The hallway of the hospital was suddenly consumed by a heavy, resonant thud that vibrated through the floorboards. Kira and Kevin froze mid-step as a nurse’s frantic shout cut through the sterile air, calling for immediate assistance. Before they could process the sound, a phalanx of police officers surged past them. Driven by a shared, silent impulse, Kira and Kevin followed the wake of the officers back toward the triage area.

  ?The scene inside was gruesome. The old man stood trembling, a blood-slicked surgical scalpel clutched in his white-knuckled grip. Dr. Victor Vane stood before him, a deep laceration blooming crimson across his forearm, a clear testament to a parried strike. Despite the wound, Victor’s composure remained unnervingly absolute. When a nurse rushed toward him with a trauma kit, he simply intercepted her, took the tray with his steady hand, and sat on the edge of a nearby cot. With clinical detachment, he began to dress his own wound in total silence.

  ?Behind him, the police forced the old man into handcuffs. He didn't struggle; he simply wailed, a jagged, repetitive sound that filled the room: "You killed him... you all killed my son." Nearby, his wife collapsed into a chair, her sobs lost in the chaos.

  ?As the officers began to clear the room, Victor looked up, his voice dropping like a gavel. "Do not act so recklessly," he warned the couple, his eyes tracking the old man. "You have a pending custody case. Every small action is being weighed. Do you realize this attempt today gives your rivals the perfect opening to claim you killed your son yourself, and that you are now framing others using the contents of a banned book out of sheer guilt?"

  ?The old man lashed out in a final burst of grief-stricken rage, but the officers forced him to his knees. The lead investigator stepped forward, his expression darkened. "Stop agitating him," he snapped at Victor. "He’s already in a state of psychological collapse." At a signal, a nurse administered a sedative. As the man’s struggles faded into a drug-induced lethargy, they began the slow process of moving him to a transport van.

  ?"Where’s Hana?" Kira whispered, scanning the thinning crowd.

  ?They hurried to the exit just in time to see Hana already seated in her car, her face a mask of indifference.

  ?"Did she even see that?" Kira asked as they climbed into their own vehicle. "The attack, the blood... if she saw that, she might"

  ?"I think she saw everything," Kevin interrupted, his voice grim. "She was close enough."

  ?The atmosphere at the government police station was suffocating. As they arrived at the sprawling complex, Hana was immediately flanked by a five-person security detail that ushered her inside. Kira and Kevin trailed behind the police, ascending to a high-security monitoring gallery. The room was divided: below them, a sterile interrogation room with five chairs and a heavy table; above, a darkened observation deck behind a one-way mirror.

  ?On the monitors, they watched the old man and his wife take their seats across from Hana and her legal counsel, Mr. Erin. A moment later, the door opened, and a man with a powerful build, dressed in a sharp black suit and polished leather shoes, walked in. This was Cassian Vance. He sat beside the grieving couple, his presence immediately shifting the gravity of the room. Finally, Victor Vane entered, taking a seat in the back of the room as if he were a mere spectator to a play.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  ?Mr. Erin opened a laptop, playing the footage Kevin had captured earlier. Cassian watched the screen with an unblinking, analytical gaze.

  ?"This is the evidence you're submitting?" Cassian asked, his voice smooth and dangerous.

  ?"I’m showing you the reality of the situation," Erin replied. "This was a violent impulse. We have been through this before, Cassian. You should accept the truth regarding these people."

  ?"Mr. Erin, I understand your eagerness to close this file," Cassian countered, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. "But a father who has lost his child can become impulsive when the person he holds responsible is standing directly in front of him. I see nothing 'wrong' with that reaction."

  ?"She killed him! She killed him!" the old man shrieked, lunging forward to grab Cassian’s hand. Cassian didn't flinch; he simply covered the man’s hand with his own, a silent gesture of grounding.

  ?In the observation room, Kevin’s phone buzzed. A police officer gestured for him to take the call outside. As Kevin stepped out, the old man pulled a crumpled, torn page from his pocket and slammed it onto the table. "She wrote this! This is why!"

  ?Cassian smoothed the paper and read the text aloud: "Anyone who has not left their house by the age of twenty-one can never truly find a home within themselves."

  ?"It’s a book, Cassian. Enough," Erin sighed. "You cannot continue an investigation based on fiction. This man is trapped in a psychological loop because people like you validate his delusions. The court won't take a metaphor as evidence. My client has offered a settlement. It is time to move on."

  ?Cassian remained silent, staring at the torn page. Then, a new voice broke the tension.

  ?"What do you think of your son’s mental condition?" Hana asked.

  ?Kevin re-entered the monitoring room, noting the frozen, crystalline focus on Kira’s face. He tried to speak, but she didn't acknowledge him. Her eyes were locked on the screen.

  ?"Mental condition?" the mother shouted. "He was brilliant! He was smart!"

  ?"Oh, he was smart," Hana said, a small, haunting laugh escaping her. "I apologize—I know you are my elders, but perhaps you should abandon the idea that you knew him better than anyone else."

  ?The woman looked desperately at Cassian. "What do you think? Did you ever meet him?"

  ?"I saw him once," Hana continued, her gaze fixed on Cassian. "He was displaying a canvas that covered an entire wall. The art was... exceptional. He told me he was inspired by my writing. That is why I asked my counsel not to debate whether or not he read my work. He didn't just read it; he savored it."

  ?"What was the painting?" Cassian asked. "Did you buy it?"

  ?The room fell into a stunned silence. Only Hana and Cassian remained composed, locked in a private dialogue while Mr. Erin looked on with growing dread.

  ?"I didn't buy it," Hana said.

  ?"Why?"

  ?"Because the painting said more than I ever could in the book," Hana replied. "It said: 'I found my home before sixteen, before seventeen, before eighteen... but I could never find the door to enter it. At last, I built a door with my imagination. Sometimes it lets me in, sometimes it doesn't. And that frustration... that was the end.'"

  ?"You're making this up!" the father roared. "Using big words to hide the truth! He was a simple boy! He helped me farm! He was happy!"

  ?"So you are suggesting he died of depression?" Cassian asked, nodding toward the mother.

  ?"Depression is just a word people use when they cannot handle reality," Hana said. "That isn't what this was."

  ?"Then what was it?"

  ?Hana smiled at Erin, then back to Cassian. "Maybe it was a loophole."

  ?The old man surged from his seat, reaching for Hana’s throat. Cassian caught his arm instantly, holding him back as the room dissolved into toxic shouting. In the back, Victor Vane stood and began whispering to a police officer, his face unreadable.

  ?In the gallery above, Kira’s hand clamped onto Kevin’s arm, her grip so tight it left marks. She didn't realize she was holding him; she was simply trying to stay grounded as the air in the room below turned into a confession they weren't prepared to hear.