Cultists and Investigation

Lorne gently pushed the door open, and it gave a faint creak.

He slipped sideways into the room and left the door ajar behind him, taking care not to make too much noise.

Lucky was already crouching inside, the tip of her tail swaying slightly, her eyes glowing an eerie green in the dim light.

Was that a piano? Lorne looked at the objects in the room.

There was little dust on it, suggesting it was used often.

The room smelled of old paper and rust. The shelves were crammed with yellowed notebooks, some with cracked spines that exposed the densely handwritten text inside.

"This is Hermes Script." Lorne recognized the writing in the books.

"This person is definitely more than an ordinary occult enthusiast."

Lorne ventured farther inside and approached a desk.

The moment he saw what lay on it, his brow furrowed. The papers were covered in bizarre runes, with the steps of some ritual hastily scrawled beside them. The handwriting was wild, as though the writer had been in a state of extreme excitement.

"Magic..." Lorne murmured. The paper felt unnaturally cold.

"Resurrection... ritual..."

"Yes, this is definitely genuine black magic." Looking at the contents of the papers, Lorne was utterly certain.

Lucky suddenly jumped onto the desk and pawed at a glass bottle.

Lorne stepped closer to look. The bottle contained a dark red liquid, its surface shimmering with an eerie light, as though sealed by some sort of power.

"Blood?"

By the crimson moonlight, Lorne peered through the glass. The liquid was too thick to be ordinary blood. Instead, it seemed to writhe slightly, as though alive.

"So this really is a cultist studying black magic?"

"Have I just broken into a den of evil?"

Now certain that something was wrong with this house, Lorne had no intention of lingering.

He hurriedly stepped forward as quietly as he could and scooped up Lucky, afraid she might leave some trace behind, then backed away one step at a time.

His footsteps were light. He paused after each step, afraid of accidentally touching something sinister.

"Phew..." With the door right in front of him, he suddenly breathed a sigh of relief.

Before leaving, he uneasily glanced around once more. Only after confirming that he had left no traces did he open the door and slowly back outside.

Holding Lucky, Lorne ran swiftly beneath the crimson moonlight. Although he had just left a suspected cultist's home, he did not seem particularly frightened. Somehow, he even felt a strange excitement.

Tonight's experience had been dangerous and full of coincidences, but Lorne knew he might now have the lead he needed to make his report.

Azure Hotel

Klein studied the sign before him.

He had used his precious half-day off to visit this hotel.

Over the past two days, he had learned the man's name from his younger sister: Lorne Dysenk.

Although his divination had failed to pinpoint the man's location directly,

he had still obtained a lead pointing to this hotel from a few of the images it revealed.

I have no choice. Even if I'm not his target, I have to find him for my sister's sake and get a clear answer about his intentions... Klein pushed open the hotel's wooden door, making the brass bell above it jingle.

A young woman sat behind the front desk, looking down at a newspaper. Only when she heard the sound did she slowly raise her head.

"Hello, sir. Would you like a room?" The receptionist greeted her prospective guest warmly.

Klein approached the counter and rested his elbow on its wooden surface, his expression serious.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm looking for someone."

"His name is Lorne Dysenk."

"He's around twenty, with brown hair, and about this tall..." He raised a hand to indicate the height.

The receptionist narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't disclose information about our guests."

Klein said nothing. He slowly reached into his inner pocket. The receptionist's gaze followed his hand until he drew out a police badge, its metal surface gleaming coldly beneath the dim yellow light.

"This is just a routine investigation. I hope you'll cooperate." Klein pressed the police badge onto the counter with a faint click.

The receptionist swallowed, her eyes shifting as she rubbed her fingers together unconsciously.

"...All right." After a moment, the receptionist chose to give in. She turned and pulled a register with yellowed pages and curled corners from a drawer.

After turning a few pages, she stopped her finger at one line. "Second floor, the room at the very end. But he hasn't been back for several days."

Klein put away his police badge, then took a banknote from his pocket and laid it on the counter, lowering his voice.

"Thank you. This is an investigation fee."

The receptionist stared at the banknote and hesitated for two seconds before covering it with her hand and nodding.

Although all Nighthawks held police credentials and theoretically had law-enforcement authority, today's actions were a private matter.

That was why Klein had chosen to offer the receptionist a small bribe.

He turned toward the stairs, his shoes making dull thuds against the old floorboards.

Upon reaching the room, Klein hesitated over whether to open the door.

"Should I perform another divination?" After a moment's thought, he made up his mind, inserted the key, and opened the door.

Because there was something unusual about the man, he dared not divine him directly, fearing that he might alert him.

After pushing the door open, Klein drew his pistol and aimed straight ahead, afraid someone might be lying in ambush.

But just as the receptionist had said, there was not a sound in the room.

Looking at the empty room, he seemed to have an uneasy premonition.

Having found no clues at the hotel, Klein felt somewhat disappointed.

"Perhaps I could write to Mr. Azik and ask whether he has any advice."

Klein thought of that experienced teacher who harbored secrets of his own.

As he pondered, he happened to glance around and realized that his surroundings looked familiar.

"Wait, I think I've seen that red chimney somewhere before!" He felt that he had seen a similar scene while divining Elliott's kidnapping case.

But just then,

"Help!"

A cry for help interrupted his thoughts.

Seeing the commotion in the crowd nearby, Klein instinctively rushed over.

The Circus.

"We've finished looking into that woman named Sharon. She's a Demoness." The Magician addressed

his subordinate, explaining the results of his investigation.

"A Demoness... that kind of Demoness..."

"That day, I actually got... by a... a man..." The Clown was close to breaking down and nearly vomited on the spot.

"Physically speaking, she's already a woman," the Magician said to comfort his subordinate.

But his words seemed to have the opposite effect. The Clown looked even more distraught.

"Ah..." The Magician glanced at his subordinate and sighed.

"Get ready. We're making our move."