It all started two weeks ago, when a group of Bureau agents showed up at Dunham Kirk's doorstep.
That late afternoon, the teenager was just walking back home from basketball practice alongside his Siberian Husky.
The light from the setting sun painted the clouds in a mesmerizing blend of yellow and orange, making them look a lot like cotton candies. Such a beautiful display of color above his head made him forget a lot of stuff, including the homework he needed to finish before the day ended.
Dunham rounded the corner towards his house, whistling a tune as he scanned the unfamiliar lineup of sleek black cars parked along the curb. These cars were no luxury vehicles, but their renowned make and sinfully clean appearance gave them an air of chilling mystery.
At that time, he did not think that something was going on in his house. He instead assumed that a neighbor was hosting an extravagant house party and the guests had nowhere else to park.
