The rain hadn't stopped since morning.By the time I reached Riverside Park, the air was thick with fog and the river looked like a sheet of dull silver under the gray sky. Streetlights flickered weakly, their reflections shivering across the water.
Kean stood near the railing, coat damp, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He didn't turn when I approached and just spoke through the smoke.
"You came," he said quietly.
"I said I would," I replied.
He nodded once, flicked the cigarette into the river, and gestured toward the benches beneath the bridge. The rain softened there, the sound muted by concrete and the low hum of the city above.
We sat in silence for a while. Only the dripping from the bridge filled the air.
Then Kean spoke. "You saw it, didn't you?"
I glanced at him. "The footage?"
He nodded. "Yeah. The drive I gave you."
I exhaled slowly, pretending to think before answering. "Yeah, I watched it. There wasn't much. Just… rain, traffic, the truck, the crash. Nothing unusual."
Kean's eyes narrowed slightly. "Nothing unusual?"
I shook my head, forcing my voice steady. "It looked like a normal accident."
He stared at me long enough that the silence began to weigh.Then, finally, he looked away.
"Maybe that's for the best," he muttered.
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He sighed. "When I first saw the footage, I thought the same thing — nothing wrong, nothing strange. But something about it… it doesn't sit right. Every time I look at the case file, something feels missing."
I kept quiet, letting him talk.
He continued, voice low and rough. "You know, I tried to reopen your parents' case once. Just once. The day after I got taken off it. But the entire report had been moved. Access denied. 'Security Clearance Required.' For a traffic accident. Can you believe that?"
I said nothing. The hum of cars overhead filled the silence between us.
"That's when I started digging," Kean said. "And that's when I heard the first rumor."
My pulse quickened. "Rumor?"
He nodded. "Your parents. They were involved in something bigger... something off the record. A research initiative backed by FALCON, supposedly focused on renewable energy. But the rumor says they found something they shouldn't have."
I leaned forward. "Found what?"
Kean gave a short, humorless laugh. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you."
He rubbed a hand across his face, the rain dripping from his sleeve. "All I know is that they'd been studying something recovered from an Old Calendar ruin. Not just an artifact, something functional. Something that worked maybe."
My brows furrowed. "Old Calendar? Like pre-war tech?"
"That's what people say," he answered. "But no one can prove it. Every record tied to that project was erased after the accident. The files, the team, the funding it's gone. Like it never existed."
I pretended to hesitate, then asked, "And you believe that?"
He looked at me, eyes tired but sharp. "I don't believe in ghosts, kid. But I've seen enough to know FALCON doesn't bury things without a reason."
The rain outside thickened. Drops trickled down the concrete wall beside us like slow tears.
"So," I said quietly, "you think my parents were killed because of that?"
Kean didn't answer immediately. He looked back toward the river, hands in his pockets. "I think your parents found something that made the wrong people nervous. And nervous people do stupid things."
I stared down at the ground. My reflection in the puddle looked like a stranger.He was right — about everything except one thing.
The footage wasn't normal.And I'd seen what he hadn't.
After a long silence, Kean spoke again. "Listen, Sirius. I'm telling you this because I don't have anything solid. No evidence, no witness, no trail. Just fragments and rumors. But sometimes… rumors are the only truth you get before the real one disappears."
He stood up, pulling his collar higher against the rain. "I'll keep looking, but don't get involved. Whoever cleaned up this mess won't hesitate to do it again."
I rose too. "You're saying I should just forget?"
"I'm saying," he said quietly, "that you're still alive. And that might not stay true if you start asking the wrong questions."
He turned to leave, boots splashing against the shallow water pooled under the bridge.Then, before stepping into the rain, he stopped and looked back at me.
"For what it's worth," he said, "your father was a good man. And good men rarely die for small things."
And then he was gone — swallowed by the gray.
I stood there alone, watching the river slide by, endless and indifferent. The city lights wavered on its surface like trembling secrets.
The footage replayed in my head — frame by frame, second by second.The truck's unbroken front.The strange tilt of the mirror.The flicker of headlights behind it.
Nothing unusual.That's what I'd told him.
And maybe that was the biggest lie I'd ever spoken.