—"
He took a theatrical bow.
"You can try to catch me. So tell me, O Legendary Detective Celeste Noir—what will it be?"
A deep metallic hum filled the air as gears began to turn overhead. The massive steel slab started its slow descent. The children inside the cage screamed.
Celeste (eyes narrowed, murmuring):
"You're forcing me to make a choice I refuse to accept."
She scanned the room in a flash. Two minutes. Two impossible options. But she didn't waste a second.
Celeste (yelling):
"You talk too much, Ceaser!"
She threw a smoke bomb from her coat, clouding the area around him, and in that split second—
She sprinted toward the wall of gears, firing her revolver to jam the largest cog mechanism she could see. Sparks burst out, and the metal plate halted its descent with a screech.
Ceaser (coughing through the smoke):
"Impossible—"
Celeste (emerging from the smoke, sword drawn):
"You said I had two choices."
She pointed her blade directly at him.
"You forgot the third: I stop both."
Ceaser (smirking, pulling out a concealed pistol):
"You think I didn't calculate the possibility?"
He fired.
BANG!
Celeste twisted her body mid-air, narrowly avoiding a direct hit—but the bullet grazed her side, tearing through her coat and drawing blood.
She hit the ground hard, gritting her teeth.
Ceaser (laughing like a madman):
"You're the one who's finished, Celeste Noir!"
He stomped toward her as the grinding of the gears roared back to life.
The massive steel plate resumed its slow, merciless descent.
Ceaser (shouting, manic):
"You think I'm like my idiot father? Who left trails behind like a damn fool and died in disgrace? I am perfection. I am a genius. I won't be stopped by some washed-up detective with a sword and a scar!"
Celeste tried to push herself up, her hand clutching the bleeding wound.
Ceaser (aiming again):
"You should've stayed in hiding, phantom. Now die with your pride—while the children scream under steel."
As he pulled the trigger again—
CLANG!
A shot rang out—not from him.
The bullet ripped through Ceaser's shoulder, sending him staggering backward, his gun clattering to the floor.
Voice (from above):
"You talk too much, Wyrth."
Cedric, standing on a platform above the warehouse entrance, rifle raised, smoke rising from the barrel.
Celeste (panting, rising slowly):
"Took you long enough…"
Cedric (lowering his rifle as he rushes down):
"I'm sorry... Miss Walker—no… Miss Noir."
Celeste (wincing as she steadies herself):
"You heard it?"
Cedric (nodding, grave):
"Very clearly. I should've known from the beginning. That precision, your instincts… only she could've—"
Celeste (cutting him off, eyes sharp):
"We'll talk later! Save the children first—he's waking up!"
Ceaser (groaning as he tries to crawl toward the detonator):
"Ghh... You think… you've won?!"
Celeste (kicking the button away and slamming a cuff on his wrist):
"You talk too much for a genius."
Cedric (unlocking the cage with the emergency lever):
"Hang on, kids—we're getting you out of here."
The children burst into tears as the crushing plate halts just feet above their heads.
Celeste (panting):
"That was too close…"
Cedric (checking on her):
"You're bleeding badly."
Celeste (gritting her teeth):
"I'll live. He won't be walking away from this."
Ceaser (snarling):
"You think this ends with me? My legacy—!"
Celeste (coldly):
"Your legacy ends in a courtroom, then a cell."
Ceaser (suddenly lunging, grabbing Clara by the neck):
"If I'm going to die… I'll take this brat with me!"
Clara (screaming):
"Let go of me!"
Cedric (shouting):
"Ceaser, don't—!"
Celeste (without hesitation, raising her revolver):
"No."
A gunshot echoed.
Ceaser froze mid-step—
A perfect shot straight through the heart.
He collapsed to the ground, blood pooling fast.
Celeste (lowering her weapon, eyes cold):
"You shouldn't have done that."
Clara stumbled back, trembling, and Cedric quickly caught her.
Cedric (glancing at Ceaser's lifeless body):
"...That was clean."
Celeste:
"Anything less would've been a mistake."
Just as the last echoes of Ceaser's death faded into silence, a soft shuffle of footsteps approached from the mist behind.
A woman in a long gray cloak stepped forward, her face aged but composed, eyes brimming with quiet pain.
Celeste (lowering her gun, voice guarded):
"...You. The Gray Lady."
The woman nodded gently.
"Thank you… for stopping that child. I could not bring myself to do it."
Celeste (eyes narrowing slightly):
"Eleanora Wyrth… am I right?"
Eleanora (with a solemn nod)
Celeste:
"I thought Ceaser had killed you."
Eleanora (quietly):
"He tried. He cast me and my youngest son into the forest—left us to the beasts.
My son… he saved me. Gave his life for mine."
Her voice trembled for a moment, but she stood tall.
Eleanora:
"I couldn't forgive Ceaser. I swore I never would.
But I couldn't bring him down with my own hands either. So instead… I became the shadow that led you to him.
He never realized I was the one orchestrating his fall."
She bowed deeply, tears silently falling.
Eleanora:
"Thank you… Miss Celeste Noir, for ending this madness."
Celeste (softly):
"I didn't end it alone. He created too many victims.
But today… we stopped him from creating more."
Celeste (softly, to Eleanora):
"May your son finally rest in peace."
Eleanora's lips trembled with restrained sorrow, but she nodded silently, a tear slipping down her cheek as she turned and disappeared into the mist.
Some time later, Cedric's men arrived in force, sweeping through the warehouse to gather evidence, escort the rescued children to safety, and take Ceaser's body into custody. The weight of the night lingered, but the dawn had begun to break.
Celeste knelt beside Clara, gently untying her restraints and wiping the blood from her face. Once free, the girl clung to her tightly.
Celeste (standing and holding Clara's hand):
"Come on… Let's get you home."
As they walked outside into the cold morning light, Clara still clinging to her coat, Celeste spoke gently:
Celeste:
"Clara, next time… if anything happens, you tell Sister, alright? She was worried sick about you."
Clara (sniffling):
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to cause so much trouble…"
Celeste (smiling faintly):
"You didn't. But people care about you. Don't carry everything alone, alright?"
Clara nodded quietly, her small hand tightening around Celeste's. For a moment, in the middle of the chaos and ruin, there was a flicker of peace.
Celeste stepped into her agency, exhausted and still slightly limping. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the sting of the bullet scrape began to settle in.
To her surprise, Cedric was already inside, sitting comfortably in her chair with a cup of tea he clearly didn't ask for.
Celeste (narrowing her eyes):
"What are you doing here? What about the crime scene?"
Cedric (shrugging):
"I let the higher-ups handle the rest. The scene's secure, evidence collected, and the kids are safe. My job's done… for now."
He gave her a pointed look, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink.
Cedric:
"Anyway, why didn't you head to the hospital? You're shot, miss noir—or should I say, miss incredibly reckless."
Celeste (sighing and pulling off her coat):
"It's a scratch. Besides, hospitals ask too many questions. Last thing I need is a nurse recognizing me and blowing my cover."
Cedric (crossing his arms):
"You almost bled out chasing down a killer, rescued a dozen kids, exposed a corrupted noble house... and you're worried about your hair dye being compromised?"
Celeste (deadpan):
"Yes. It's expensive."
Cedric rolled his eyes.
Cedric:
"You're impossible."
Celeste (collapsing into a chair):
"And yet, somehow you keep showing up."
Cedric (grinning):
"Someone has to make sure the genius detective doesn't drop dead in her office."
They both fell silent for a beat. The tension was gone now—just exhaustion and mutual understanding remaining.
Celeste (softly):
"Thanks… for backing me up, Cedric."
Cedric (smiling faintly):
"Anytime, Celeste."
Cedric (standing and grabbing a bandage kit from her shelf):
"But first thing first. Take off your coat. I need to patch you up before you pass out on your own floor."
Celeste raised a brow, hesitating. But eventually, she began unbuttoning her coat, the dried blood already stiff against the fabric.
Celeste (muttering):
"This is unnecessary. I've dealt with worse."
Cedric glanced at her, noticing the faintest hint of red on her cheeks.
Cedric (deadpan):
"You've survived a life-and-death situation, infiltrated a murderous cult, and shot a noble in the face without flinching… but a little bandaging makes you blush?"
He gave her a half-smirk as he carefully rolled up her sleeve and began disinfecting the wound.
Cedric:
"You really are something else, miss noir."
Celeste (looking away):
"...Just focus on the patching, officer Wynthorne."
Cedric chuckled softly but didn't say more, letting the silence settle between them. The only sound was the gentle tearing of bandage wrap and the quiet creak of her old desk chair.
—Case closed