Two Days Earlier
Celeste was running toward me, her long raven-black hair whipping wildly in the wind, like ink scattering through the air. The late afternoon sun caught on the strands, but there were shadows under her eyes, the kind that only came from chronic sleep deprivation and too much coffee.
She was wearing the same outfit she had on yesterday—a plain white t-shirt tucked into a long black skirt, wrinkled and slightly misaligned. It was a tell-tale sign she had pulled another all-nighter at the university campus finishing her assignments, probably in some forgotten corner of the library surrounded by empty cans and crumpled notes.
She skidded to a halt in front of me, nearly slipping on the pavement. Bits of gravel kicked up under her shoes. Her chest heaved as she bent forward, hands on her knees, struggling to breathe.
"What is it, Celeste?" I asked, steadying her shoulder.
"Atlas! It's—It's an emergency!" she panted between gulps of air.
"Calm down. What's the emergency? Breathe and explain."
She nodded frantically, then fumbled with her bag, fingers clumsy and shaking. After a moment of wrestling with textbooks and crumpled papers, she pulled out a high-quality envelope. The paper was thick and smooth, the kind of expensive stock you only used when you wanted to impress someone. It was stamped with a blue airplane logo and the words **"Anthem Tours"** in elegant gold lettering that caught the light.
"Here," she said, thrusting it at me like it might explode.
I took it, feeling the weight of it in my hands. The envelope wasn't just heavy with paper—it was heavy with intention. With purpose.
I tore open the seal and unfolded the letter inside.
"An invitation...?" I murmured.
It was a formal invitation to the company's eighteenth-anniversary celebration, written in flowery language, carefully designed to sound warm and luxurious. It mentioned a private island, a luxury vessel, an exclusive guest list, and a "special recognition" for distinguished individuals.
My frown deepened. Anthem Tours was a massive travel agency, a global titan in the tourism industry. A company that had its name on airport billboards and travel vlogs. I had absolutely no connection to them. No prior dealings. No shared acquaintances.
I looked up to find Celeste staring at me, her eyes sparkling with uncontained enthusiasm completely at odds with the dark bags beneath them.
"So... why does a tour agency want me there?" I asked.
"Eh?! Atlas, have you forgotten already?" she said, straightening up, indignation replacing her exhaustion. "You just solved a cold case that went cracked for twenty years! You're famous now!"
I grimaced, a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Ah... that," I muttered. The media had called it a miracle. I called it an inevitable conclusion. Bones didn't lie. People did.
"So, you think I should go?"
"What do you mean?!" Celeste's voice jumped an octave. A couple of students walking past turned to look at us. "Of course you have to go! It's *Anthem Tours*! They're the biggest travel service provider in the world! Their cruises are, like, legendary!"
Celeste was practically vibrating with excitement. It was a rare sight. Usually, she was the quiet type—the kind of girl who remained silent as a statue unless spoken to first. We had been friends since middle school, went to the same high school, and now attended the same university. Her presence in my life had been a strange constant, an unbroken line through years of chaos and crime scenes.
She didn''t have many friends; in fact, I was pretty sure I was the only person she regularly spoke to. That didn't bother her. Or me. Silence was easier to trust than noise.
"If you go to their anniversary, maybe they'll sponsor us for a trip around the world!" she added, clasping her hands together, already lost in the fantasy. "Imagine it—Europe, America, the Arctic, maybe even some haunted castles..."
"Hmm..." I folded the letter again, my thumb brushing the embossed logo. "Do you want to come with me?"
"Eh?" She froze, blinking rapidly as if her brain had just crashed.
"Really? Are you sure? Can I?!"
"Of course. I don't know anyone there, so I need you to tag along."
"Yaay!"
Celeste jumped into the air, arms flailing awkwardly. It was so out of character that, for a fleeting second, it felt like something else had taken over her body. Then she landed, nearly twisting her ankle, and grinned like an idiot.
The event was in two days. The letter stated we would be staying at a hotel on a private island owned by the company for five days, with all expenses covered. It was the kind of offer normal people would kill for. I just wondered what was hiding between the lines.
As we packed later that night, my mind wandered back to the reason for my sudden fame.
I had solved the disappearance of a prominent politician's daughter. She had vanished twenty years ago, a ghost swallowed by an era of protests and quiet violence. Officially, the case had gone cold. Unofficially, it had been buried.
She had been kidnapped by mercenaries hired to topple the politician's regime. While the police found two of the suspects back then, their testimonies were fragmented, riddled with lies and gaps. It was my investigation, years later, that led to the truth.
I found the girl's skeletal remains in a chest hidden within an abandoned safehouse, buried under rotting carpets and dust that had forgotten what sunlight looked like. Her bones told a story the living had tried to silence. The room had smelled of mold, blood long dried, and something older.
Since then, the media wouldn't leave me alone. Reporters camped outside my apartment. My name trended online with people analyzing my expression in grainy broadcast screenshots. They called me a "genius detective," which was inaccurate. Genius implied glamour. There was nothing glamorous about brushing maggots off ribs.
I had been consulting for the police for years—not as a criminal, but as an asset. They even gave me a codename: Kotrich. A name whispered in interrogation rooms and back offices. A name they used when they wanted a ghost to walk through a crime scene and drag secrets out of the walls.
Anthem Tours, with their perfect brochures and smiling faces, had reached out to that codename.
And that alone made me uneasy.