The narrow road curved like a ribbon through the mist-covered hills, its edges vanishing into the fog that clung to the mountains like a living thing. The air was cold, sharp with pine and damp earth, and the only sounds were the steady hum of the car and Eli’s enthusiastic humming — completely off-key, of course. Zane Faulkner leaned against the back seat window, collar turned up, his eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement. “You’re humming a funeral march, Eli,” he said lazily. Eli turned from the passenger seat with a grin. “It’s not a funeral march! It’s... festive. You just have no taste.” “Festive?” Lyra raised an eyebrow from behind the wheel. “It sounds like a dying accordion.” “Rude.” Eli scoffed. “Can’t a man hum when he's happy? This place is paradise. No crime, no conspiracies, no locked-room murders. Just... fog and chai.” Zane smiled faintly. “Give it time.” They arrived at a small wooden cottage perched on the edge of a slope, surrounded by forest and silence. The co...

  The Man Who Disappeared At exactly 7:03 PM, in front of fifteen dinner guests, Charles Bellamy stood up from his chair, made a casual toast to “long life and short secrets,” sipped his wine… …and vanished. He did not walk out. He did not collapse. He did not hide. He simply ceased to exist. When the guests blinked, he was no longer there. There was no back door. No trapdoor. No secret passage. Just an empty chair, a half-drunk wine glass… …and a faint scent of lavender in the air.  The Arrival “This is the stupidest case I’ve ever heard of,” Eli said, adjusting his scarf as their car pulled up to the elegant countryside manor. Zane Faulkner stepped out of the car, black overcoat fluttering in the cold wind. “That’s because you haven’t heard the other twenty cases where people disappear after toast.” He turned to the large wooden door and smiled faintly. “But don’t worry, Eli. No one actually disappears. They just become... more difficult to find.”  The Dinner Room The l...

  INT. UNDERGROUND BRIEFING ROOM – NIGHT Dim lights. A digital spiral pulses silently on the central monitor. ZANE FAULKNER stands at the edge of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. LYRA sits beside a holographic map, watching him. Across the table, COMMANDER REIKO SATO flips through pages of decoded transmissions. COMMANDER SATO (icy) You brought back a memory map. But what else came back with you? ZANE doesn’t blink. ZANE Something that doesn't belong to our dimension. And it's not done yet. A moment of stillness. EXT. GREENLAND – ABANDONED MINING FACILITY – DAY Snow whips sideways in violent gusts. The elite task force trudges toward a steel hatch embedded in a glacier cliff. HENRI DUVAL adjusts his parka. HENRI Last time someone entered this shaft… 1981. They never came out. Eli shivers dramatically. ELI Oh good. A haunted mine. Perfect. INT. SUBTERRANEAN TUNNEL – MOMENTS LATER Dark. Echoes bounce off the walls. Zane’s flashlight flickers across faded warning sig...

  The air outside Heathrow was unusually crisp, as if the sky itself had paused to think. Zane Faulkner stood at the edge of the terminal pickup zone, one hand in his coat pocket, the other loosely holding a slip of paper marked with a single word: "Threshold." Behind him, Eli dragged two bags and mumbled to himself. “I still don’t get it,” he said for the fifth time since they boarded the flight. “You get a phone call from a government ministry, disappear for an hour, and then we’re flying to London for a ‘conference’ that doesn’t officially exist? Doesn’t that seem... suspicious?” Zane turned, the ever-present faint smile tugging at his lips. “Suspicion is healthy, Eli. But curiosity? That’s irresistible.” Eli squinted. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Zane didn’t answer. Instead, he nodded toward a waiting black car. No license plate. Tinted windows. The driver stepped out — tall, professional, silent — and opened the back door for them. They got in without a word...