Lying on a rudimentary cot in a tiny room, Staan thought about the woman who had stopped him as he watched a ray of sunlight filter through his window: within the beam of light, the suspended dust resembled snow, reflecting the light against the walls. He had spent the night wondering how much longer he would stay there. Escaping would have been ridiculously easy, but he insisted on respecting the rules of the human world, even when it meant submitting to its justice.

His thoughts had wandered to the situation in Hell, the person responsible for his imprisonment, the delay he was accumulating, and the implications for his journey. While he had initially agreed to cooperate and endure a night in custody, he now felt like he was wasting his time. He took advantage of an officer bringing him breakfast to inquire about the investigation he was suspected of, but got no answers.

He had to wait several hours before another person finally visited him. Unfortunately, when he saw a certain woman approaching, he doubted that his release was imminent. She gestured for him to step forward to the bars and then turned him around so she could handcuff him. Restrained, he was led through the building's corridors into an interrogation room, sparsely furnished with a metal table and two seemingly uncomfortable chairs. He was abruptly seated in front of his interrogator, whose silence seemed like an eternity. This idiomatic expression made him smile, as it was one of the few capable of measuring the notion of "eternity."

"Do you find anything funny about your situation?"

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

— Not at all," he calmly replied.

— Then why are you smiling?"

— I'm not laughing; I'm smiling—a notable distinction. Moreover, my expression is due to a quip I made to myself. Don't take offense, but you wouldn't understand," he tried to temper.

— Do you know what else I don't understand? This," she said, throwing her notebook onto the table, taken from him upon his arrival. "I took it from you yesterday when you were taken to the cell. That allowed me to study it and find... a few things I'd like clarification on."

— I'm listening," he replied, hiding his apprehension about what she might have found. "If I can be of assistance to the Marseille police, I would be pleased."

— First, this writing," she pointed out. "You speak in Sumerian, just so we can't find your little secrets?"

— There's no purpose in hiding anything. I write in Sumerian because it's my native language," he explained, partially reassured. "Anything else?"

— Native language, of course..." she doubted. "I suppose talking to you about a certain city plan must bring back some memories."

— Indeed," he admitted, distressed by the discovery, well aware of how suspicious it could make him. "Which ones specifically, if I may ask?"

— That's for you to tell me! All these unreadable pages, and suddenly this plan? Had enough of writing nonsense? Your sick brain needed more, huh?" she questioned, raising her voice more and more.

— I have the feeling you're alluding to something other than this plan," he noted, uncertain.

— Yes! This drawing of my sister!" she finally exploded. "Who are you? Were you part of the gang? Did you participate?"

— Your sister?" he repeated, so stunned that he couldn't help but glance at the sky, seeing only their similarities.

— YES! MY SISTER! SPILL IT, NOW!"