“This is the journal of a girl who once dated Bryce Holloway. And she was born in Florida.”

Alex nodded, his fingertips tapping against the whiteboard, right on the name Helena Drake. He said,

“No doubt about it. Julian’s sister and Bryce were in a relationship. We’re on the right track.”

He turned to Silas.

“Enlarge the other photo.”

The second image filled the computer screen. Its quality was poor, grainy, clearly snapped in a hurry with an old phone. The shot only caught the upper bodies of two shirtless men standing close together. Their faces were either outside the frame or deliberately obscured. But one detail stood out: the sharp outline of a tiger tattoo on the left shoulder of one of the men.

Alex narrowed his eyes and asked Silas,

“Can you tell if this is real or doctored?”

Silas shook his head. “The image quality’s too poor. Easy to fake, but it could just as well be real. I can’t confirm.”

“Anyone in Hollywood known to have a tiger tattoo?” Alex pressed.

Silas didn’t answer immediately. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in a string of keywords: tiger tattoo actor Hollywood. Within seconds, search results flooded the screen - paparazzi photos, celebrity tattoo blogs, tabloid articles.

Lucy leaned in close, eyes sharp as a laser beam. She pointed at one image.

“Stop there!”

Silas zoomed in. The photo showed Nathan Greer, shirtless, playing ball on a sunlit beach. On his left shoulder, the same tiger tattoo, a perfect match in every detail.

The room grew heavy with silence.

Alex gave a slow nod.

“So we can establish one thing: Nathan Greer, Bryce Holloway, and Helena Drake were all connected.”

Lucy’s expression tightened. She asked:

“What do we do now, Captain?”

Alex ground his teeth slightly, his eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. Snatching his coat, his voice turned cold,

“We’re going to Saffron Lounge & Bar to pull their security footage.”

He paused for a beat, his tone dropping lower.

“With any luck, we’ll still find Bryce Holloway alive.”

Then Alex began issuing orders,

“Lucy, you stay here and keep the phones monitored. If anyone calls in, notify me immediately.” His gaze shifted to Silas. “You’re with me. Let’s move.”

The Saffron Lounge & Bar sat in a bustling district at the heart of Los Angeles, neon lights washing over the streets while music from nearby clubs spilled onto the sidewalks. It didn’t take Alex long to arrive. Silas trailed close behind.

The moment they stepped into the main hall, Alex immediately demanded to see the manager. A staff member quickly escorted them upstairs, to a small office tucked behind the bar. A few minutes later, a middle-aged man in a tailored black suit appeared.

Alex didn’t waste time. He flipped open his badge and spoke bluntly,

“SCIU. We’re investigating a serious case. We need your cooperation to access the security cameras for the VIP section - specifically Room Seven - between eight and ten o’clock tonight.”

Rowan frowned, glancing at the badge before replying. “I’m sorry, sir… but according to our policy, retrieving footage requires a search warrant. It’s mandatory, we have to protect our clients’ privacy.”

Alex nodded as if he understood. Then he leaned closer to Rowan, lowering his voice deliberately,

“I get your policy. But this is an emergency. We may be looking at a potential homicide.”

A flicker of unease crossed Rowan’s face. As the manager, the last thing he wanted was trouble breaking out on his watch. But rules were rules, and he wasn’t the owner, he couldn’t just override them.

Sensing Rowan’s hesitation, Alex went for the kill.

“Fine. I’ll be straight with you. Do you know who Bryce Holloway is?”

“The superhero from Sentinel Force, right?” Rowan asked, his eyes widening. A sinking feeling surged through him, and his heartbeat quickened. People might not know Bryce by name, but no one could miss the blockbuster series Sentinel Force.

If something had really happened to Bryce Holloway in this bar, it would be a nightmare.

Alex didn’t soften the blow, immediately confirming Rowan’s worst fear,

“Bryce’s manager has already reported him missing. When we checked his private inbox, we found a scheduled meeting at 9:30 in your VIP Room Seven. It’s past midnight now. Getting a warrant will take hours, but time is not on our side. Delay could mean the victim’s life, and when the fallout hits, the media and legal consequences will land squarely on this establishment.”

It wasn’t the first lie Alex had told tonight, but it rolled off his tongue effortlessly.

Rowan fell silent for a few seconds, sweat beading at his temple. He hesitated briefly, then gave a small nod.

“Alright. But you can only view the hallway footage. We don’t place surveillance inside the VIP rooms.”

“That’s enough,” Alex said firmly. “Lead the way.”

Less than five minutes later, they were in the surveillance control room on the third floor. A massive monitor displayed a grid of camera feeds covering every corner of the bar. At Alex’s request, the technician enlarged the feed from the hallway camera outside VIP Room Seven. He scrubbed through the recording until the on-screen clock read 9:00 PM.

A tall, lanky man appeared in frame, black windbreaker, baseball cap pulled low, face completely covered by a mask. He was dragging a large suitcase as he strode quickly toward Room Seven and slipped inside.

Rowan dabbed his damp forehead with a handkerchief. A man hauling a suitcase that size into a bar, no one needed to ask questions to know how wrong that was.

Barely thirty minutes later, at 9:30 PM, another figure appeared. Just as covered up as the first. But the hesitant posture, the uncertain pause at the door, Alex recognized it instantly.

“It’s Bryce Holloway.”

Rowan recognized him too. How could he not? His daughter was a die-hard Bryce fan, her bedroom walls plastered with posters of him. Even if he didn’t want to, it was impossible not to know the man.

Fifteen minutes after that, at 9:45 PM, the man in the black windbreaker re-emerged into the hallway, suitcase still in hand. He pulled the door shut behind him, then turned his head deliberately toward the camera. Behind the rimless glasses on his nose, his piercing blue eyes gleamed with challenge. Then he dragged the suitcase out of frame and vanished.

Silas shot to his feet, blurting out,

“That’s Julian Wills!”

Alex, still composed, lowered his voice into a steady command,

“Fast-forward the footage. See if Bryce ever comes back out.”

The technician did as ordered, the playback running at maximum speed. But up to the present moment, the door to VIP Room Seven never opened again.

Alex turned to Rowan and said,

“Have your staff check the room. If Bryce isn’t inside, it means he left with that man earlier.”

That black suitcase was large enough to hold a grown man. Rowan didn’t need Alex to spell it out, he understood immediately.

He quickly called a staff member to inspect VIP Room Seven.

“But, manager, the guest in Room Seven booked until morning and hasn’t asked for service,” the staff on the other end hesitated.

Rowan, already at his limit, barked,

“Cut the excuses. Just check whether anyone’s still in there.”

Through the surveillance feed, everyone in the control room could clearly see a staff member approach and knock on the VIP door. After waiting with no response, the employee hesitated, then pushed the door open. A few minutes later, Rowan received a call from that same staffer, reporting the room was empty.

The answer cast a heavy silence over the control room. No one spoke, but Alex’s eyes darkened.

That last image Julian had left behind on the footage still lingered in his mind. The moment when he lifted his head to stare straight at the hallway camera, those pale blue eyes held no fear, no attempt to hide. Instead, they brimmed with challenge and smug satisfaction. It was as if he were sending Alex a direct message through the lens: “Try and take him back from me, if you can.”

Too arrogant. Too vain. Too insane. He wasn’t even afraid of the police.

Fuck! Since when had Alex been surrounded by lunatics like this?

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was Lucy.

“Captain, Elijah and Marco have escorted Julian Wills back to the precinct, but…” her voice faltered slightly.

“He’s being overly cooperative, isn’t he?” Alex said coldly, as though he had expected it all along.

Lucy froze. “How did you know?”

He didn’t answer. His voice dropped low, “I’m coming back to the precinct now.”

Hanging up, Alex turned to Silas.

“Back up that footage. Bring the original copy and come with me.”

“Understood.”

Rowan, standing nearby, asked anxiously, “What about us, how should the club handle this?”

Alex shot him a decisive look.

“No one is to enter VIP Room Seven. Leave the scene untouched. Our people will be here to seal it off and collect evidence within minutes.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the control room, his expression as cold and rigid as ice.

Pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place, yet the unease gnawing at Alex only grew sharper than ever.