Marcus's footsteps echoed in the second-floor hallway, heavy and dull, like they were pounding against Ryan's heart. The moment he followed them into the master bedroom, a faint, sickly-sweet scent invaded his nostrils, mingling with the fine dust floating in the air to create a vaguely unsettling smell. Ryan instinctively wrinkled his nose, his eyes quickly sweeping across the entire room.
This was an extravagantly luxurious master bedroom, easily three times the size of his rented apartment. A leather sofa was placed against the floor-to-ceiling window, a European crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, and several paintings that looked immensely valuable adorned the walls—every detail flaunted the owner's wealth. But right now, this opulence was shrouded in an eerie atmosphere, making one's skin crawl.
"The police already checked thoroughly, didn't find any clues," Philip said from behind them, his voice full of despair. "My father usually stayed in this room. I even came in last night before bed to talk to him about company matters. He was completely fine then. How could he just vanish?"
Ryan followed Philip's gaze. The bed covers were tossed in a heap, as if the owner had just risen and left in a hurry, with no attempt to tidy up. A half-finished cup of black coffee sat on the nightstand, a faint lipstick mark on the rim. The coffee at the bottom had long gone cold, forming a thin, oily film. The floor was spotless, no footprints, no signs of a struggle—it was as if the room's occupant had evaporated into thin air.
Marcus didn't respond to Philip, his face still wearing that brooding expression. He pulled a pair of black gloves from his pocket, put them on, and bent down to carefully inspect the room. His movements appeared highly professional; his gloved fingers lightly traced the surfaces of the nightstand, the dressing table, and other furniture, occasionally bringing them close to his nose to sniff, as if trying to catch some subtle scent.
Ryan stood by the door, not daring to move, using only his eyes to scrutinize everything. He recalled the investigative knowledge from his criminal investigation textbooks, trying to remember the key points of a crime scene inspection, attempting to find a single clue in this bizarre room. But no matter how hard he looked, the room felt too "clean," unnaturally clean.
Just then, Ryan noticed a detail: Marcus's gaze kept drifting, deliberately or not, toward a dark solid wood wardrobe in the corner of the room. The wardrobe seemed to match the room's décor, its surface carved with intricate patterns, the closed doors fitting tightly—nothing seemed amiss. But Marcus's unusual focus on it made Ryan's mind churn.
"Mr. Philip," Marcus finally stopped moving and turned to Philip, his tone still icy. "Did your father exhibit any unusual behavior before his disappearance? Low spirits, anxiety? Or did he come into contact with anyone particularly… special?"
Philip frowned, thinking carefully for a moment before his brow gradually smoothed. "No unusual behavior. He's been in good spirits lately; several major company projects were going smoothly. But…" He paused, as if confirming something. "Last week, a man claiming to be a scientist came to see him. Wanted him to invest in some 'magic-technology fusion' project. My father thought it was too far-fetched, unreliable, so he refused outright."
"A scientist?" Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone gaining a barely perceptible hint of urgency. "What was his name? Do you have any other information about him?"
"Something like Karen, I don't remember the full name," Philip shook his head, a look of distaste on his face. "The man seemed weird, had a crazy look in his eyes. Kept rambling mysteriously when he talked. My father pretty much ignored him."
Marcus nodded, didn't press further, and turned toward the dark wardrobe. His steps were quicker now; Ryan could even sense the oppressive aura around him growing restless. Philip followed, his face full of confusion, clearly not understanding why Marcus was so focused on a wardrobe.
Marcus extended his black-gloved hand, grasped the wardrobe handle, and gently pulled. With a soft creak, the door opened. Inside hung rows upon rows of tailored suits and shirts, neatly arranged, emitting a faint scent of mothballs. Philip visibly relaxed, obviously thinking there was nothing special about the wardrobe.
But Ryan's heart seized. The moment the wardrobe door opened fully, he clearly saw, on the right inner wall of the wardrobe, a palm-sized, bizarre symbol. It was drawn in a dark red fluid, its shape twisted and grotesque—like entwined vines or an open eye, its edges jagged and irregular.
What sent chills down his spine was the extremely faint black aura swirling around the symbol. It was almost imperceptible to the naked eye, but he saw it clearly. That black aura seemed alive, writhing slowly around the symbol, emitting a cold, sinister energy. A chill shot up from the soles of Ryan's feet, crawling up his spine and spreading throughout his body, making him shiver involuntarily. He couldn't shake the feeling that the symbol was alive, staring at him with a cold, unblinking gaze.
"What is this?" Ryan could no longer hold back, the question escaping with a slight tremor in his voice.
Marcus and Philip both turned. When Philip saw the symbol, his face was full of bewilderment. He shook his head repeatedly. "I don't know. I've never seen this symbol in my father's wardrobe. He was always meticulous about cleanliness; he wouldn't paste something this strange inside."
When Marcus saw the symbol, an intense flicker of excitement passed through his eyes—so fleeting Ryan thought he might have imagined it. Marcus took a step forward, reached out as if to touch the symbol, but just as his fingertip was about to make contact, he suddenly withdrew his hand.
"Mr. Philip," Marcus turned to Philip, his tone becoming somewhat hurried. "Please step outside for a moment. My assistant and I need to conduct a detailed inspection here. It might take a while. Some… professional investigative methods are not suitable for outsiders to observe."
Philip, not thinking much of it and only wanting to find clues to his father's disappearance as soon as possible, quickly nodded. "Okay, okay. I'll wait outside. Call me if you find anything." With that, he turned and left the bedroom, thoughtfully closing the door behind him.
Click. The moment the door shut, the atmosphere in the bedroom instantly became suffocating. The air seemed to solidify, leaving only the sound of their breathing. Marcus slowly turned around, the darkness on his face now fully revealed. His icy eyes fixed on Ryan, scrutinizing him like prey.
"Kid, you saw that symbol just now?" Marcus's voice was hoarse and low, carrying an indescribable strangeness.
Ryan's heart tightened. He instinctively took a step back and nodded. "I saw it. What is that thing? Is it related to Mr. Philip's father's disappearance?"
Marcus gave a cold laugh, a cruel curve twisting his lips. "Don't ask what you shouldn't. Some secrets aren't for a green kid like you to know." As he spoke, he began advancing toward Ryan, step by step. Each footfall made a soft sound on the floor, and the room's temperature seemed to drop a degree with each step.
Ryan sensed the danger, backing away continuously until his back hit the cold wall—nowhere left to retreat. "What do you want?" His voice trembled slightly, his hands instinctively clenching into fists.
"Nothing much," Marcus stopped, now only two steps away from Ryan. The dense, cold aura around him almost enveloped Ryan. "Just thinking… one more person knowing this secret means more trouble. Since you've seen something you shouldn't have… you'll just have to stay here forever."
His eyes were filled with undisguised murderous intent, making every hair on Ryan's body stand on end. Ryan whirled around, trying to dash for the door and escape, only to find it locked. He desperately twisted the doorknob, but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't budge.
"Don't waste your energy," Marcus's voice came from behind, laced with mockery. "The door is specially made. Can't be opened from the inside."
Ryan looked around frantically, searching for something to use as a weapon, but his gaze fell once more on the eerie symbol on the wardrobe's inner wall. Was it an illusion? The black aura around the symbol seemed to be thickening, and the symbol itself appeared to be slowly writhing, its color darkening to a deeper crimson, like flowing blood.
Overwhelming curiosity overcame fear. Ryan had a vague feeling this bizarre symbol was the key to unraveling the whole mystery—perhaps his only chance of survival. He couldn't help but walk toward the wardrobe, reaching out, wanting to touch the symbol, to see what secret it held.
The moment his fingertip was about to make contact, the symbol suddenly erupted in a blinding red light. A tremendous suction force surged from it, violently yanking Ryan toward the wardrobe. The world spun; Ryan's mind went blank, his consciousness instantly blurring. Before he completely lost consciousness, he seemed to see Marcus charging toward him frantically, his eyes filled with greed and excitement, shouting a blurred, indistinct phrase.
Ryan didn't know where this powerful force would take him, nor did he understand the source of Marcus's greed. He only felt as if he were plummeting into an endless dark tunnel, surrounded by howling winds and eerie whispers, while that bizarre symbol, like a brand, slowly burned itself deep into his mind.