Rain tapped steadily against the tall, fogged windows that lined the far wall, the droplets streaking downward in crooked trails. Outside, the sky was a dull slate gray, diffused light barely filtering through the glass. The distant rumble of thunder echoed across the horizon, low and drawn out like a warning.
A man dressed in an all-white suit stopped in front of a tall wooden door with a tarnished brass handle. His polished black shoes made a crisp sound with each step on the creaking floorboards. He paused, listening, then pushed down the handle and he pushed the door open.
The room inside was dim until he flicked the light switch beside the doorway. Several bulbs suspended from thick ropes hanging from the ceiling flickered once before bathing the room in a pale yellow glow. The light cast long shadows across the cracked marble floor and against the dark wood-paneled walls. Dust drifted through the air, barely visible, catching the light like faint glimmers of ash.
In the center of the room sat a large brown table with scuffed edges and faint burn marks across its surface. Behind it, seated in a wide black leather chair, was another man. His back was straight, and his hands rested atop the table with rigid stillness. He leaned forward slightly and pressed a small button embedded into the table's edge. A desk lamp beside him dimmed slowly until it extinguished with a soft click.
The man in white approached, his footsteps echoing softly through the quiet room. He cracked his neck as he walked, loosening the tension, then placed three brown folders onto the table with a solid thud. Each one was thick, stuffed with loosely bound pages, many marked with colored tags and smudged ink.
"Over the course of the last year, I've been embedded inside the Nox group," the man said as he pulled out a chair. He sat down slowly, shoulders heavy, and let out a long breath that fogged slightly in the cold air. "What's inside those folders is only what I was able to smuggle out."
The man across from him pulled the folders closer, his fingers briefly brushing over the topmost one. He opened it and skimmed the first page, his eyes darting over lines of hand-written text, and scribbled annotations. The silence between them stretched for several seconds, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock. It ticked every few seconds, a constant presence in the background.
The man who had delivered the folders looked around the room, his gaze trailing over the water-streaked windows and the shadows that curled in the corners. He sighed, his voice lower now.
"Rei, is this enough to issue a Directive under Article Seven of the Crimson Judgement Act?"
Rei's eyes lifted from the page. The yellow light caught the edges of his irises, making them look almost gold. His expression was unreadable, calm but stern, like a blade sheathed but not dulled.
"Multiple counts of illegal drug usage. Human trafficking. Experiments on civilians." He tapped the page lightly with his index finger. "If even half of this is accurate, then yes. They've gone too far. This is beyond just a prison sentence."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his voice now quieter but heavier.
"This warrants full enactment."
The room remained still. The rain intensified against the glass as another roll of thunder passed in the distance. Both men sat in silence, the weight of what had been said settling between them like dust on forgotten shelves.
"This isn't going to be clean, is it?" the man in white finally asked.
Rei didn't answer immediately. He simply reached into a drawer, pulled out a black envelope, and set it gently on the table beside the folders.
"Nothing about the Crimson Judgement Act ever is."
Rei leaned forward without another word and reached into the drawer beneath the table. He retrieved a single sheet of thick parchment paper and a black fountain pen with a silver nib. The light above flickered once as he began writing, his script sharp and deliberate, each stroke like a blade carving across the page. The ink glistened for a moment before soaking into the fibers.
After several measured lines and a final signature, Rei set the pen aside. He picked up the black envelope—the same one he had placed earlier beside the folders and slid the document into it. The envelope made a soft whisper as it sealed shut.
He then reached to the side of the table and retrieved a small, cube-shaped black object. It looked almost unremarkable, like polished stone, until he raised it and slammed it down directly onto the envelope.
A faint hum pulsed through the air as the cube glowed faintly with silvery veins of light.
Then, with a soft click, a glowing insignia seared itself into the envelope's surface: the emblem of the Scythe. A crescent blade arcing through a ring of chains—unmistakable. The seal pulsed once, then faded to a cold crimson burn that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
The man in the white suit stared at it. He swallowed hard as a chill ran down his spine.
That mark meant judgment without question. No appeals. No oversight. It was the highest order of execution within the Ironcloud Detective Agency.
"Who do I send this to?" he asked quietly, his voice just above a whisper as he finally looked up from the sealed envelope.
Rei stood up slowly, the creak of the leather chair echoing across the room. His dark blue trench coat shifted as he walked toward the tall window, each step clicking sharply against the polished marble flooring.
He stopped at the glass and stared out into the gray morning. Rain continued its relentless assault on the world outside, streaking the windowpane in silver trails. Distant rooftops blurred beneath the curtain of mist and drizzle.
"Send this to Raven Loomingson," Rei said, his tone steady, unshaken. "The sooner he receives that envelope, the better."
The man in the white suit nodded, even though Rei's back was turned. He reached down and took the envelope into his gloved hand, gripping it with care.
He turned away from the table and made his way toward the large wooden door. It creaked open with a groan, and as he stepped through, it closed behind him with a quiet, resolute click.
Outside, the hallway was dim, lined with flickering lamps and narrow stained-glass windows that cast fractured colors onto the walls. His footsteps echoed as he descended a spiral of steps made from aged red brick, the stone slick from the moisture in the air.
Rei's eyes glanced on the door long after it had shut, listening to the fading sound of footsteps disappearing down the stairwell. Rain tapped steadily against the wide window behind him, a quiet rhythm that filled the otherwise still room.
With a soft exhale, Rei turned away and moved back to the black leather chair. He didn't sit this time. Instead, he reached beneath the table and pulled out a worn, thick journal bound in faded midnight-blue leather. Its edges were curled, the corners frayed from use. Dozens of strange symbols had been etched onto its surface—some burned, others scratched in with ink that shimmered faintly under the light.
He crouched down, lowering the book gently to the marble floor beside him. Then adjusted his trench coat, spreading it in a way that allowed him to sit cross-legged without discomfort. The fabric fanned out around him, pooling like a shadow beneath his frame.
As he settled, Rei rolled his shoulders once, then tilted his neck with a soft pop. His short, dark blue hair shifted slightly with the motion, barely brushing the edges of his jaw.
He placed both hands palm-down on his knees.
And then he began to breathe.
In slow, measured intervals, his chest rose and fell. The overhead lights buzzed softly, then faded into the background, as if sensing the shift in focus. The ticking of the clock above the door grew distant. Even the persistent sound of the rain seemed to pull away from him.
The symbols in the journal began to pulse faintly, one by one, reacting to something within him.
As his breathing deepened, the edges of the room blurred, swallowed by growing shadow. Light slipped away. Color faded. The desk, the bookshelves, the stained-glass reflections—all of it melted into black.