“…your research disappeared.”
“…You spent nine years studying an object no institution could explain.”
The office remained dim except for the glow of a single monitor.
“…The artifact.”
“…I have had no access to it for years.”
Jion sat alone behind his desk, one hand resting against his chin while the recording replayed for what had to be the hundredth time today.
“…some of those fragments eventually found their way to us.”
“…We want you to continue searching.”
The recording ended.
Then it began again.
Jion listened without interruption, his attention fixed not on what had been said, but on what had not.
The exchange had yielded only a handful of facts.
Adrian Mercer had spent nine years researching an unidentified artifact.
At some point, that research had disappeared, and Zeropoint now possessed at least part of it.
They wanted Mercer to continue his research, and Mercer himself no longer had access to the original research.
That was all.
Nothing more.
No names.
No locations.
No dates.
No organization.
No mention of where the artifact had come from or why anyone considered it valuable enough to bury beneath layers of secrecy.
The recording reached its end once more.
Jion leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving the monitor as the silence settled over the room.
The obvious question would have been to ask where the artifact was.
It was also the wrong one.
An unidentified object could not be traced without context.
Chasing the artifact now would mean searching blindly across possibilities too vast to narrow.
They needed the story surrounding it before they could ever hope to find it.
Which left only one place to begin.
Not the artifact.
Adrian Mercer.
His fingers moved across the tablet resting on the desk, pulling up the profile Crossline had assembled after the hotel operation.
Awards.
Corporate acquisitions.
Public interviews.
Philanthropic foundations.
A career polished carefully enough to satisfy investors and journalists alike.
None of it explained the conversation inside Room F20-07.
None of it explained nine years of research.
None of it explained a vanished body of work important enough for Zeropoint to pursue years later.
His gaze lingered on the name at the top of the file.
Adrian Mercer.
The businessman.
That identity was well documented.
Too well documented.
The man who had spoken inside that hotel suite had not sounded like a businessman discussing investments.
He had sounded like a scientist answering unfinished questions.
Jion closed the file.
Who was Adrian Mercer before he became Adrian Mercer the businessman?
The handful of confirmed facts continued arranging themselves inside his mind.
Nine years of research.
Every attempt to push beyond what they had learned inevitably returned to the same conclusion.
They knew what had happened.
But they had no idea when, where, or under whom it had happened.
A quiet knock broke the stillness.
Jion looked up only briefly.
“Come in.”
The office door opened just enough for Jayden to step inside; a tablet tucked beneath one arm and a thin folder in his hand.
He crossed the room and placed both on the desk in front of Jion.
The folder was noticeably thicker than the public file Crossline had assembled after the operation, its contents consisting almost entirely of field verification rather than information pulled from databases.
Jace had spent the better part of the previous day speaking to former associates, following corporate connections, confirming addresses, and retracing Mercer’s documented history wherever it intersected with people instead of records.
Jayden had merely organized everything into a single chronology.
“I verified everything Jace brought back,” Jayden said.
“Nothing contradicted the public record.”
Jion opened the folder.
Page after page confirmed what he had already seen on the tablet.
The dates matched.
The interviews matched.
Employment histories aligned with archived announcements.
Promotions corresponded with corporate filings.
Even witness statements collected by Jace pointed toward the same sequence of events, each one reinforcing rather than challenging the timeline already in front of him.
It was as though every path they pursued simply looped back to the same carefully constructed history.
Another knock followed several minutes later.
Niel stepped inside carrying his laptop, his attention still fixed on the screen as he closed the office door with his elbow.
He settled into one of the chairs opposite Jion’s desk, rotating the display toward Jion as rows of search results, database entries, journal archives, patent registries, and university records remained scattered across multiple windows.
The screen was crowded with information.
None of it brought them any closer to the missing nine years. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“I searched everything I could access,” Niel said, scrolling through another page before giving up and letting his hand fall away from the touchpad.
“Academic publications. Research grants. Conference proceedings. Patent filings. Institutional archives. Government registries.” He frowned faintly at the screen.
“There is not a single public research project connected to Mercer.”
The office grew quiet again.
A third figure entered without knocking.
Helix said nothing as he walked in, stopping near the window where he could see both the folder on the desk and the laptop screen without needing either turned toward him.
His eyes moved slowly across the documents already spread before Jion, lingering on the printed chronology far longer than anything else.
No one disturbed the silence.
There was nothing left to explain.
They were all looking at the same investigation from different angles.
Jion lowered his gaze to the timeline once more.
Every year had a place.
Education flowed naturally into employment.
Employment into promotion.
Promotion into executive leadership.
Public appearances overlapped with interviews, acquisitions, investor conferences, and board appointments exactly as they should.
There were no unexplained absences.
No missing employment.
No leave of absence.
No unexplained relocation.
No period substantial enough to conceal anything remotely resembling the conversation they had heard inside Room F20-07.
His eyes shifted toward the paused recording still waiting on the monitor.
“You spent nine years studying an object no institution could explain.”
The sentence echoed inside the room without being spoken aloud.
Jion looked back at the chronology.
It was complete.
Painfully complete.
The timeline did not merely account for most of Adrian Mercer’s life.
It accounted for all of it.
Jayden slowly folded his arms, arriving at the same conclusion without needing to voice it.
Niel stared silently at his own screen, scrolling through the dates one last time as though another pass might reveal something everyone else had overlooked.
It did not.
Every search ended where the previous one had ended.
Nothing was missing.
Which was precisely the problem.
If Adrian Mercer had truly spent nine years researching an unidentified artifact, then those nine years had somehow taken place inside a life that had no room for them.
Jayden let out a quiet breath, his eyes still on the chronology.
“The timeline is impossible.”
Nobody answered immediately.
The words lingered over the documents spread across the desk as each of them continued staring at the same sequence of dates from a different perspective.
The silence stretched for several moments before Jayden finally broke it again, his eyes never leaving the printed chronology.
“If Mercer’s research disappeared,” he said slowly, “how did part of it end up in Zeropoint’s hands?”
“I do not see any other possibility,” Niel answered from behind his laptop.
“They stole it.”
“From whom?”
The question came quietly from the window.
It was the first thing Helix had said since entering the office.
Niel looked up, already recognizing the familiar trap.
Helix was not asking because he lacked an answer.
He was asking because he wanted someone else to prove theirs.
After a brief pause, Niel pressed his lips into a thin line instead of responding.
Jion was the one who spoke.
“It did not sound like Zeropoint stole it.”
Helix remained where he was, leaning against the window with his arms folded, offering neither agreement nor disagreement.
“Mercer said he has not had access to his research for years,” Jion continued thoughtfully.
“If that is true, then it was not stolen from him either.”
Niel eventually leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Honestly, when they mentioned an unidentified artifact, my first thought was UFOs and UAPs.”
Jayden let out an amused breath through his nose without looking up from the timeline.
“So now we are talking about extraterrestrials?” He shook his head once.
“You have been watching too much anime. Touch some grass once in a while, young man.”
Niel looked offended.
“People who do not have a life outside work should keep their opinions to themselves sometimes, Engineer Jayjay.”
Jayden’s head snapped toward him so quickly it looked medically concerning.
“You little—”
His gaze drifted to the creator of that nickname he despised the most.
Helix returned the gaze—expressionless.
Jayden shifted in his seat uncomfortably, lips pressing into a thin line.
He recognized that gaze—it was a trap.
A beat.
“Mercer may have been prevented from continuing his research.” Helix’s voice cut cleanly through the exchange, drawing everyone’s attention back to the investigation.
“And if the artifact was deliberately kept from public knowledge,” he continued evenly, “there was probably a reason for it.”
Jayden returned to the documents before him.
“If it was never publicized, and Zeropoint only has a portion of the research, then the original research must have been kept somewhere only a few people could access.”
Niel nodded slowly, more to himself than anyone else.
“What if Mercer was not researching the artifact on his own? Nine years of research would have required funding, facilities…” His eyes lifted toward Jion.
“If an organization was safeguarding the research,” Jion replied, “I doubt they would have willingly handed any part of it to Zeropoint.”
“Which raises another possibility,” Helix added almost immediately.
“If Zeropoint wants Mercer to continue researching the artifact, they must have access to it.”
“But not to the research,” Jion finished.
“Not all of it,” Helix continued.
“Mercer has not had access to his research for years. That means someone else has been controlling access to it. And if Zeropoint only acquired part of it, then it was not the keeper who handed it over…”
“…It changed hands.”
Jayden considered that for a moment.
“If that is the case… then someone transferred it.”
“Or sold it.” Helix’s voice was even.
Niel frowned.
“Sold classified research?”
“Black market.” Jion spoke the words almost absentmindedly, his thoughts already moving ahead of the conclusion.
“Not the kind that deals in weapons or narcotics,” he continued.
“This would be an auction for things that officially do not exist. Things that were never supposed to enter the public domain in the first place.”
“Information,” Helix added.
Jion gave a slight nod.
“Stolen Cold War documents. Prototype military technology. Classified satellites. Extinct biological samples. Ancient relics never acknowledged by governments. Identities. Encrypted drives.” His fingers rested lightly against the folder on his desk.
“If something cannot be obtained through legitimate channels, this is where it ends up.”
“Including Mercer’s research.”
Niel studied the documents spread across the desk, his brow gradually furrowing.
“…Something does not make sense.”
Everyone looked toward him.
“If Mercer is somehow working for Zeropoint now, why would they still need the physical copy of his research? Could he not just produce another copy?”
The question lingered unanswered, hanging quietly over the room.
After several seconds, Jion finally broke the silence.
“We might find out once we acquire a fragment of the research.”
Silence settled over the office once more.
The missing research.
The vanished nine years.
The fragment Zeropoint somehow possessed.
The questions continued to outnumber the answers.
For the first time since the operation, every confirmed fact pointed toward the same destination.
The black market was no longer just a theory.
It had become the first lead that connected every piece of the conversation they had overheard.
Jion closed the folder.
“The black market is our next lead.”
Faint laughter drifted in from the corridor.
It started as little more than muffled voices beyond the walls before steadily growing louder with every passing second.
Another burst of laughter followed.
The voices drew closer.
Something bumped against the wall outside, followed immediately by Sean’s unmistakable laugh and Jace loudly insisting that it had absolutely not been his fault.
Linn was laughing just as hard, the sound carrying effortlessly down the corridor.
Behind the three of them came another set of footsteps.
Quiet.
Steady.
Soren.
The office door swung open.
The conversation inside immediately ceased.
Sean entered first, carrying two buckets of fried chicken with practiced care.
Linn followed, eating fries straight from one of the paper cartons as though they belonged exclusively to her.
Jace walked in behind them, still trying very hard to defend whatever ridiculous argument had occupied the walk back.
Soren entered last, quietly closing the door behind him before taking his usual place near the wall.
The laughter died almost immediately.
Only then did they notice the atmosphere inside.
Documents covered Jion’s desk.
Jayden’s tablet remained open beside Niel’s laptop, while Helix stood near the window with his arms folded.
Jion quietly closed the folder resting before him.
Without preamble, he looked toward Helix.
“Helix.”
Helix lifted his eyes.
“Attend the auction with Linn.”
Linn froze, three fries stopping halfway to her mouth.
As she stood there processing the fact that her next mission had just been decided without so much as asking whether she wanted it, Niel had already wandered over to Sean and reached into one of the buckets for a piece of fried chicken.
Jayden quietly did the same.
Sean looked down at the buckets.
Somehow, they already felt lighter.
He instinctively pulled them farther out of reach.
But Jace had already stolen another piece.
Helix spared Linn a single glance before returning his attention to Jion.
“Understood.”
Across the room, Soren silently watched the growing dispute over fried chicken.
Linn slowly looked from Helix…
…to Jion…
…then back again.
“…What the hell?”