The hovercar sped through the neon-lit streets, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere inside. Angella, seated beside Lytis, couldn't shake the unsettling images from the crime scene. The ritualistic arrangement of the young boy's body, the strange symbols, and that chilling black substance – it all swirled in her mind, a grotesque tableau that fueled her growing unease.

Lytis, for his part, drove with his usual focused intensity, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his hands steady on the controls. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of passing traffic. Angella, however, was not one to be easily deterred, her curiosity, a trait that had been dormant for the past three years, was now fully awakened.

 

"So," she began, her voice a little hesitant, "how long have you been a... private investigator?"

Lytis's jaw tightened slightly, his gaze flickered to her for a moment before returning to the road. "Long enough," he said curtly.

Angella persisted, sensing his reluctance but driven by a need to understand the man who was now her only lead. "But why? I mean, you don't seem like the type who'd... you know... chase down cheating spouses."

Lytis was silent for a long moment, the neon lights flashing across his face, illuminating the weariness etched around his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. "It wasn't a partner. It was my daughter. She was... she was killed. A serial killer. The police... they dragged their feet. By the time they even had a suspect, it was too late to save her."

He paused, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The hovercar swerved slightly.

"My wife," he continued, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, "she couldn't live with it. The grief, the... the helplessness. She took her own life. A month after we lost our daughter."

Angella stared at him, the pieces falling into place. The coldness, the efficiency, the access to information... it wasn't detachment. It was grief, and a burning need for something the system couldn't provide. A profound, almost unbearable loss that had reshaped him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, inadequate as the words felt.

Lytis shrugged, the gesture dismissive, but Angella could see the pain in his eyes, a raw, visceral ache that time hadn't dulled. "It was a long time ago," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But it taught me that sometimes, you have to find your own answers. The official channels... they're not always enough. They're certainly not enough when the people you love are the victims."

He paused, a dark shadow crossing his face. "After my wife... after Sarah died, I tracked him down myself. The killer. I found him... and I ended it. The police called it murder. I called it closure."

The silence returned, but it was no longer heavy with unspoken questions, but with a fragile understanding. Angella shifted slightly in her seat, gathering her courage.

 

"Why me?" she asked finally. "Why bring me along? You could have handled this yourself."

Lytis glanced at her again, his expression unreadable, then softened slightly. "You're observant," he said, his voice low. "You noticed things at the crime scene, things the police missed. And... you're not afraid to look at the ugly parts of this world. Most people are. They prefer to pretend everything is clean and orderly."

He paused, his gaze returning to the road, a ghost of a sad smile on his lips. "Besides," he added, "you're persistent. Like a... a very curious cat. I have a feeling you won't let this go, even if I asked you to."

 

 

The hovercar finally arrived at their destination: a quaint bookstore with an antique-looking sign that read "Pages of Yore." Lytis parked the car and got out, and Angella followed him.

Inside, Elias, the wizened shopkeeper, greeted them with a warm smile that widened when he saw Angella.

"Lytis! And Angella! It's good to see you're working with him, I take it you contacted him about your son?"

Lytis nodded curtly, his eyes scanning the shelves before turning back to Elias. "Elias. We need to talk. In private." He gestured subtly with his hand, a complex sign that Elias recognized instantly. It was an old symbol, a mark indicating the need for discretion and secrecy. "That book... The Whispers of the Forgotten. Who had it last?"

Elias's smile faded slightly, replaced by a cautious nod. "Of course, Lytis. Follow me."

 

He led them to a seemingly ordinary section of the store, his steps quick and purposeful. He stopped before a seemingly blank section of the wall, then placed his wrist-comp against a specific point. A low hum emanated from the wall, and a section of the bookcase slid open, revealing a hidden doorway.

Beyond the doorway was another room, quite unlike the rest of the store. Instead of the neatly organized data-slates, this chamber was filled with shelves upon shelves of actual, physical books, bound in leather and parchment, their pages yellowed and brittle with age. The air smelled of dust and decay, but also of a strange, compelling power.

Lytis stepped inside, his eyes scanning the shelves with a focused intensity. Angella followed, her hand trailing along the spines of the ancient books, a sense of awe and unease washing over her.

 

Elias walked over to a large, ornately carved cabinet and pulled open a drawer. He Rifled through several folders before extracting one labeled in elegant script: "The Whispers of the Forgotten." Opening the folder, he pulled out a slim data-slate.

"Here," he said, handing the slate to Lytis. "This is the record of the book's previous owners. The last name on the list..." He paused, his brow furrowing. "...is Wraz."