The prosecutor’s office was spacious, too clean, too quiet. Everything seemed carefully arranged to convey control and stability.

  The enormous solid-wood desk had a surface so polished it looked like a mirror. Behind it, on an equally gleaming wooden bookshelf, stood hundreds of books. Randy caught himself thinking about the value of those paper-bound volumes—probably worth far more than everything he owned.

  Randy stood in front of the desk, jaw tight, shoulders rigid. Across from him, seated with impeccable posture, was Prosecutor Aldo. Elegant, in his forties, he always spoke in a tone far too gentle for the content of his words. The disparity between the two men was unmistakable.

  Randy lost his patience.

  He slammed a thick folder down onto the desk.

  — Prosecutor Aldo, we have a pattern here. — His voice came out louder than he intended. — Overdose cases involving Gentech implants, that so-called bug they claim. It’s not a bug. It’s mass negligent homicide.

  Aldo opened the folder calmly, flipping through the documents without any sense of urgency, as if evaluating something of secondary importance.

  — I understand, Captain Crawford, — he said without lifting his eyes much. — It’s a… delicate matter.

  Randy felt his blood boil.

  — Delicate? People are dying! — He pointed at the papers. — And that guy in the alley… He was linked to Gentech!

  Aldo finally looked up. A discreet smile—almost mocking—formed on his lips.

  — Captain, — he said, — what the Department of Health considers a “software bug” in implants, the prosecutor’s office considers an “unfortunate incident.”

  He closed the folder carefully.

  — Gentech is a pillar of our economy, — he continued. — It generates thousands of jobs.

  Randy’s blood was on the verge of boiling over when he noticed Aldo’s tone—closer to that of a Gentech spokesperson than a public servant concerned with the population’s well-being.

  — What you’re proposing is a war we cannot win. — Aldo’s voice remained low and firm. — There is no basis to move forward with these charges.

  He paused, short and deliberate.

  — The orders come from above, Captain.

  Randy felt the ground give way beneath his feet.

  — But… — he swallowed hard. — And justice?

  Aldo stood, smoothing his jacket with an automatic gesture, clearly ending the conversation.

  — Justice, Captain, — he said as he walked toward the door — sometimes has a price we cannot afford.

  He stopped for a moment before adding:

  — I suggest you focus your efforts on crimes that are more… manageable.

  Randy stood still for a second, absorbing the weight of those words.

  Then, without saying another word, he turned and left the office.

  In that moment, Randy felt as though the weight of all Gentech’s crimes rested on his shoulders. It was a complete failure.

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  The door closed behind him with a dry click.

  Morgan was running deeper into the forest.

  Branches snapped beneath his feet, leaves tore at his clothes, but he barely noticed. Ahead of him, Mick ran between the trees as if everything were just a game.

  — Na-na-na-na! You can’t catch me! — the boy’s voice echoed lightly, almost joyful.

  — Mick, wait! — Morgan shouted, forcing his legs to keep up.

  Mick kept running, weaving effortlessly between the trunks, laughing, always one step ahead.

  The uneven ground didn’t seem to slow the boy at all; he moved as if walking on clouds. Morgan gave everything he had to try to catch him, but roots, stones, and puddles left him falling farther and farther behind.

  Suddenly, Mick darted between two thicker trees—and vanished.

  The sound of footsteps stopped.

  Morgan slowed until he came to a complete halt. His heart was pounding far too hard in his chest. He spun around, searching for any sign of the boy.

  There was nothing.

  The forest remained still, indifferent.

  — Mick? — he called, his voice lower than he meant it to be.

  Nothing.

  — Mick, where are you?

  — Detective Jones?

  The female voice came from behind.

  Morgan turned sharply.

  Between the trees stood a woman around thirty-five years old. Beautiful in a serene way, almost out of place in that environment. She wore Elysium’s light-colored robe and had a white leather bracelet on her wrist.

  — Did you find anything out here? — she asked.

  Morgan blinked a few times, still trying to gather his thoughts.

  — Sorry, did I scare you? — the woman said with a half-smile. — I’m Silvia.

  She extended her hand. Morgan noticed the white bracelet before he even shook it.

  — Thomas asked me to accompany you.

  Morgan shook her hand, still confused.

  — Morgan. Nice to meet you.

  They began walking back toward the clearing.

  Silvia’s posture made clear the deep discomfort of that moment when you meet someone but simply can’t connect. Morgan seemed lost in thought, as if his body were just a shell moving through space while he was somewhere else entirely… thinking about Mick. What the hell had just happened?

  — It’s a pleasure to welcome you to our community, — Silvia said. — Even if it’s because of such a sad situation.

  The attempt at small talk caught Morgan’s attention and pulled him back to reality like an anchor.

  — Did you know the girl? — Morgan asked.

  — I did. — Silvia nodded. — Monica arrived not long ago.

  When they reached the crime scene, Silvia stopped in front of the empty stone.

  — She was a sweet girl… — she said softly. — Poor child.

  She stared at the place where the body had been found, her eyes welling up. For a moment, she seemed to fight back tears.

  Morgan hesitated, unsure of how to react.

  — Were you close?

  — No. — Silvia took a deep breath. — She was still undergoing purification.

  Morgan frowned.

  — Purification?

  — It’s the first rite here at Elysium, — she explained. — A process to shed external burdens and reconnect with one’s own nature.

  — A ceremony?

  Silvia shook her head.

  — More like a process. Some take longer, others less. — She glanced at her wrist. — We use the bracelets to mark how far each person has progressed.

  She smiled, but there was something melancholic in the gesture.

  — I arrived here broken, Morgan. My father…

  She looked away, her voice tightening slightly.

  — …after he passed, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I felt like a boat adrift, you know?

  — I can imagine.

  — But Thomas… — Silvia continued. — He welcomed me. Showed me there was a way to reconnect, to find peace. He was like a father to me. Someone who saw me, who cared.

  She took a deep breath.

  — Elysium became my safe harbor.

  Morgan studied her face carefully.

  — You said purification is a process. What does that process involve?

  Silvia hesitated.

  — That’s something I can’t tell you, — she said at last. — Elysium’s rituals are only for members.

  Silence stretched between them for a few seconds.

  — Yours is white, — Morgan noted. — Have you been here a long time?

  Silvia thought for a moment.

  — I think so. — She smiled faintly. — Schedules, deadlines… those things don’t exist here. You lose track of time.

  — It can’t be an easy decision… — Morgan said. — Leaving everything behind to come here.

  — There wasn’t much to leave behind.

  With her other hand, Silvia held her wrist, touching the white bracelet.

  — I thought about giving up many times, — she confessed. — But that stone…

  Her eyes drifted toward the center of the clearing.

  — That stone made me stay.

  Morgan raised his gaze.

  — The stone?

  Silvia let out a short laugh.

  — I know it sounds strange, but it’s true. It radiates positive energy. — Her voice took on an almost reverent tone. — When I’m near it, I feel completely fulfilled.

  Morgan remained silent for a moment.

  — Thomas suspects an intrusion, — he said. — What do you think?

  — It’s obvious it was the technocrats.

  — How can you be so sure?

  Silvia slowly turned her face toward him.

  — Have you seen their temple?