“Are you sure this is the right place?” Ori said scanning the narrow hallway of a disputably sanitary building. He did not know if it was the rats or the cockroaches that would get to him first, and instead of watching where he was going, he eyed the corners and the ceiling for any sign of creeping pests.

“This is his registered address,” Myra returned checking the numbers on every door they passed. “It should be this one,” she pointed to a brown door near the end of the hallway that instead of a metal plate had its number scribbled on with a waterproof marker.

After a few knocks she stood back, crossing her arms and waited for Ori to come to his senses. “What is it with you?”

“I don’t know how people can live like this,” he said lifting the bottom of his coat to check if it were still whole and clean.

“Now I get it,” she smirked. “You were born with a silver, nay, golden spoon up your ass. That would explain a lot.”

“That’s an unsavoury thing to say. You should mind your language, Detective.”

She mocked him and returned to knocking on the door. When for the second time she received no answer, she resorted to using her fists and banging on the wood like she intended to make a whole in it.

“Don’t do that,” said Ori, pulling her away. “We don’t want the whole building to hear us.”

“And what do you suggest we do? We need to find him, one way or another. He wasn’t at the firm and this is the only place we know to look for him.”

“What I mean is, don’t use force where you can use other means,” he added and made a slow circular motion with his hand as if he were holding an invisible key. The mechanism clicked several times and the door opened on its own.

“I am not putting that in my report,” Myra said and made sure her hand rested on her weapon, just in case.

“I don’t care,” Ori returned and looked for the light switch.

The apartment was the size of an average pantry. A single room with a single window that hardly got any light. The kitchen was overcrowded with dishes, the single chair carried a pile of clothes, and instead of a bed, there was only a mattress on the floor. It was a whole life crammed into a cupboard.

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Myra stepped in first but soon realized there was hardly any room in there for a person, much less their secrets. She stood in the middle of the room, and followed the lead of her thoughts, from the sink to the washing machine, and back to the floor. Even after she shuffled through every drawer and dipped into every pocket she could find, she found nothing that could justify her suspicion.

“I don’t know what I was expecting to find here, to be honest,” she let out a long sigh and looked back at Ori, expecting some kind of revelation.

“If you wanted to hide something in a place this small where would you do it?” he said endeavouring to enter the room. Then, like some robotic scanner from the future, he began to turn in precise ninety-degree angles, observing every detail.

“The floor is solid,” Myra returned stomping on the worn-out concrete tiles. “The walls don’t have holes in them. There’s nothing in the cupboards or near the bathroom, and the mattress is not full of money. So, what remains?”

“The plain sight.”

“Easier said than done, there’s not enough room here even for that,” she said, spreading her arms and accidentally knocking a greasy frying pan off the kitchen counter. It slammed into the ground, catapulting the grease in all directions, forcing Ori to regret ever coming near the building, nay, Helden.

“For the sake of all that’s magic, could you please control yourself,” he squealed, wiping his cheek and realizing the situation was probably worse than it looked. “No, no, gods no. Not this coat…” The air darkened in an already dark room, and embers began to gather around his head, like a warning sign of an oncoming firestorm.

“Wait!” Myra’s words interrupted him just as he was ready to explode with rage. “That’s it.”

She began digging through the pile of dirty dishes, never minding the dried-up spaghetti and the crusty cheese that connected them like glue. Soon enough she was at the bottom of the sink, where an uncanny piece of art stood protected under a glass bowl. She pulled it out of its resting place and held it up like she didn’t know its potential for ruin.

She did not, however, expect it to look the way it did. Instead of the grim interpretation she’d seen on Ori’s drawing, it was more like a children’s toy, made of straw, bound by rope and made to stand prompted up on a pedestal of branches.

Before she could admire the craftsmanship some more, Ori snatched it from her hand and went for the door.

“We need to find him,” he said in a serious tone. “Sooner, rather than later.”

“It's a stakeout then,” Myra said jokingly.

“I don’t think he’ll be coming back here. By now, he’d know we’re on to him. And if I were in his shoes, I’d pack my things and run as far away as possible.”

“He’d need money for that,” Myra said stopping at the doorstep. “Oh… and guess who had a secret stash of gold?”

He smirked and made the door close behind them with a single flick of a finger.