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“Perfect then, I’ll sign this. You can put it on the desk.”

He smiled, then did as I asked and went to the door. “I’ll leave the keys in the entrance, Mr Caldwell. Or should I say, Professor Caldwell?”

“Thank you, Mr Porter.”

“Welcome to St. Ellesta,” he said before disappearing from my sight.

I didn't bring that much, but I'm leaving everything here. The apartment has fairly high ceilings, and it's rustic, with lots of brown tones. The office is opposite the bedroom, the kitchen is simple, and so is the bathroom. But it's enough; everything seems comfortable.

All I need is to check if the apartment is clean. No microphones, no cameras, nothing. After a few minutes of searching, my phone vibrates. I fish around to retrieve it, and glance at the caller ID before accepting it.

“Go for Caldwell,” I say into the receiver.

“It’s Kyle. All relevant case files should have been sent over to you by now. Look for anything that might be relevant to the case.”

“I'll check it out, thank you.”

“So, how are you doing? What's it like over there?” Kyle asks.

“Cold, and dark too, it's practically nighttime already.”

“You'll take care of yourself, okay? Lena, Rylan, and I are handling the missions here.”

“I know. I'm going to drop off everything you left me at a house I bought further from campus.”

“Great, you'll send us pictures, right?” He laughs.

“Yeah, right. Well, I'll let you go. The apartment on campus is clean. I'll send you a message with the address information if needed.”

“Okay, that's all good. Take care and come back in one piece. We'll keep in touch, and don't miss any of my calls, or I'll worry about you.”

“I’m your boss, Kyle. You should never miss any of my calls, or I’ll be the one worried. Take care of the team.”

“You’re also my friend so don’t fuck around. Bye, Boss.”

I put my phone back in my pocket before leaving.

My files are in my gym bag, along with everything else that matters. There's a second backup phone connected to my workstation in my unit office. Kyle can locate it if something happens and the files are compromised.

I take the car and head toward the house I bought farther out on the island. The night has already swallowed the shoreline, and the sky is hazy. Sea-salt air slips in through the open window as I light a cigarette. I really should quit, but nothing settles my nerves faster than a lungful of smoke before starting over. Small pole lamps lit the streets; the houses were quite rustic, with sloping roofs. Some children were playing on their way home.

It was quiet and soft, as if life here was different for some reason.

I pass a house and notice a woman sitting on a tilted rooftop. Cigarette burning between her fingers, like she’s been there too many times to fear falling.

Her raven hair keeps getting blown around by the wind, half in her face, half not, but she doesn’t really move to fix it.

Without realizing it, I slowed down the car. I wanted to get out and see if she was alright, but at that moment, she raised her head, and I realized she was crying. She had the saddest and loneliest gaze I’ve ever seen, free of feeling as if being here by herself was her only escape.

Immediately afterward, a child's voice came up, and I saw her turn her head toward the open window to answer, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand and crushing her cigarette on the tiles. “I'm coming,” she shouted before climbing back up and going back in.

Strange.

I resumed driving until I finally hit the location.

The house was secluded, small, and simple, but the view was beautiful. It was just steps from the edge of the cliff, where the waves crashed angrier against it.

I parked the car, took out my bag, and pushed the door open.