Charles made his way toward the home of Michael Berg. According to the information he'd gathered, the man's house was located north of the guild, roughly an hour by carriage. Along the way, a light rain began to fall, turning the roads muddy and slick. Charles remained lost in thought as he traveled, reviewing the case details in his mind. The few leads he had were painfully thin, forcing him to juggle multiple hypotheses.
Possibly, Michael had been threatened by someone and was too frightened to return home. Maybe he'd become entangled in something dangerous enough to force him to vanish. Or, in the worst possible scenario, Michael might already be in mortal peril. Countless possibilities roiled through Charles's thoughts, though nothing was certain yet.
At last, the carriage arrived at Michael Berg's home. Charles glanced up at the family nameplate by the gate to confirm the address, then cautiously approached the entry. Stopping at the front door, he took a deep breath and rapped three times with firm knuckles.
Faint footsteps echoed from within before the door opened, revealing a small-framed, middle-aged woman whose drawn face and tired posture conveyed deep exhaustion. Her eyes, shadowed with worry and sorrow, marked her as Catherine, Michael's wife.
"H-hello," she greeted softly, her voice subdued. "May I help you with something?"
Charles inclined his head politely. "Good morning, ma'am. My name is Charles Ravencroft, a detective affiliated with the Mercenary Guild. I've come to gather information regarding Michael Berg's disappearance."
She took a moment to study him, her eyes betraying an internal debate over whether to trust him or not. At last, she sighed heavily and motioned for him to enter. "Please, come in."
Charles entered the house—a cozy, homey place whose comforting ambiance was now weighed down by worry and despair. He glanced around and noticed an older woman, stout in figure, seated on a worn sofa, knitting listlessly. Her tired eyes and sagging expression suggested grief. A young boy, perhaps seven or eight, hugged a cushion at her side, his wide eyes flickering with both curiosity and apprehension as he stared at Charles.
"That's Martha, my mother-in-law, and my son, Tommy," Catherine explained, gesturing toward them. "And this gentleman is Detective Charles Ravencroft. He's agreed to help find Michael."
"We appreciate it so much," Martha said, managing a kind smile that couldn't mask her underlying sorrow.
Charles inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I'll do everything I can to locate Michael," he said solemnly, turning back to Catherine. "I'd like to ask a few questions, if I may. Before your husband vanished, did he show any unusual behaviors or hints something was wrong?"
Catherine pressed her lips together, thinking hard. At last, she spoke. "Well... he'd been more anxious and withdrawn than usual. He spent a lot of time locked in his study, barely speaking to anyone. And he always carried this brown leather bag wherever he went—wouldn't tell us what was inside or why he wouldn't part with it."
Martha chimed in, her voice lined with suspicion. "Around that same time, Michael started going to Old Town quite regularly, supposedly to check on patients. But that area is overrun by the poor and—well, worse sorts. I found it odd. It's not safe there. Why would he keep heading to a place like that?"
"Old Town, hmm..." Charles murmured, recalling the reputation of that district, a sprawling slum rife with trouble and countless unsavory incidents.
Catherine's gaze darkened as she continued. "Also, three days before he disappeared, some strangers came to our house. They didn't look like city guards or anything official. Their uniforms were different, and they behaved strangely, asking all sorts of questions about Michael like they already knew him. They whispered among themselves, then hurried off looking anxious."
"No one's come back since," she added. "The authorities haven't updated us either, and the entire matter has stalled. We're just left here worrying—so I decided to plead for help from the guild."
Charles nodded gravely. Questions swarmed his mind: Who were those mysterious visitors? Could they be linked to Michael's disappearance? What was inside that leather bag Michael guarded so fiercely? And, most importantly, what business drew him so frequently to Old Town?
"Is there anything else that might help me track him down?" Charles asked, trying to piece together the scattered facts.
Catherine frowned thoughtfully. "He has some co-workers who might know something. A man named Roland Bradford and someone named Humphrey—I never caught his last name. They used to work with him, I believe."
Charles felt a small jolt of recognition upon hearing the name Roland Bradford. He recalled seeing that same name on another missing-person notice at the guild.
"You mean Roland Bradford, who also disappeared a couple of weeks ago?" he asked carefully.
Catherine's face grew paler. "Yes, he vanished two weeks prior," she whispered, voice trembling. "I didn't dare mention it, fearing it might be connected to Michael."
"I'll keep that detail confidential," Charles assured her quietly. "How about this Humphrey? Do you know where I can find him?"
She nodded, hastily scribbling an address onto a scrap of paper and handing it over. "Here you go. I hope he can provide you with something useful."
"That's all we can think of," Catherine finished, voice hushed as her shoulders slumped. She seemed verging on tears, guilt-ridden for not having more concrete answers. "Please… you must help us. My mother-in-law and our son… we need Michael home. Tommy keeps asking when his father will be back. We promised him… we promised we'd bring Michael back."
Seeing the desperation in her eyes, Charles gave a firm, reassuring nod. "I promise I'll do my utmost. I'll find him and bring him home."
Saying goodbye, Charles returned to his carriage and directed the driver toward Humphrey's address. Though the rain had diminished, the streets remained heavy with moisture.
All the while, Charles couldn't shake the feeling that something larger was lurking beneath this case. Re-examining Catherine's story in his mind, he mulled over the mention of those strangers. If, as he suspected, they weren't real government agents, then who had sent them?
Soon, he noticed another disconcerting detail: a second carriage trailing a fair distance behind. It had been there for some time, far enough not to raise immediate alarms but close enough to be suspicious.
Charles decided to test his hunch. He signaled the driver to make an abrupt halt in a narrow side street, leaning slightly to peer out the back. Sure enough, the carriage behind him also braked, then passed by slowly, its driver feigning uncertainty.
"Why'd you want to stop here?" the driver asked Charles, puzzled. "This isn't our destination."
"Oh, I thought there was something I needed to do, but I guess I was mistaken," Charles replied smoothly. "Let's keep going."
He repeated the maneuver a few more times—suddenly ordering stops without explanation—and each time, that other carriage would meander past in a similarly nonchalant manner, only to continue following from a distance.
Though he lacked hard proof, Charles felt sure he was being tailed. The real question was, who had sent them, and what did they want?
Recalling how Catherine had described suspicious strangers at the Berg household, Charles grew more convinced that Michael's disappearance was no coincidence. Whoever was now trailing him might very well be part of the same group.
Sighing, Charles realized he couldn't afford to let this hamper his investigation. Yet going straight to Humphrey's home might endanger the man if the pursuers were still watching.
He was forced to adapt. **Old Town**, he mused. Perhaps there was a clue buried there—and this group might show their hand if he ventured that way.
He resolved to pretend he was unaware of being followed, heading casually to Old Town in hopes of luring his watchers. Maybe that would yield more information. If nothing else, it confirmed one suspicion: Michael Berg's disappearance wasn't some random event. He'd clearly become tangled up in something dangerous, with Old Town at the heart of the mystery.
Whoever was tailing Charles now likely wasn't on the side of the law. Their true identity, however, remained elusive—answers he hoped to uncover soon, once he reached Old Town.