The conference room at the Nightmare Investigation Bureau headquarters was as cold as an ice cellar.
Gray-white light streamed down from the low-hanging chandelier, casting stark, isolated shadows across the walls. The long table was spotless, its surface smooth like a mirror, reflecting Ethan's slightly tense face. He sat at one end, arms folded, forcing a casual expression to mask the rapid thump of his heart. Each breath felt like striking ice, a chill crawling along his spine straight into his chest.
Across from him, Director Helena stood silently. Her gray-blue eyes were like the depths of a frozen winter, capable of dissecting a person, exposing their deepest secrets. Her gaze was devoid of warmth or emotion, yet every subtle movement cut into the softest parts of Ethan's psyche like a razor.
"Ethan Veil." Her voice was low and hard, like shards of ice scraping steel. "During the investigation in Phantom Dream Town, your reaction to the symbol was excessively strong. We suspect you are concealing something."
Ethan's mouth twitched in a nervous smile. "Excessive? I just saw some creepy symbols for the first time and nearly scared myself silly. That counts as hiding something?"
Helena's gaze did not waver, as if his words had never existed. The room was oppressively silent; even the air felt frozen, making each breath heavy and labored. Outside, light filtered through thick glass, scattering faint shadows across the table—shadows that seemed to harbor countless unseen eyes, coldly watching everyone present.
Silas stood nearby, silent. Ethan could almost feel his gaze—detached and sharp, like a blade brushing against skin. He offered no words of defense, yet gave no hint of betrayal, leaving Ethan isolated under the weight of the scrutiny.
Ethan exhaled slowly, spreading his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, attempting humor to mask his tension. "Alright, I admit it… that symbol reminded me of some old memories. But I'm not lying—I genuinely don't know what it means. If it had anything to do with me, how would I still be sitting here alive?"
The words sounded fragile in the cavernous room, like a brittle branch trembling in the wind.
Helena studied him for a long moment, her eyes like ice blades piercing the night. Finally, she withdrew her gaze and said coldly, "The Nightmare Sect has deep infiltration. Any suspicious signs must be recorded. Remember, the Bureau does not trust anyone unconditionally—not even someone who has just returned from death like you."
Ethan nodded, forcing a smile. "Understood, boss. Next time, I'll even report before I sneeze."
Helena ignored his joke and turned to leave. Her figure stretched long in the light, each step steady and resolute, as if crushing the warmth out of the air. The oppressive weight in the room gradually eased with her departure.
Ethan exhaled, leaning back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "Great… nearly fired on my first assignment. Promising start," he muttered with a bitter smile. He glanced at Silas, inwardly calculating—friend or foe?
Silas finally spoke, voice calm and detached: "You did exhibit unusual reactions."
Ethan turned, raising an eyebrow with a wry smile. "So… you suspect me too?"
"Suspicion is duty, not personal preference," Silas said, adjusting his glasses, his tone cold and resolute. "But I know—you haven't told the whole truth."
Ethan's smile froze. After a long pause, he shrugged, voice low and resigned. "Everyone has skeletons they don't want unearthed. Don't worry, I have no intention of dragging you down."
Silas gave him a sharp glance before turning away, his cloak dragging across the floor with a muted echo. Silence reclaimed the room, leaving Ethan alone. His gaze fell to the table, fingers tracing the contours of the symbol unconsciously.
The lines intertwined under his touch like an unsolved map, outlining unknown dangers and mysteries. He murmured, "What exactly are you up to… Ronan?"
The air seemed to tremble at his words. The shadow cast by the cold light stretched long, reminding him—the shadows of the past had not disappeared, and the secret behind the symbol still stirred in the dark.
A complex swirl of emotions surged within him—anger, fear, curiosity, and resentment. Ethan understood that in the Nightmare Investigation Bureau, no one trusted anyone unconditionally. Every symbol, every clue, could be a deadly trap.
He leaned closer to the table, fingers sliding along the curves of the symbol, sensing its faint pulsing energy, as if responding to the questions in his heart. His gaze sharpened, thoughts slicing through the surface to uncover the truth hidden behind the mark.
"Ronan…" he repeated softly, as if the name itself carried weight. "What exactly are you waiting for?"
The conference room remained silent, save for the ticking of the clock echoing through the empty space. Each tick seemed to strike at the deepest doubts in Ethan's heart. The ink mark on his chest glowed faintly, reminding him—this was more than just a symbol. It was the convergence of past, present, and future, the Bureau pushing him toward the abyss.
Ethan closed his eyes slowly, drawing in a deep breath, gathering fear, doubt, and anger into a single resolve. He realized that from this moment on, he was not just an investigator—he was a participant in an unknown whirlpool. His fingers continued to trace the symbol, sensing the hidden breath and pulse behind it—someone—or something—watching, waiting for his choice.
He opened his eyes, gaze cold and resolute, whispering, "Ronan… whatever you're hiding… I will uncover the truth."
The blood-colored light on the table flickered faintly, shadows writhing like living things, reminding him—there is no retreat in the world of the Nightmare Bureau. There is only the path forward.