As the relentless downpour hammered against the windshield, creating a symphony of raindrops, Henry turned to me with a furrowed brow and asked, “What was it that Richard wanted with you?”

“He asked me about the yacht party we had years ago. I assume Oliver asked you about the same thing.” I replied.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s all a bit strange, isn’t it? Why would it be brought up now, after all this time? I thought you, me, and Luca agreed to never talk about that day again,” he said, his voice tinted with confusion.

I don't know why, but I couldn't stop thinking about what Richard said about a wealthy businessman's sudden interest feeling ominous.

I couldn’t help but wonder who the strange man looking into the yacht party was. At first, I suspected Mazzin—I thought he could be digging into my past as a way to learn more about me—but then another name surfaced, sharper and more unsettling.

Rodrigo.

Rodrigo was Mônica’s husband, and the thought that he might be seeking answers about his dead wife sent a shiver down my spine. It felt like my past was coming back to bite me, and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

Just as I was lost in that thought, Henry broke my thought with another question, his voice steady but probing. “Why didn’t you tell Suzi the truth about what we were doing?”

I sighed, feeling the weight of my choices. “She’s going to find out eventually. Besides, I have this gut feeling that things are about to get messy,” I answered, my tone laced with caution.

As we arrived outside the hotel, the storm continued to unleash its fury, rain and wind combining to create a chaotic scene around us. I quickly checked my gear, ensuring I had enough ammunition for my guns, the cold steel reminding me of the precarious situation ahead.

Pushing through the heavy glass doors into the hotel, we were greeted by an unsettling silence that surrounded the lobby. The light from the overhead lamp was warm and bright. The atmosphere felt normal for a hotel. I looked around when something caught my eye—a small notebook piled precariously on the front desk.

Hopping over the counter, I flipped it open, revealing a neatly organized list of all the guests checked into the hotel, complete with their room numbers and planned duration of stay. As I scanned the names, one in particular jumped out at me.

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“Jade Richards. Room 313. Staying for three weeks. The note mentions a young girl accompanying her,” I murmured.

Henry and I walked over to the elevator, got inside, and pressed the button for the third floor. As the elevator slowly approached the third floor, I pulled out one of my handguns, unsure if there was going to be someone waiting for us once the doors opened.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, a heavy silence enveloped the hallway. The loud, mechanical ding of the doors closing echoed loudly. We stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the faint smell of cleaning supplies lingering in the air.

Reaching room 313, I gave the door a gentle push. It swung open with a soft creak, revealing an apartment that appeared to be frozen in time. The only sound that filled the space was the muffled voice of N54 news reporting about the weather.

“And now the weather,” the anchor announced with a calm tone. “The storm that has swept across the streets of Night City will continue to intensify, with authorities warning that several roads may be closed due to overwhelming winds and significant standing water. Meteorologists estimate that this violent storm could persist for the next five to eight days, with the most severe conditions looming on the horizon. Earlier today, Mayor Peralez addressed the public regarding these dire circumstances.”

The screen transitioned to a live feed featuring Mayor Peralez, his expression grave and urgent. “I urge all citizens of Night City to remain indoors and maintain a sense of calm,” he implored, his voice steady but firm. “This storm is expected to escalate, and I must insist that anyone near the harbor evacuates immediately. The high-speed winds pose a substantial risk to homes and lives. If you have any business in those areas, I strongly advise you to leave now. Once more, I emphasize: stay inside and remain calm.”

As the broadcast returned to the anchor.

Determined to find any trace of Jade, we began to search the apartment. In the kitchen, dirty plates lay scattered in the sink, remnants of a meal long forgotten—yet the food appeared to have been prepared recently, its smell still lingering.

Henry ventured into the bedroom while I continued my search throughout the living space, my eyes scanning for any signs of life or clues about Jade’s whereabouts. The apartment was sparsely decorated, with little personal touch—just furniture that matched perfectly but told no story of its occupant.

After several minutes of searching, Henry returned to the living room, disappointment etched across his face. “No luck?” I asked, hoping for any shred of information.

“Not really. The only notable find was a collection of clothes packed away in the dressers. If they made a run for it, it seems they left behind more than just their possessions,” he replied, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Keep searching in here,” I said, before adding. “I’ll head out to see if the neighbors have noticed anything unusual. Someone had to have seen her.”

Before leaving the apartment, Henry had one last thing to say: “Keep in touch on the holo.”

I left the apartment and went to knock on apartment 314’s door. I waited and waited, but no one answered. I moved on to the next apartment and again had the same outcome. It was strange it was if the place had become ghost town.

“Henry, there’s nothing here no noise no people nothing. It's as if everyone skipped town, I'm on my way back something is up.”

Walking back to the apartment the elevator doors made the ding sound.