The day began with heat—an unbearable, suffocating kind that seemed to cling to everyone and everything. In a quiet room that didn’t feel quiet at all, someone stood there with nerves jangling like wire. He wasn’t supposed to be visited. He wasn’t supposed to be disturbed. And yet, the door opened anyway, and suddenly there he was—someone who carried urgency in every step.

“I’m sorry,” the newcomer said, as if politeness could soften what was coming. “I think there’s been a mistake. I wasn’t expecting a visit today. My son said it would be tomorrow.”

But the person inside didn’t have time for explanations. Their eyes narrowed. Their voice sharpened.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I need your help,” came the reply, blunt and determined. No pleading—just necessity.

Then, almost immediately, the room filled with tension like a storm gathering behind a clear sky. Someone else stepped in, and the atmosphere shifted again. The nickname that followed—half challenge, half insult—sparked something like a fuse. The newcomer bristled.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

“All right,” the other man muttered, clearly trying to keep things civil while his patience burned away. “I hope you don’t mind me opening up. I was waiting for you… but time will tick.”

Time. That word hung in the air like a threat. Because this wasn’t a casual meeting. It wasn’t even a helpful visit. It was part of a desperate attempt to change a fate that was already closing its jaws.

“So,” the first man asked, cutting through the tension, “where were you then?”

“What’s it got to do with you?” the newcomer fired back instantly.

But the other wasn’t done. His suspicion was alive, active, and relentless. He pointed toward the papers being handled—paperwork that didn’t belong to just anyone, paperwork that could decide whether the truth survived or died quietly.

“Is that Ken’s paperwork?” he asked. “Should you be going through that? Thought you were here to make sure me and Sarah don’t burn the place to the ground.”

The newcomer’s expression tightened. The argument wasn’t really about the paperwork. It was about control—about who had the right to investigate, who had the right to dig, and who could be trusted.

“Who’s in charge here again?” he said.

“You,” the other man admitted—almost unwillingly.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, as if that one word settled nothing at all.

“Then keep your nose out,” came the reply, sharp enough to cut.

The atmosphere turned colder. The newcomer watched him carefully, as if reading the room for weaknesses. “It’s like Kane’s still here,” he muttered, and someone else immediately snapped a warning.

“Watch out.”

A mood shift followed—one of those quiet, controlled changes where everyone knows the temperature has dropped, even if no one says so. The man who’d entered—his “highness” in a bad mood—seemed to carry the kind of anger that didn’t need shouting. It only needed the next sentence.

“Go on then,” he said. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” the newcomer insisted. “It’s just him doing me.”

But even that wasn’t the real problem. The newcomer’s eyes had a different focus now—like he was looking past the surface of the moment, already calculating what might still be salvaged before it was too late.

“Listen,” he said, trying to keep his voice calmer. “I know you’re busy. You’ve just started, and all that. But can you spare half an hour?”

The response came quickly and firmly. “Not really. Not now while I was up—”

The newcomer didn’t stop. He pressed anyway, because there are moments when politeness becomes a luxury you can’t afford.

He spoke of his sister—how she was likely going down for something she didn’t do. A sister’s fate wasn’t an abstract concept. It was blood and history and shared memories. And it was on the verge of being decided in a courtroom.

“So,” he said, “what is it that you want from me? anything.”

His request, when it arrived, was too heavy to be casual.

“I just need to find something,” he confessed, voice low. “Something that proves that Moira had no idea what Ray and Celu were up to.”

It wasn’t enough to say “I think she didn’t know.” It wasn’t enough to argue feelings or intentions. They needed proof—hard evidence—the kind that makes reasonable people stop doubting and start accepting.

But the reply chilled him.

“I’ve already told the police everything I know,”