--
David Grant was a veteran cop with more gray in his hair than patience left in his soul. His dark eyes tiredly stirred at his friend placing papers and files on his desk. His blue uniform clinged to his powerful muscle. His aura strong,task to protect the citizens of Pastoral. He sat behind his desk, listening. He did heard this tone before—the edge in Marcus's voice, the desperation that came when obsession began to sound like conviction.He watched in silence as Marcus laid out the files, the timelines, the guest lists. Every detail pointed to the same place: the hotel. He spoke quickly but clearly, the intensity in his eyes undeniable.
"David, listen to me." Marcus's voice was low but tight with urgency. "It's the hotel. I found something. I've got matching dates, guest records, missing girls—All with teenage daughters.
All had stayed at the hotel.
All had disappeared. "
When he finally stopped talking, the room went quiet.
David leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply.
"Marcus," he said, his voice heavy with fatigue, "I've been down this road with you before. The hotel is a popular spot. Sure, it's old, but it's not a crime scene. You're connecting dots that aren't there because you want them to be. I can't get a warrant on a gut feeling and a few families who probably just moved on,so just drop this."
"Not like this," Marcus insisted. "This time I have proof. They're connected, all of them. The Shomon Crescent isn't just a place — it's a pattern."
Marcus stared at him, searching his face for any hint of belief—but there was none. David wasn't being cruel. Marcus knew his friend wasn't mocking him. He was just worried. Who would even believe him? But he just had to try. Try to make David see,the evidence are here. But before he could say anything David continued,much softly this time.
"You need sleep, not more ghosts. That case… it broke you once already. Don't let it again."
This isn't about me," Marcus snapped. "There's someone else in there. A girl. I saw her."
Silence. Then: "You saw her? You mean like the last vision you had? Marcus, you're chasing illusions again."
Marcus's knuckles whitened . "I'm not crazy, David. Please — just get me a warrant. One night of access to the hotel records."
"I can't," David said gently. "Not without probable cause. And not based on your gut feeling."
That broke him. For a moment, the weight of years pressed down on Marcus like a closing hand. His partner wasn't wrong — but he wasn't right either. Logic had its limits.
"You're not thinking straight. This case—your cousin—it's eaten you alive. Don't let it take what's left."
David looked more worried at his friend,whose being obsessed over his missing cousin. He understands and knew it was hard for Marcus,he didn't want to push him deeper into the abyss-A case that can never be solved.
His words hit harder than any insult could have.
Marcus felt something inside him crack—the fragile bridge between reason and desperation.
He nodded slowly, gathering his papers with shaking hands.
"Yeah," he muttered. "You're probably right."
David was shocked to hear him say that, a sigh of relief escaped from him. But as Marcus turned to leave, David saw it—the flicker in his eyes. That look, he did seen in soldiers right before they went into a fight they didn't expect to survive. He knew then that he couldn't stop him anymore.
---
That night,silent as if the calm before the storm,the round moon stood in all its glory,shining reflecting the beautiful landscape of the city,,there sat a man in thought in his office.
He looked tired and stressed. The half glass of water on his desk.
Marcus had been staring at the wall clock for nearly an hour, but he couldn't remember a single tick. His office was small, dimly lit, and filled with the ghosts of unfinished cases — scattered reports, dusty photos, and coffee stains that had outlived their freshness. The only light came from his desk lamp, its yellow glow pooling over a single file.
The case file.
His cousin's file.
He had read it a hundred times before, but tonight, the words hit differently. "Missing. Last seen leaving the Shomon Crescent Hotel." No signs of struggle. No suspects. No trace. Just gone.
The Shomon Crescent Hotel — the place that had eaten his life one unanswered question at a time.
Marcus rubbed a hand over his face and opened his laptop, his reflection staring back in the black screen. He could almost see her — bright-eyed, sixteen, all fire and laughter. Gone for seven years. The case had gone cold after three months. Everyone had moved on except him.
But tonight, something had changed.
Yesterday, while re-reading the report, he had felt something — a jolt, like static electricity biting into his skin. And with it, a sudden vision — not a hallucination, not a dream, but a flash of something real: a girl kneeling in a dark chamber, her hands glowing faintly gold.
He'd dropped his pen when he saw her face. It wasn't his cousin — but it was someone else. Someone alive. Someone calling for help.
The glow had left behind an afterimage in his mind — a symbol, pulsing and vivid, like it was branded into his thoughts.
Now, staring at his notes, Marcus felt the pull again. The same hotel. The same emptiness. The same pattern.
It wasn't just coincidence — it was design.
Someone — or something — was hunting there.
He could give up. Go home. Sleep. Forget.
But he didn't
He rubbed his hands on his face and stood up.It was then Marcus made his decision.
He couldn't wait for a warrant that would never come.
He couldn't sit behind a desk while another life slipped away.
If the system wouldn't help him, then he would go alone.
He tore a page from his notebook, pocketed his badge, and opened the drawer where he kept a small envelope of cash. It wasn't much, but it was enough for a few nights.
He wasn't going as a detective.
He was going as family.
He didn't take his badge. He didn't take his service car. Instead, he grabbed the old keys from his desk drawer—the ones to his personal sedan—and drove into the night.
He wasn't going as a detective anymore.
He was going as a man haunted by loss, guided by something he didn't fully understand—a voice that wasn't his own, calling for help. He knew he had to do this or he would never find peace.
In the rearview mirror, his eyes looked different — no longer tired, but certain.
The symbol flickered in his mind again, warm and bright. And somewhere far away, in the darkness of the Shomon Crescent Hotel, Thecla stirred
Hours later, Marcus pulled into the circular drive of the hotel. The building loomed like a relic from another age—its grand facade bathed in warm, golden light. Guests chatted in the lobby, bellhops carried luggage, and music drifted softly through the air.
But beneath the luxury, Marcus could feel it—the wrongness, the quiet hum of something ancient and waiting.
He stepped through the doors, blending in with the crowd, his heart pounding.
A single man, walking willingly into a place where faith and darkness had already begun to collide.
He had no idea what awaited him inside.
Only that he was finally where he was meant to be
.
.