The rhythmic tapping of rain against the dilapidated corrugated iron roof of the detective agency sounded like a countdown—the final seconds of a dwindling patience. Ren sat there, his slender silhouette nearly swallowed by the hazy veil of cigarette smoke. His eyes weren't fixed on the cluttered files before him, but rather on the hollow void of Oakhaven—a town where secrets lay rotting beneath a facade of tranquility.
"Do they truly believe they can dictate the tempo of the dark?" Ren curled his lip, a smirk devoid of any warmth.
This town, much like the administrative system operating it, had always attempted to turn a blind eye to the blatant truth. Twelve chapters of a horrific play had already unfolded, and this thirteenth chapter was not merely a beginning—it was a verdict. Those lurking behind the curtain were trembling; they deliberately ignored iron-clad evidence, intentionally stalling the truth to protect their own decaying order.
But they forgot one thing: Truth, once it reaches its breaking point, requires no permission to manifest.
"27,000 words of truth have already been laid bare," Ren muttered, his fingers drumming lightly on the wooden desk. "And the next 10,000 words will be the grave for your stagnation."
Outside, a bolt of lightning tore through the Oakhaven sky, illuminating a stranger standing in the downpour, silently observing the office. Ren didn't flinch. He knew who it was, and he knew what they carried: A contract signed in blood, or a formal declaration of war.
"Do not keep me waiting any longer," Ren stood up, his black trench coat fluttering like a bat's wing in the gloom. "The patience of a genius detective is finite, and when it runs dry… all of Oakhaven will pay the price."
The veil has been lifted. Chapter 13 has begun. And the darkness, this time, will no longer follow anyone's shadow. It has become the predator.