Malbonte

Malbonte sat in a cramped office, surrounded by stacks of files and the dim light of a desk lamp – here he was just a detective, nothing more.
His reputation rested on two things: he found what others lost and he didn't ask too many questions.
The case seemed routine: the disappearance of a student. A photo on the table—a smile, a look full of hope. Malbonte, as usual, began with the details: cameras, neighbors, recent messages.
But in one of the correspondences, a symbol flashed - an ancient sign that sent a chill down my spine.
In the girl’s apartment he met her friend, Leah.
She stood by the window, clutching a tattered book in her hands, and looked at him as if she saw not a tired detective, but someone else.
"You understand this isn't just a disappearance, right?" she asked quietly. Malbonte froze. There was no panic in her voice, only an uneasy knowledge.