The Terminal
Pétra Hince reviewed the crime scene report. Past tense. Everything about Professor Dubois was in the past now.
She stepped onto the killing floor, where his body had been found. A single gunshot to the chest. No signs of a struggle. Executed.
It was the work of the enemy — silent, efficient, and merciless. They had made a deal with him. A crumpled contract lay on his desk, its final line clear:
"For good and valuable consideration..."
A bargain. A betrayal. But even that hadn’t saved him.
It had taken one shot to end the professor’s life. Quick. Precise. But Pétra knew it wasn’t over.
The enemy wasn’t finished.
She glanced at the broken clock on the wall. It had stopped exactly 61 hours before the body was found. A message? A warning?
Dubois had left one last clue, scribbled in the margins of his notes: "Second Son."
A name. A title. A hidden enigma in plain sight.
He had discovered the secret, and it had cost him everything.
Now, it was up to her.
The hero doesn’t stop until the truth is exposed.