Those who could leave work had already gone, while the ones chained to endless paperwork kept their heads buried in the files.

The third floor of the Los Angeles Police Department was unusually quiet. Pale white light spilled across the tiled floor, dragging out long shadows behind each step.

Adrian had just entered the restroom at the end of the hallway when he noticed someone standing at the sink. A tall, lean figure, suit slightly rumpled after a day of relentless work.

Adrian walked up slowly, turned on the faucet, and washed his hands.

“Dr. Wills, you’re still here? You look exhausted,” he greeted politely.

Julian Wills glanced at Adrian, then turned away, using a handkerchief to wipe the water from his face.

“A meaningless evening, with meaningless people. Truly exhausting,” he replied.

Adrian pretended not to catch the sarcasm in Julian’s words. Unhurried, he answered,

“Dr. Wills, there’s one thing you said in the interrogation room that I agree with: bad deeds generate bad karma. At the very least, the wicked I’ve known have all been punished, one way or another. And you? How are the wicked around you doing these days?”

Julian Wills suddenly froze, lifting his head to look at Adrian.

Still in that same unhurried tone, Adrian went on,

“Karma may arrive late, but it never fails to arrive. Dr. Wills, the law is meant to be obeyed, not toyed with.

Two people are already dead. Those who uphold justice will not allow a third.”

Julian Wills stood stunned for a few seconds before turning his head toward Adrian. Then, the corner of his lips lifted into a faint, cryptic smile. Without another word, he folded his handkerchief, slipped it back into his pocket, and turned to leave the restroom.

As the door swung open, Alex Rios happened to be standing outside. Julian Wills cast him a brief glance, offered no greeting, and brushed past in silence, his straight back radiating a cold, decisive air.

It wasn’t until Julian had disappeared around the corner of the hallway that Alex stepped inside and asked Adrian,

“What exactly did you mean by what you just said?” His voice was low, not loud, but carried a weight of seriousness.

Adrian shut off the faucet, took a paper towel to dry his hands, and met Alex’s gaze without flinching. Then, with a slight shrug, he answered casually,

“Nothing at all. Just an ordinary warning.”

Alex frowned, watching Adrian with a probing look.

“Really? Because when the words come out of your mouth, even the ordinary sounds… not so ordinary.”

Adrian chuckled and stepped closer, giving Alex a light pat on the shoulder.

“Captain, overthinking is an illness. I suggest you see a psychiatrist.”

Alex brushed his hand off with a scoff.

“What doctor? Dr. Wills? Are you that eager to see me dead? What for - so you can take over my mortgage?”

Adrian smiled. “I’ll head out first. Sweet dreams, Captain.”

With that, he left. Alex remained where he was, his eyes following Adrian with a tangle of emotions. He couldn’t help wondering - was he just overthinking again, or were Adrian’s words to Julian Wills far from simple?

Night weighed heavily over Los Angeles.

Neon signs and high-rise windows tore through the darkness, draping the bustling city in a shimmering coat of color.

Los Angeles - the promised land of the American dream, of glamour and fame. Yet it was also the place where contrasts struck the sharpest: light and darkness, good and evil, wealth and hardship revealed themselves in stark relief.

Inside a lavish penthouse at the heart of the city, Adrian stood motionless in the dark. He had not turned on the lights, nor drawn the curtains, letting the faint glow from below carve cold edges across his face.

He was standing before a door.

Unlike the sleek glass walls, stainless steel, and modern electronic locks around it, this one was of dark wood, fitted with an old-fashioned brass keyhole, tarnished with time.

It did not belong here.

The stark contrast gave the lock the air of something ritualistic, commemorative, rather than simply functional. It lent the monochrome space, nothing but shades of gray and black, an unexpected trace of sentiment.

Life or death, in essence, was only the rearrangement of molecules. Wasn’t the only thing separating a person from a pile of ash these useless fragments of sentiment?

Adrian slipped a hand into his coat pocket and drew out a metal key, its shaft etched with intricate hand-carved patterns. He slid it into the lock and turned it once.

Click.

The door gave way. He stepped through slowly, and it closed behind him, sealed once more.

One a.m.

In the stillness of the apartment, the faint glow of a night lamp cast pale light across the ceiling. Alex Rios lay on his side in bed, one hand resting against his forehead, eyes wide open, staring into the dim void above him.

He couldn’t sleep.

Each time he closed his eyes, the same images replayed like a faulty reel of film: the crime scene photos, the fragmented testimony of witnesses, Julian Wills’s evasive expressions… and above all, those strange words Adrian had spoken in the restroom with the doctor.

Adrian was an enigma. Even now, Alex couldn’t decide whether he was SCIU’s salvation or its greatest liability. But truth be told, the arrogant kid who liked to masquerade as a gentleman had left no favorable impression on him whatsoever.

If he could, Alex would have broken Adrian’s words into a thousand tiny fragments, then examined each one under a microscope, carefully dissecting them. Because Adrian was a master of language, and who could say what hidden barbs or unspoken meanings he might have woven into what, on the surface, sounded like nothing more than ordinary remarks?

“Karma may arrive late, but it never fails to arrive.”

“Two people are already dead. Those who uphold justice will not allow a third.”

“How are the wicked around you doing these days?”

Those words kept replaying in Alex’s mind. Then, like a sudden flash of lightning, realization struck. He shot upright, the exhaustion on his face wiped clean, replaced entirely by fury.

“Fuck, Adrian, you’re insane!”

The curse burst out of him, a raw outlet for the storm raging inside. He jumped to his feet, hastily threw on his clothes, and stormed out of the apartment with his phone in hand.

Inside the elevator, he kept calling Adrian over and over, but the line went unanswered. With no choice, he began waking up the rest of the SCIU team, dragging them into an unscheduled night shift.

Why? Because that bastard Adrian wasn’t content with the chaos already consuming everything, he had to pour gasoline on the fire.

And at last, Alex understood what Adrian had meant back in the office when he’d said, “there’s still one way.”

“Two people are already dead. Those who uphold justice will not allow a third.”

Wasn’t that exactly what Adrian had implied to Julian Wills, that from tonight onward, the police would be watching his every move, so if he wanted to kill again, he’d better hurry before it was too late?

Because they couldn’t pin him down with the first two victims, Adrian was practically goading him into striking a third time, just so they’d have more evidence to work with.

Goddamn it, the bastard was out of his fucking mind!

By the time Alex returned to the office, the clock had already struck two a.m. Not long after, the other SCIU members shuffled in, dark circles under their eyes, coffee cups in hand, their heavy footsteps dragging from exhaustion and lack of sleep.

Lucy rubbed her eyes repeatedly, dropped her bag on the desk, and asked, “Captain, what’s so urgent that you had to drag the whole team out at this hour?”

Alex replied,

“We’re running out of time. I suspect Julian Wills will go after a third victim tonight.”

Everyone in the room sat up straight in an instant.

“Captain, that’s not a funny joke!” Lucy whined.

Marco was calmer than Lucy, but the tension on his face was obvious.

“Captain. Why do you think that?”

Why?

Because there’s a lunatic behind the scenes pushing all of this forward!

Of course, that was something Alex could never say aloud. Instead, he gave a vague explanation before moving on to orders,

“Marco, Elijah, you two go invite Julian Wills back to the station.”

“Captain, we don’t have a warrant,” Elijah said hesitantly.

“That’s why I said invite, not arrest. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure you bring him in. If there’s a problem, I’ll take responsibility.”

The two accepted their orders and headed out together.

“Captain, what about me?” Lucy looked up and asked.

“You and Silas stay here with me. We need to find out who’s most likely to become the third victim,” Alex replied, before continuing his instructions. “Focus on the two years Helena Drake lived and worked in Los Angeles. Find any point of connection between Nathan Greer and Gavin Moore. Any kind of relationship - direct or indirect - as long as it links them in some way.”

The three of them immediately buried themselves in their computers. Each sat in a corner, the bluish glow of the screens casting sharp light over their tense, exhausted faces.

Half an hour slipped by in silence. Finally, Silas spoke up, his voice hesitant,

“I found something… but I’m not sure if it’s useful.”

Alex lifted his head. “Go on.”

Silas rolled his chair closer and turned his screen so everyone could see.

“Sixteen years ago, Nathan Greer appeared in a TV drama with a young actor named Bryce Holloway. The show wasn’t very popular, and at the time Bryce was just a newcomer. I dug a little deeper and found that Bryce’s manager back then was Gavin Moore.”

Bryce Holloway, now thirty-six years old, was one of the biggest stars in commercial cinema. He had achieved global fame playing the lead in the blockbuster superhero franchise Sentinel Force, which was already on its fourth installment.

Alex drummed his fingers on the desk, his voice carrying an urgent edge:

“Get in touch with him, or with his current manager. Right now.”