Its glass façade reflected the gray morning sky, as if the city itself was not quite ready to wake.

The third floor of the Aurelius Analytical Division was always quieter than the others, as though time moved a little slower there.

Only some of the white lights were on, rows of computers had not fully awakened, and the hum of the air-conditioning was the only steady sound filling the morning air.

The door to the analysis room opened slowly.

Footsteps entered—rhythmic, light, unhurried, yet filled with certainty.

The people in the division were already familiar with this pattern: arriving earlier than scheduled, working without much talk, and always double-checking things others already considered finished.

He placed his bag at the corner of his metal desk.

There were no family photos there.

No souvenirs, no decorations.

Only two slim monitors, a neatly arranged file rack, a small note board with faded color stickers, and a black pen that was always positioned with precision.

He turned on the monitors.

Reports he had completed a week earlier appeared again—a case involving the theft of assets belonging to a government official, the perpetrator turning out to be an internal staff member.

A case debated more fiercely on social media than through forensic evidence.

He opened the final attachment and reread it without haste.

This habit did not signal doubt; it was more like a ritual to keep his mind sharp.

He never allowed small details to be left behind, even when a case had been neatly closed.

The door opened again.

“Morning, Senior!”

Julian entered carrying two cups of coffee and a stack of folders.

His hair was still slightly damp, a sign of a rushed shower before running to the office.

He placed one of the cups on Adrian’s desk.

“What time did you come in, Senior? Ah, probably before dawn. If someone said you didn’t sleep all night, I’d believe it.”

Adrian glanced over briefly in acknowledgment.

“You’re still reviewing last week’s case, Senior?” Julian placed another folder beside the monitor.

“The Director already signed off on it, you know.”

“It’s finished,” he replied shortly. “Just making sure nothing was missed.”

Julian chuckled. “That’s why everyone panics when you review a report. Nothing ever slips through.”

Quick footsteps approached from the hallway.

“Julian! Where’s that timeline report?”

Reira appeared, snatching the folder from his hand before he could even speak. Her hair was slightly messy, and she hugged the folder as if it were alive.

“We have to revise the closing report for the old case before the briefing. The Director wants a concise version…”

She rolled her eyes.

“…which means we have to redo it.”

Julian sighed dramatically. “There’s no such thing as ‘concise’ in the Director’s dictionary. Only ‘clearer’ or ‘more detailed.’”

Reira looked at Adrian.

“Senior, could you help check witness number three’s timeline again? It’s nothing major… the statements just don’t line up perfectly. Better to clean it up.”

“Put it on my desk.”

Reira smiled in relief.

When Adrian checked something, the report almost always went through without further correction.

The three of them sat at their respective desks.

The office began to come alive: the sound of keyboards, printers pulling in paper, phones ringing briefly in the corners.

One by one, other staff members arrived, some greeting softly, others going straight to work.

In the middle of that rhythm, Julian leaned back, slowly spinning his chair.

“Senior… this week should be calm, right? At least before a new case comes in.”

Reira shot back immediately, “There’s no such thing as a calm week at AAD. We signed away our souls when we passed the selection.”

“Signed away our souls?” Julian laughed. “Then Senior must’ve lost his a long time ago.”

Adrian kept typing, not responding.

Yet in his mind, something stirred.

Not a premonition—just an old intuition that surfaced after years of handling patterns others could not see.

Whenever the office felt peaceful like this, there was a strong chance something was approaching.

He just didn’t know what form it would take.

Reira broke the silence.

“Senior, look at this.”

She rolled her chair closer, holding up her tablet.

“Witness number three’s data. I revised it, but there’s still a strange gap in timing. It doesn’t change the outcome, but it’s unsettling.”

Adrian examined the screen.

A single line of notes that seemed ordinary—the witness’s arrival time had an unexplained two-minute gap.

Very small, almost insignificant.

He marked it. “I’ll check it later.”

Reira nodded, satisfied.

The clock on the wall showed 07:42.

Suddenly, the intercom sounded from the corner of the room, making several people look up.

“All members of the Analysis and Investigation Unit, please proceed to the main meeting room. Briefing will begin in five minutes.”

It was Varen’s voice—calm, flat, leaving no room for discussion.

Julian stood up hurriedly. “That fast?”

Reira straightened the folders. “When the Director speaks like that, it means our day is going to be long.”

Adrian closed the last report on his monitor.

He stood, adjusted his shirt, and picked up a folder he had not yet read.

“Senior?” Julian called.

Adrian turned.

Julian smiled faintly.

“Hope the briefing goes smoothly… though I have a feeling it won’t.”

Reira patted his shoulder. “It never does, Julian. That’s why we get paid.”

The three of them left the room together.

The AAD corridors were starting to grow busy:

the rustle of paper, quick footsteps, and the coffee machine working without rest.

They walked toward the main meeting room at the end of the corridor.

Behind that door, the new case had not yet been mentioned.

Varen had said nothing.

No one knew what awaited them at the meeting table.

The meeting room door slid open automatically as they approached.

And that ordinary-looking morning shifted, step by step,

slowly but inevitably,

toward a direction it would never return from.