I observed Milenko as he drove, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel as we headed to the Archives. Silence enveloped the car. Magical internet. The words throbbed behind my eyes with each flash of sunlight reflecting off the windshields of passing cars, more warning than mantra.

  The Archives greeted us with its familiar smell of old paper and floor polish. Researchers hunched over reading tables, their only technology the occasional digital camera or aging laptop. Staff pushed metal carts between the stacks with squeaking wheels that punctuated the Monday morning quiet. Not a single worried face among them—no one seemed to realize their director had vanished.

  "Everyone's acting like it's just another day." I showed my contractor badge to the guard, who barely glanced up from his Nokia.

  Goran leaned closer. "That's concerning. If Proti? hasn't been in since Friday and nobody's raising alarms..."

  "Either they don't know, or they've been told not to worry." Milenko adjusted his glasses, scanning the lobby.

  We took the elevator to the administrative floor. The sterile hallway, lined with framed historical photographs and awards, led us to Proti?'s office. Through the glass partition, I could see Marina at her desk, surrounded by stacks of papers, her normally immaculate workspace in disarray.

  When we pushed through the door, her head jerked up. Her eyes widened, lips parting with a small gasp—the kind of unguarded reaction no one could rehearse.

  "Oh thank god." She shot up from her desk. Her chair rolled backward and hit the wall with a dull thud. "I've been hoping someone would come."

  Marina looked like she'd aged five years since I'd last seen her. Purple half-moons hung beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her normally immaculate hair had been yanked into a messy ponytail. Her coffee cup rattled against its saucer as she set it down, brown liquid sloshing over the rim..

  Goran stepped forward. "We need to speak with you about Dr. Proti?."

  "He's not answering my calls," she blurted out, glancing nervously at the director's closed inner office door. "I've tried his home, his mobile, even his personal email—nothing since Friday afternoon."

  I approached her desk, where folders lay splayed open, paperwork half-sorted into piles, and a calendar with multiple crossed-out reminders. "I've never seen your desk like this before."

  She glanced down, then quickly stacked some papers that didn't need stacking. "I know." Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "It's just—I've rescheduled his meetings three times now. He never goes this long without checking in, especially after what happened with the servers last week."

  "What about these text messages saying he's sick?" Milenko asked.

  Marina's eyes widened. "What messages?"

  The three of us exchanged glances.

  "So you haven't received any messages from him?" I asked, pulling out my phone and bringing up the text the Archives HR had forwarded to us.

  Marina reached for my phone, squinting at the screen. "Aaaaah, those messages. But this isn't from Dr. Proti?," she said immediately, shaking her head. "I mean, it's from his number, but there's no way he wrote this."

  "What makes you so certain?" Goran leaned closer.

  She pointed at the screen. "Look at this. 'I regret to inform you that I am experiencing severe influenza symptoms and will be unable to attend work until further notice.' Dr. Proti? would never be this formal with staff. He'd say something like 'That incompetent board meeting gave me a migraine' or 'I've caught whatever that idiot from Acquisitions brought in last week.'"

  I nodded, feeling the tension in the room ratchet up a notch. "Any other strange messages?"

  "Yes, several." Marina turned to her computer, pulling up a series of texts. "They started Friday night. He's been sending instructions about various projects, but they're all... off somehow. Too polite, too detailed." She scrolled through the messages. "And he keeps emphasizing that he's fine, just needs rest—which is exactly what he'd never admit even if he were dying."

  "Has he mentioned anything about his whereabouts?" Milenko asked.

  "No, but..." Marina hesitated, lowering her voice. "There was something strange. He kept insisting that I keep his Friday appointment with Madame Svetlana. Said it was 'imperative' that he maintain his regular schedule." She looked embarrassed. "It's his weekly... um... appointment."

  My eyes met Goran's across the cluttered desk, a silent communication passing between us. Svetlana had fled to Vienna.

  "Marina," I said carefully, "did you question him about this appointment at all?"

  She fidgeted with a pen, clicking it nervously. "I wanted to. I started saying 'But sir, after what happened with the systems breach, shouldn't you...' and then I just—I couldn't." Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't have the courage. Five years of never questioning his decisions... it's hard to break that habit."

  I pulled a chair closer to her desk. "Marina, there's something you should know. Madame Svetlana left to Vienna after what happened last week."

  The color drained from her face. She gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles whitening. "That's not possible. He received confirmation of their appointment. I saw the message myself."

  "Whoever sent that confirmation isn't Svetlana," Goran said, his voice grave. "And I'm increasingly convinced whoever is texting from Proti?'s phone isn't Proti?."

  Marina pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh god. I knew something was wrong. I just knew it." She looked up, her professional composure cracking. "What's happened to him? Where is he?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  I glanced at the inner office door. "When did you last actually see him?"

  "Friday around two. He seemed agitated—kept checking his watch, muttering about being late. He left in a hurry, saying he was going for a coffee. When he didn't come back, I got worried and went to check the local bar where he usually goes for a break. He wasn't there, so I assumed he went straight home, and I did the same," she blurted out in one breath..

  "May I see those messages from Svetlana?" I asked, moving around to Marina's side of the desk.

  She nodded, clicking through her email with trembling fingers. "Here. This came in Friday morning."

  I leaned over her shoulder, studying the screen. The message thread showed what appeared to be a conversation between Marina and Madame Svetlana, confirming Proti?'s usual 9 PM appointment. The final message read: "Please inform the Doctor I look forward to our usual arrangement. Same location, same terms."

  "And you're certain this is the same contact you've used before for these... arrangements?" I asked, trying to keep my tone professional.

  "Yes, it's the same email thread we've been using for months," Marina replied, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I never questioned it."

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Jovan. He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy from lack of sleep.

  "I need you to triangulate two things," I said. "Check the cell tower pings from Proti?'s phone since Friday, and see if you can get the IP address from these emails. They're supposedly from Madame Svetlana."

  "On it," Jovan mumbled. "Give me twenty minutes."

  While we waited, Milenko wandered into Proti?'s inner office. I followed, leaving Goran to continue questioning Marina.

  The contrast between Marina's chaotic workspace and Proti?'s office was striking. Everything was meticulously organized – papers stacked at perfect right angles, three pens aligned parallel to the edge of the blotter, reference books arranged by height on the shelves. The calendar on his desk was open to the current date, with neat annotations in Proti?'s precise handwriting.

  "This doesn't look like the office of someone who left in a hurry," Milenko observed, running a finger along the edge of the desk.

  "Or someone who expected not to return," I added.

  My eyes caught on an empty tray near the computer, labeled "SECURITY" in Proti?'s neat block letters.

  "Marina," I called out. "This tray – is this where Proti? keeps his security USB key?"

  She appeared in the doorway. "Yes, that's right. He's extremely particular about it. Always returns it to that exact spot when he's in the office."

  "It's missing," I noted. "Did he take it with him Friday?"

  "I... I assume so," Marina said uncertainly. "I didn't actually see him take it. He's usually very careful with it, especially after what happened with the systems breach. He became almost paranoid about keeping it with him."

  My phone buzzed against my palm, Jovan's name flashing on the screen. I stepped away from the others, pressing it to my ear.

  "Tell me you've got something," I said, keeping my voice low.

  "I've got a lot, but none of it's good." Jovan sounded more alert now, the keyboard clicking rapidly in the background. "That email supposedly belonging to Madame Svetlana? It was accessed from a phone linked to a new number activated two weeks ago. Burner phone, purchased with cash at one of those mobile shops in New Belgrade. Untraceable."

  My stomach tightened. "And Proti?'s phone?"

  "That's the weird part. His phone hasn't moved since Friday evening—GPS puts it at his apartment building the whole weekend."

  I leaned against the wall, processing this. "So either he's there and not answering, or..."

  "Or just his phone is there," Jovan finished. "Oh, and I got a call from Goran's police contact about the welfare check. No one's answering Proti?'s door, and the neighbors haven't seen him since Thursday evening. One mentioned hearing what sounded like furniture moving late Friday night, but assumed he was just rearranging things."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Shit. Thanks. Ask the police to enter the apartment. Tell them we fear for his safety."

  I ended the call and rejoined the others, summarizing what Jovan had discovered. Marina's face paled further with each word.

  "This was planned," Goran said. "They activated that burner phone weeks before hitting the Archives. They knew exactly who they were after."

  "We need to move quickly," I said, turning back to Marina. "Is there anything else you can tell us about Dr. Proti?'s whereabouts that might help? Any other regular appointments, places he frequents?"

  Marina hesitated, tugging nervously at her sleeve.

  "There is one thing," she admitted, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. "His appointments with Madame Svetlana—they're always at the same place. An apartment in Dor?ol, on Gospodar Jovanova Street. Number 18, second floor." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "He's been going there for years, every Friday at nine, like clockwork. Sometimes more often if he's particularly... stressed."

  I glanced at Goran, who was already making notes on his phone.

  "How do you know the exact address?" I asked, trying to keep any judgment from my voice.

  Marina flushed slightly. "I've had to deliver documents there twice when he forgot important papers. And I've arranged car service for him many times." She straightened her shoulders defensively. "It's part of my job to know these things."

  Before I could respond, Goran's phone rang. He stepped away to answer it, his expression growing more serious with each passing second.

  "Understood. Yes. Keep me updated," he said before hanging up. The grim set of his mouth told me everything before he even spoke.

  "That was the police. They've entered Proti?'s apartment." Goran's voice was measured, controlled. "The place has been thoroughly searched. Furniture overturned, drawers emptied, even floorboards pried up in some areas. Broken glass everywhere. But no sign of Proti? himself."

  Marina sank into a nearby chair, one hand pressed against her mouth.

  "Blood?" I asked quietly.

  Goran shook his head. "None that they could see. Just destruction. They're processing it as a potential crime scene now."

  I turned to Marina. "We need to check that apartment in Dor?ol immediately. Most probably that's where he was taken from."

  "So to summarize," I said, pacing the length of Proti?'s meticulously ordered office, "someone lured him to his usual Friday appointment, abducted him, then searched his apartment while sending fake messages from his phone to prevent anyone from raising alarms."

  Marina looked up, her professional composure completely abandoned now. "But why take him? They already got his security key. Or at least the copy."

  Milenko stepped forward, adjusting his glasses. "As the digital files are useless they need Dr. Proti?'s expertise to locate the files in the Archive."

  "And likely his physical presence too," I added, turning to Marina. "The secure archives require biometric verification to access, correct?"

  She nodded slowly, realization dawning. "Yes. Fingerprint and retinal scan for the most sensitive materials. We upgraded the system last year." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh god, they're going to force him to open the vaults."

  "At least we know they haven't already as nobody accessed the Archive during the weekend," Goran remarked.

  I drummed my fingers against the desk, the pattern matching my racing thoughts. "The apartment in Dor?ol—they probably grabbed him there. Might still be evidence. And if they need his biometrics for access..."

  "Or they might still be holding him there or somewhere nearby," Goran finished my thought.

  I nodded. "We need to move quickly. Marina, can you provide the exact layout of the apartment? Any details you remember?"

  She straightened, something hardening in her expression. "I'll do better than that. I have a spare key." When we all stared at her, she added defensively, "For emergencies only. Dr. Proti? insisted I keep one after he locked himself out once."

  "Perfect," I said, already heading for the door. "Goran, can you coordinate with your police contacts? We need surveillance on that apartment immediately."

  Marina caught my arm as I passed. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her eyes fierce with emotion.

  "Find him." Her fingers dug into my sleeve. "Please. He—" She stopped, swallowed. "He has no one else who would notice he's missing. Just me."

  I nodded once. "We'll find him."