In the Details

The flickering light from the screen cast sharp shadows across the walls. I sat in the dimly lit police archive room, the scent of stale coffee and dust settling around me. The officer had granted me access to the footage, but I could tell he was skeptical. To them, Sasha was already guilty. But I wasn't after easy answers—I was after the truth.

The video file loaded.

[Observation (Lv. 5) Activated]

I scanned the screens, my heart still steady, searching for the cracks beneath the surface. Faces flashed—David, laughing at some joke, his expression easy, casual. Logan, walking past with a clipboard, steady and composed—

And then Sasha.

Her posture stiff, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides.

I watched her, rewound, then watched again.

She wasn't moving like someone in control. There was tension in her shoulders, the way she glanced around like she expected someone to be watching her. Her hands twitched toward her phone at least three times before she took a deep breath and forced herself to stay still.

[Psychological Insight (Lv. 1) Activated]

Anxiety detected. Confidence: 64% → 39%. Suppressed panic.

She wasn't giving orders—she was waiting for them.

My instincts had been right. Sasha wasn't the mastermind.

I exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the desk. That much was clear.

But that wasn't enough.

I rewound the footage, playing it frame by frame. There had to be something else. Some detail I had missed before.

The camera quality wasn't great—standard security footage, grainy and distorted in places—but with my skills, I could see more. I could read between the lines.

And that's when I saw them.

David. Logan.

Neither of them looked particularly suspicious at first glance. David was chatting with another worker, grinning in that easy, friendly way. Logan walked by with a clipboard, the very image of efficiency.

But that was the problem.

They were too natural.

Not just natural—deliberate.

[Instinct (Lv. 4) Activated]

Their movements weren't just casual. They were controlled. Like actors in a play, following a script.

David laughed at the exact moment Sasha glanced at her phone, drawing attention away. Logan adjusted his clipboard precisely when the camera panned past him, blocking his face for a split second.

Coincidences?

Maybe.

But my gut told me otherwise.

I rewound again, slowing the footage down further.

And that's when I caught it.

A single moment.

Sasha hesitated—her foot shifting back, her entire body screaming uncertainty—and David glanced at her. Not a casual look. Not an accident.

A check.

And the second he saw her hesitation, his smile widened just slightly, and he kept walking.

Logan, a few steps behind, barely reacted. No encouragement, no words. But his hand, gripping the clipboard, tightened.

[Deduction (Lv. 4) Activated]

It was clear that she was being force and the culprit was obvious.

It was one of them.

Maybe both.

But I didn't have proof. Not yet.

The footage was too low-quality to make out any defining details—no phone screens, no clear evidence of messages being sent. Just body language. And while I could see it, could piece together the puzzle in my mind—

It wouldn't hold up in court.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my jaw beneath the mask.

David or Logan.

One of them, or both.

I didn't know their endgame yet, but I was going to find out.

The screen dimmed as I closed the file. The case wasn't over, but my part—at least for tonight—was.

Sasha was in custody. The police could handle her now.

The walk home felt heavier than usual.

The air was cold, crisp, carrying the distant scent of burning leaves from some late-night bonfire. The city was quieter at this hour, the usual hum of traffic replaced by the occasional distant siren.

My apartment was just as I left it—dimly lit, quiet. The weight of the mask pressed against my face as I locked the door behind me.

And then, finally, I pulled it off.

A slow breath.

And just like that, I was Reynard Vale again.

I ran a hand through my hair, muscles uncoiling, the tension that came with being Mr. Dust slipping away.

Not gone completely. It never really left. But it was quieter.

A gentle rustling noise drew my eye, and I looked over to find Sienna nestled on the couch, her blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.

She blinked at me with drowsy eyes, stretching her arms and letting out a tiny yawn. "You're returned later than usual."

I exhaled deeply, taking a seat next to her. "Yeah. Long Night."

She moved, edging nearer until her head leaned against my shoulder. "You have the scent of trouble."

I huffed a quiet laugh. "Do I?"

"Mm." She cuddled into the material of my jacket, her heat flowing into me. "You give off the vibe that you're about to act recklessly."

I didn't respond immediately. Simply allow the silence to linger between us.

Sienna was among the rare individuals who kept me grounded, who made me realize that beneath the roles, jobs, and changing identities, I was still a person.

For a brief time, I allowed myself to simply be. No cases, no fires, no names whispered like ghosts in the dark.

Just Reynard Vale.

Just home.

Then, softly—

"Hey, Rey?"

I glanced down at her.

She was staring up at me now, her brow slightly furrowed, hesitation flickering behind her eyes.

Like she wanted to ask something.

Something important.

I stayed still. Waiting.

She swallowed. Then—

"Can I ask you something?"