Chapter 147

Chapter 147

The morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting warm, dappled light on Evan's desk. He sat at the table, carefully tracing patterns on the surface of a bullet with a silver pen, his hand hovering in mid-air, his gaze fixed on the Sunstone—the one he had obtained from Arthur yesterday lay beside his hand. The faint glow emanating from the stone and the intricate patterns on the bullet complemented each other. Soon, he would attempt to infuse the Light-attribute Supernatural Factor into the bullet, creating a genuine Purification Bullet.

Downstairs, Martha's voice hummed a tune as she prepared breakfast, mingled with Alice's wheedling pleas for her second brother to play building blocks with her. Occasionally, the soft rustle of Bruce turning the pages of a newspaper could be heard. Evan paused his pen, a smile unconsciously curling at the corner of his mouth—he had thought this holiday would pass so peacefully: researching Supernatural Bullets during the day, having dinner and chatting with his family in the evening, taking Alice for walks in the suburban park on weekends, savoring the rare warmth of family life. This calm and steady existence was the time he cherished most since regaining his memories.

Yet this tranquility was completely shattered just after nine in the morning.

"Ding-dong— Ding-dong—" An urgent doorbell suddenly rang, unlike the gentle chimes of usual visitors. It carried a note of anxiety, striking the heart with each successive ring. Evan, who had been playing building blocks with Alice in the living room, frowned and stood up, heading towards the door. "Coming."

He opened the door to find two men in dark blue police uniforms standing outside. The badges on their chests gleamed with a cold, hard metallic sheen in the sunlight, their expressions stern, a stark contrast to the familiar, friendly faces of the neighbors. The older of the two officers spoke first, his tone grave. "Is this the Noah residence? We are from the Fish Tail District Police Station. We need to verify some matters with you."

Hearing the commotion, Bruce also emerged from his study. Seeing the officers, he instinctively furrowed his brow but maintained his composure. "I am Bruce Noah, the head of this household. What is this about?"

The older officer looked at Bruce, then glanced at Evan beside him. He took a deep breath, and the words he spoke next struck like a thunderbolt, freezing everyone present in place. "Mr. Bruce, your eldest son, Mark Noah, is suspected of involvement in a murder case. He has been lawfully arrested by our Fish Tail District Police Station. We request your cooperation with our investigation."

"What did you say?" Bruce's voice instantly rose, the composure on his face vanishing, replaced by sheer shock and disbelief. "Impossible! Mark was home for dinner just last night! He may be a bit impulsive at times, but he would never commit murder! You must have made a mistake!"

Hearing the noise, Martha also rushed out from the kitchen, a spoon dusted with flour still in her hand. When she heard the words "Mark suspected of murder" and "arrested," the spoon clattered to the floor with a loud clang, flour scattering everywhere. Her face instantly turned pale, her voice trembling. "Officers, you must be mistaken... Mark is such a good boy, how could he... how could he kill someone..."

Alice also sensed the tense atmosphere. She clutched tightly at Evan's sleeve, her small face filled with fear, and whispered, "Evan, what's wrong with Big Brother? Are they going to take him away?"

Evan's heart felt as if struck by a heavy hammer, his mind going blank—his eldest brother Mark, though occasionally getting into arguments over business matters, was an upright person who would never commit murder. Yet the officers' serious expressions didn't seem like a joke. Forcing himself to stay calm, he supported the pale-faced Martha and addressed the officers. "Officers, could you please explain the situation first? What exactly is this murder case my brother is suspected of?"

The older officer shook his head, his tone apologetic. "I'm sorry, the details of the case are still under investigation and cannot be disclosed at this time. Our purpose in coming here is primarily to notify the family and to request that you come to the station as soon as possible to assist with the investigation."

Bruce took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart. He knew now was not the time to panic; they had to get to the truth quickly. He looked at Martha, patted her shoulder, and spoke as gently as possible. "Martha, don't worry. Mark will be fine. It must be a misunderstanding. You stay home with Alice, take care of things here. Evan and I will go to the station to see what's going on."

Martha wanted to say something more, but tears fell first. She nodded, then grabbed Bruce's hand, choking back sobs. "You must bring Mark back safely... You must find out what happened..."

"Don't worry." Bruce gently patted her hand, then turned to Evan. "Evan, go change your coat. We're leaving for the station now."

Evan nodded. He comfortingly patted Alice's head and said to her, "Be good, Alice. Stay home with Mom. Dad and I will go bring Big Brother back. We'll be back soon." Alice nodded, though not fully understanding, her small hand still tightly gripping his sleeve. Only when Evan turned to change his coat did she let go, hiding in Martha's embrace.

Evan quickly changed his coat and, on a whim, slipped the pouch containing the Healing Stone and a few bullets with inscribed patterns into his pocket—he didn't know what they might encounter at the station, and having these supernatural items might help deal with any unexpected situations. He walked to the door, exchanging a glance with Bruce. Both their eyes held determination—no matter the truth, they would seek justice for Mark and not let him suffer an unjust accusation.

"Let's go," Bruce said to the officers. He glanced back at Martha and Alice standing at the doorway, his eyes full of reassurance, before he and Evan followed the officers out the door.

Outside, snowflakes still drifted sporadically. The cold wind whipped against their faces with a biting chill. Watching Bruce's slightly stooped yet still upright back ahead, Evan quickly caught up and patted his father's shoulder. "Dad, I'm here. And we have to believe in Mark."

Following the two officers, they took a carriage through three streets and arrived at the Fish Tail District. Unlike the respectable middle-class residential areas, the Fish Tail District was a gathering place for workers, fishermen, and sailors. Upon entering, they saw sewage that even the accumulated snow couldn't conceal, and the air carried a distinct fishy odor.

However, at that moment, neither Evan nor Bruce could focus on the district's off-putting sanitary conditions.

The outline of the Fish Tail District Police Station gradually came into view.

It was a two-story stone building. The surface of the dark gray stones bore the marks of years of weathering. A few withered vines clung to the corners of the walls, swaying slightly in the cold wind. The front of the building had only one wide wooden door. Above the doorframe hung a faded wooden sign with the words "Fish Tail District Police Station" painted in black, the edges of the characters already peeling but still exuding a sense of authority.

When the officer pushed open the wooden door, it emitted a creaky, aged sound. A smell—a mixture of coal smoke, printer's ink, and dampness—assaulted their senses, a stark contrast to the fresh, cold air outside. Entering the station, the ground floor was an open hall. The floor was covered with severely worn wooden planks that emitted faint creaks underfoot. On either side of the hall stood several dark wooden long tables piled high with thick files and dossiers. An inkwell lay overturned on one table, black ink spreading into a small stain on the paper.

Several officers in dark blue uniforms sat at the tables, busy at work. Their uniform collars were fastened with white ties, and brass batons hung at their waists. Their hat brims were pulled low, obscuring most of their faces, revealing only tightly pressed lips. The quill pens in their hands scratched rapidly across paper, producing a rustling sound. Occasionally, someone would glance up towards the door, their eyes holding scrutiny and detachment, casting an oppressive atmosphere over the entire hall.

"This way, please," the older officer said, gesturing with his chin towards a wooden door at the far end of the hall, and led the way.

Bruce and Evan followed closely, their eyes quickly scanning the surroundings—a yellowed map of Sheffield hung on the wall, several areas circled in red, likely indicating key patrol zones; in a corner, a disheveled-looking dog lay in an iron cage, lazily lifting an eyelid as people passed before drooping its head again.

Passing through the wooden door led to a narrow corridor. On either side were several closed wooden doors, with plaques above them reading "Interrogation Room," "Detention Room," and "Records Room." At the end of the corridor, a kerosene lamp hung on the wall, its dim, yellowish light casting flickering shadows, making the space feel even gloomier. The older officer stopped before a door marked "Reception Room" and gently knocked on the door panel.