Charles set off toward Michael Berg's home, located north of the guild. According to the posted details, it was about an hour's ride by carriage. On the way, rain began to fall, turning the roads wet and muddy. Lost in thought, Charles went over every angle of the case in his mind. He had very little to go on, forcing him to juggle multiple theories.
Perhaps Michael had been threatened, afraid to return home. Or maybe he had become entangled in something dangerous, leading to his disappearance. Worst of all, it was possible Michael might be in mortal peril. With so many unanswered questions swirling, Charles knew he had no choice but to push forward, uncertain as he was.
By the time he arrived at Michael's house, the rain had tapered to a drizzle, but the ground remained slick. He glanced at the nameplate near the gate to confirm the address, then carefully approached. Stopping at the front door, he took a deep breath and rapped three times, firmly enough to be heard over the rain.
Light footsteps sounded from within, and the door opened to reveal a weary-looking, middle-aged woman. Her face bore signs of exhaustion, her eyes clouded with worry and sorrow. She introduced herself as Catherine, Michael's wife.
"Good afternoon," she greeted in a subdued tone, lips thinning into a tense line. "May I help you?"
"Good afternoon. My name is Charles Ravencroft. I'm a detective with the guild. I'm here to gather information about the disappearance of Michael Berg."
Catherine eyed this unfamiliar man warily, as if weighing whether to trust him. After a few moments, she sighed and stood aside."Please, come in."
Charles inclined his head in thanks and stepped into a cozy but heavy-hearted home. Glancing around, he noticed a plump, elderly woman knitting in an old armchair—her posture exhausted and somber. Nearby, a young boy hugged a pillow, his large eyes peering at Charles curiously.
"That's Martha, my mother-in-law," Catherine said, gesturing toward the older woman, "and my son, Tommy. And this," she continued, indicating Charles, "is Detective Ravencroft. He's taking on the case of finding Michael."
"Thank you for helping our family," Martha said with a kind smile that couldn't completely hide her sadness.
"I'm glad to do what I can," Charles replied, voice warm. "I'll do my best to find Michael."
He turned to Catherine again. "May I ask some questions about your husband's recent behavior? Did he act strangely before his disappearance?"
Catherine pursed her lips, thinking carefully. "Yes, a bit. In the days before he vanished, Michael seemed unusually anxious. He kept himself locked away in his study and barely spoke to anyone. And there was this brown leather bag he always carried around, refusing to say what was in it."
Martha nodded, stepping in. "He also started visiting Old Town more often, claiming he had to check on a patient. But that district is full of poverty and tough characters—it's dangerous! Why would he go there so frequently?"
"Old Town, hmm," Charles murmured. He knew the area's reputation: a sprawling slum riddled with crime.
Catherine's voice grew uneasy. "Besides that, three days before Michael vanished, some strangers came by the house. They didn't look like city guards at all—their uniforms were different, and they acted suspicious, asking questions as though they'd known Michael beforehand. I noticed them speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves, then hurrying off."
"We haven't seen them since," Catherine added shakily. "We still wonder who those people really were, if they were actual government officials at all. No real leads have turned up from the authorities either. It's as though the investigation is at a standstill. We're worried sick."
Charles nodded thoughtfully, questions flashing through his mind. Who were these unknown visitors? Were they linked to Michael's disappearance? What did Michael keep hidden in that leather bag? And most pressing—why did he go to Old Town so frequently?
"Is there anything else that might help me track him down?" he asked, scanning for any potential missed clues.
Catherine wracked her thoughts. "Well… Michael's work colleagues might know something. There's Roland Bradford and someone named Humphrey—I'm not sure of his last name. They used to work together."
Charles's gaze sharpened at the mention of Roland Bradford, recalling that name from another missing-person flyer."You mean Roland, who disappeared about two weeks ago?"
Catherine went pale. "Yes, that's him. I… I haven't told anybody because I'm scared it might be connected to Michael's disappearance."
Charles gave her a reassuring look. "I'll keep that in confidence," he promised. "What about Humphrey? Where can I find him?"
Catherine nodded and hastily jotted down an address on a slip of paper, handing it to him. "Here. I hope he can shed some light."
"That's all we know for now," she said quietly. Her voice wavered, and her shoulders slumped in self-reproach. "Please, help us find him. His mother and son need him, and I promised Tommy I'd bring his father home."
Charles's heart twisted at the despair in her eyes, but he answered resolutely, "I promise I'll do everything I can. I'll find Michael and bring him back."
After parting ways with the Berg family, Charles boarded his hired carriage once again, intending to head straight to Humphrey's address. Though the rain had finally let up, the roads were still sodden.
As the carriage rolled along, Charles mulled over each puzzling detail. At one point, he glanced around and noticed another carriage trailing behind his, neither too close nor too far—but definitely following the same route. The feeling of being watched crept up on him.
To test his suspicion, Charles asked his own driver to stop abruptly at a narrow side street. From the carriage window, he watched the second carriage brake hastily, then roll forward at a slow pace as though feigning indecision about whether to pull over."Why are we stopping?" his driver asked, puzzled. "We're not there yet."
Charles made an excuse. "Oh… I thought we were in the right place for an errand. Turns out I made a mistake. Let's keep going."
He repeated the ploy a few more times, and each time, that mysterious carriage would drift by in much the same manner, evidently trying not to attract attention—yet clearly maintaining pursuit.
Though he hadn't gained direct proof, Charles was now certain someone was tailing him. The question: who sent them, and why?He recalled Catherine mentioning odd visitors who'd come to question Michael days earlier—individuals likely not with the official city guard. It was possible these watchers, too, were connected to Michael's disappearance.
Charles exhaled slowly. He had no time for a confrontation. Meeting Humphrey might be dangerous if he led these pursuers there.Time for a new plan, he thought. Old Town… maybe I can find a clue there.
He decided not to challenge them openly—doing so might compromise him and gain him nothing while he was short on facts. A better approach: pretend he didn't notice he was being followed, yet steer his carriage toward Old Town, effectively drawing his shadows in. If luck held, he might glean fresh insights into who they were or what they wanted.
At least now he had confirmation that Michael Berg's disappearance wasn't random—there was definitely something bigger at play. His frequent trips to Old Town had a meaning, and the watchers' pursuit confirmed it. Charles would have to tread carefully. The answer would have to wait until he reached the grimy, perilous streets of Old Town.