SmilinKujo
patreon
HFfC: CH 17: The Third Pack
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 16:50:42 +0000 UTCZero walked down the stairs from the living quarters, toweling his long, damp black hair. He'd just finished a long, hot shower to wash away the lingering stress of Erwin's shared experiences. A single drop of water clung to the tip of one of his horns before falling to the wooden floor.
Soma, who was practically vibrating with excitement by the counter, grinned. "Let's goooo! As you promised, the next card is mine!"
Zero chuckled, the sound muffled by the towel. "What if it's someone like Batman? How will that help you become a greater chef?"
"Then I will be a great chef by day," Soma declared with dramatic flair, "and vengeance by night!"
"Hehehehe, that's good," Zero laughed. He looked around the quiet, empty café. "Where's Sebas? Shouldn't he be here for this?"
"Oh, he said he had to go back," Soma replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Something about the Vipers having the same size brain as a snake and needing constant supervision. Hehehehe."
"Well, alright then," Zero said, tossing the towel over a chair. He closed his eyes and put his hands together in a familiar, prayer-like stance. Soma immediately followed suit.
"Dear Cecil," Zero began, his voice a low, reverent murmur. "God of Celestial Paperwork, Divine Intern of Domain 6-A. It is I, your humble servant, once again. We've had a rough few days. A little Gacha luck would go a long way. Bless us with a card that is useful, powerful, and preferably, not a child. May your coffee be ever hot and your stapler never jam."
"AAMEENNN!! Hallelujah, babyyy!!" Soma shouted, throwing his hands in the air.
In a swift motion, Zero turned to the register and tapped the [11x Draw] button twice. The Gacha point balance plummeted from 2076 to a meager 76. Two shimmering, foil-wrapped packs materialized from the slot and hovered in the air.
The image on the first pack showed Cecil fast asleep in a celestial hammock, wearing an oversized cowboy hat that covered his eyes and a piece of straw dangling from his mouth. The second pack had him raising a tall, frothing glass of beer in a hearty "Cheers!" pose.
"Okay," Zero said, looking at the two bizarre images. "This has to mean something, right?"
"Well," Soma mused, "I guess he just wants to have fun on the foil packs."
"So, which one do you want for yourself?" Zero asked, fanning both packs out toward him.
Soma rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Hmmmm, let's see..." He pointed a decisive finger. "I'll take the beer one for me. So let's open the sleeping cowboy first."
Zero chuckled. "Okay, let's open this one, shall we?" He took the sleeping Cecil pack and tore it open, pulling out the eleven cards within. One by one, he revealed them. The first ten were, as usual, [+10 Magical Energy], each one dissolving into golden dust that was absorbed into his body.
Then came the last card. A faint, almost apologetic shine emanated from it. Soma held his breath. Zero's heart thumped in anticipation. He flipped it over.
[Background Character]
Character Origin: The Multiverse
Traits: The formless, featureless figures you see in the blurry background of every universe. They exist only to populate a scene and have no thoughts, skills, or will of their own. Utterly and completely unremarkable. Grants the user the ability to be slightly more difficult to notice in a crowd.
The faint shine on the card flickered and died, leaving behind a dull, cheap-looking piece of card in Zero's hand.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, a snort from Soma. Then, a roaring, gut-busting laugh. "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Good thing I didn't choose that one for me! You got the ultimate trash card! It's not even worth the paper it's printed on!"
Zero's face, which had been a mask of hopeful concentration, twisted into one of pure, betrayed rage as he stared at the useless card. He threw his free hand to the ceiling.
"DAMN YOU, CECIL!!!"
…
The night was nearly over, the clock ticking towards a new day. Inside the roped-off perimeter, under the harsh glare of magitech lamps, Erwin and the detectives finished the painstaking process of dusting for and lifting the latent fingerprints.
"It's incredible," Morhan said, her voice filled with a quiet awe as she looked at a card bearing a clear, whorled print lifted from a hidden section of the wall. "The fact that something so simple, something that's been on our hands our whole lives, could actually revolutionize how we solve crimes."
"You don't say," Celvise added, shaking her head in wonder.
"Don't get ahead of yourselves," Sergeant Lomare cautioned, though his own eyes held a spark of excitement. "We need to make sure this is really as foolproof as he claims."
Erwin got to his feet, stretching his back. "Sergeant Lomare is right," he said. "We've done the easy part. Now comes the hard part: we need to gather the fingerprints of every staff member from the schools and match them against everything we've found here."
"Still," Morhan insisted, her excitement irrepressible, "it's groundbreaking." She threw a friendly arm over Erwin's shoulder. "You should join the Watchers. We need your kind of thinking to better our methods."
Erwin allowed himself a small smile. "I'll think about it," he said. "But for now, I need both of your fingerprints."
The two detectives froze, their expressions of admiration instantly replaced by shock. "Do you suspect us?" Celvise asked, her voice sharp.
Erwin chuckled. "No, it's not that," he explained patiently. "The three of us, plus myself, were the first ones to enter the crime scene. Inevitably, our own fingerprints will be present. We need to collect our own prints to eliminate them from the equation, so we don't mistake one of us for the perpetrator."
Lomare's eyes widened slightly, realization dawning. "That… actually makes perfect sense," he admitted.
Morhan grinned, her shock giving way to renewed admiration. "Damn you. You really have thought of everything, haven't you?"
Celvise smirked, shaking her head. "Alright. What do you need us to do?"
Erwin pulled out a small ink pad and a few blank cards from his investigation kit. "Press your fingers onto these. We'll use them as the control group to compare with the ones we collected inside."
One by one, Morhan and Celvise pressed their fingers down, leaving clear, dark imprints. Lomare watched with keen interest, then folded his arms. "So, what's next?"
Erwin placed the new fingerprint samples into a sealed envelope. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the watcher precinct. We'll need to take samples from our list of suspects—the teachers and staff from Limstar Academy, Pinecrest Public, and all the schools connected to the other victims."
Lomare nodded, his mind now fully committed. "I'll do you one better," he said. "I'll have patrol units collect the samples first thing in the morning. Come to the precinct at noon. By that time, we should have the fingerprints. Just tell me exactly what you need to get this done."
Erwin quickly explained the simple tools required.
"Good," Lomare said with a firm nod. "Consider it done. This could be a real game-changer, Erwin."
Erwin's eyes darkened slightly, the brief moment of academic discovery replaced by a cold, hard focus. "It's not about changing the game," he said, his voice a low growl. "It's about catching the bastard who did this before another child disappears."
Lomare placed a firm, steadying hand on Erwin's shoulder. "Then let's catch them."
As Erwin finally walked away from the now-secured crime scene, his thoughts burned with a cold resolve. The killer was out there. And Erwin would not stop until they were found.
…
Erwin arrived back at his boarding house, the weight of the long, grueling night pressing down on him. As he walked up the final flight of stairs, he saw a sliver of light coming from under his door. He went on immediate alert. He slowed his breathing, his footsteps becoming silent as he approached. He checked the door; it was unlocked.
His heart began to thump a steady, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He drew the small, concealable runic pistol he had recently acquired and slowly pushed the door open. Inside, he heard the gentle sound of water being poured into a cup. Then, footsteps, coming from the small kitchen nook, getting closer and closer.
Erwin flattened himself against the wall beside the doorway, his weapon held at the ready, poised to ambush whoever had broken into his room. The footsteps grew louder, and a figure emerged from the kitchen.
It was Sebas, smiling serenely and holding a tray with a steaming teapot and a single cup.
Erwin let out a long, slow breath, the tension draining out of him in a rush. He lowered his weapon. "Oh, god," he sighed, his voice filled with relief. "It's you. Can you please tell me in the Animus Hub next time you decide to come here?"
Sebas's smile didn't waver. "My apologies, Young Master Erwin," he said calmly. "I did not think you would be home by now."
Erwin holstered his pistol and took off his long coat, tossing it wearily onto a nearby couch. Sebas placed the tray on a small table. "Please, drink this," he said. "It will help you relax." As Erwin sat down, Sebas walked over to the discarded coat, picked it up, and began to fold it neatly.
Erwin took a sip of the fragrant herbal tea. It was calming. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, "about the... Animus break... earlier."
"Animus break?" Sebas asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Is that what you are calling it?"
Erwin chuckled, a rare, tired sound. "Can't let Soma be the only one who comes up with these names," he said. "So, why are you here, Sebas? Is something wrong?"
"Young Master Soma made too much of this evening's Pho," Sebas explained, his face a perfect mask of innocence. "He said he was going to throw it away, but then he remembered that you were likely still poor from taking on such measly cases, so he insisted I bring this to you." He produced a large, insulated container.
Erwin chuckled again, a genuine warmth in the sound this time. "Did he now?"
Sebas leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell Young Master Soma I told you this... but he made it for you freshly. This wasn't even on today's menu at the café."
A real, tired smile touched Erwin's lips. He opened the container, the rich, comforting aroma of the Pho filling the small room. He began to eat. While he ate, Sebas moved silently around the room, collecting the scattered case notes and scattered pages, organizing them into a neat pile on the desk. For a brief moment, in the quiet of the small, lamp-lit room, there was a chance to breathe.
With the Pho eaten and the tea finished, Erwin finally let himself relax, sinking deep into the worn cushions of the couch. He let out a long, weary exhale. "You can thank Soma for me when you get back to the café tomorrow," he said to Sebas, his eyes closed.
Just then, the front door of the boarding house room opened. In walked Soma, followed by Zero in his veiled hat.
"You can thank him now," Zero said, closing the door behind them.
Erwin's eyes snapped open. "Why are you two here?"
"Soma said the insulated container needed to be picked up immediately," Zero explained, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He was convinced you wouldn't wash it."
"Hey! I clean, alright," Erwin retorted, sitting up.
"As if," Soma scoffed, looking around the now-spotless room. "I bet this place is only neat because Sebas just cleaned it up for you."
The familiar bickering filled the small room, a comfortable, chaotic noise that slowly eased the tension from Erwin's shoulders. They laughed, their shared company a balm after the long, dark night.
Then, the laughter subsided. Soma, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a gentle concern, looked at Erwin. "How are you holding up?" he asked quietly.
Erwin's defensive walls went up instantly. "What? What are you talking about? I'm fine."
"It's alright, Young Master," Sebas said, his voice calm and steady. "You can talk to us. After all, we are all you."
Erwin froze. The words seemed to bypass all of his defenses. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked down, holding his own hands in a tight grip. He began to talk, his voice low and strained.
"I... I panicked," he admitted, the confession barely a whisper. "When I found them… those kids… they were tied up, lifeless, as if they weren't even human anymore." His hands clenched into each other, his knuckles white. "I continuously prayed," he continued, a tremor in his voice. "For the first time in my goddamn life, I genuinely prayed. As I ran while holding Elisa, I begged whatever god was listening not to let her go."
"It's not your fault, Erwin," Zero said calmly.
But Erwin didn't seem to hear him, his mind trapped in the horror of the memory—the weak, rattling breath of the child, the suffocating smell of the basement, the cold touch of the trapdoor, the sight of the bodies. His voice became frantic. "B-but if I had gotten there sooner! If I had just seen the pattern an hour earlier, maybe the others could've still been alive!"
Zero moved to his side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezing, forcing Erwin to look up at him. "Hey. You know your work only operates with facts. So stick to the facts."
Erwin blinked, the word "facts" cutting through the haze of his panic.
Zero's voice was steady and unshaken. "The fact is that you were days ahead of the Watchers in this case. The fact is that because of you, Elisa is still alive."
Erwin gritted his teeth. "But the others—"
"The fact is that you can't change the past," Zero cut him off, his voice firm but not unkind. "But you can make damn sure the bastard who did this won't get away with it."
Soma stepped forward, his expression serious. "You're not a god, Erwin. You're a detective. A damn good one. But you're not omniscient."
Then Sebas spoke, his voice calm and wise, the final, crucial piece of support. "Guilt is a heavy burden, Young Master. But the children who lost their lives do not need your guilt. They need your justice."
Erwin closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath, trying to push through the crushing weight on his chest. He was silent for a long moment. "You're right," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He exhaled deeply, wiping his face with his sleeve. When he looked up again, the panic and guilt were gone, replaced by a familiar, cold steel. "I'm going to catch this bastard."
A smirk spread across Zero's face, and he slapped Erwin on the back. "That's what I like to hear."
Sebas nodded approvingly. "And I shall assist in any way I can."
Erwin rolled his shoulders, feeling a little lighter than before.
Soma grinned. "Now, go get some sleep. By morning, you'll have a good, hot breakfast delivered to this janky office of yours."
Erwin huffed a small, tired laugh. "Thanks."
The four of them exchanged a glance, a silent, unbreakable bond passing between them.
Zero just smirked. "What are brothers for?"
…
The morning sun streamed into Erwin's small boarding house room. In the tiny kitchen nook, Soma was a whirlwind of motion, pans sizzling, a knife moving with impossible speed. Sebas stood by the doorway, observing, a placid but puzzled expression on his face. Soma kept talking to the empty air.
"No, no, you can't add the thyme that early, it'll overpower the shallots!" he'd argue, before pausing, a look of intense concentration on his face. "Okay... yes, if I brown the butter first, that might work. A beurre noisette base... intriguing." He would go mad with frustration one moment, then his face would light up with intrigue the next. But one thing was certain: he was having a very intense debate about cooking with someone who wasn't there.
Sebas turned to Zero, who was leaning against the doorframe. "Master Zero," the butler asked, his voice low. "Did Young Master Soma perhaps eat something... wrong... today?"
Zero chuckled, a weary but amused sound. "Well..."
…
Soma was still laughing, tears streaming down his face as he pointed at the useless [Background Character] card in Zero's hand. "PFFFFFT! OH MY GOD, YOUR LUCK IS ACTUALLY CURSED! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
Zero gestured with both his middle fingers to the ceiling. "FUCK YOU, CECIL, YOU INTERN BASTARD!" he roared. He continued to swear at the sky while Soma laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach to keep from collapsing.
Wiping a tear from his eye, Soma finally caught his breath. "Alright, alright," he said, puffing out his chest. "Let me show you how someone with protagonist luck does it. After all, I'm the main character of this café."
Zero just sulked, slumping over the bar counter.
Soma took the second pack, the one with Cecil raising a beer, and tore it open. The first nine cards dissolved into [+10 Magical Energy] each, flowing into Zero. The tenth card, however, glowed a little brighter before dissolving. [+100 Magical Energy].
"Oh wow," Soma said, impressed. "That's useful."
"Whatever," Zero grumbled from the counter.
Soma laughed and revealed the final card. It glowed with a warm, golden light, revealing an illustration of a small, determined-looking rat in a chef's hat.
[Remy] Character Origin: Ratatouille (Pixar Movie)
Description: A small rat with a colossal passion for fine food and an extraordinary sense of taste and smell. He dreams of becoming a great chef, despite the obvious challenges.
Traits: Grants the user a form of divine inspiration for cooking. Subtly guides the user's hands and palate to create the perfect dish, balancing flavors with an almost supernatural intuition.
This time, it was Zero's turn to laugh. He shot up from his sulking position. "AHAHAHAHAHA! YOU BECAME A RAT! DO YOU WANT SOME CHEESE? DON'T WORRY, WE HAVE A LOT OF SELECTIONS IN THE BACK! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
Soma's face was sour. "At least it's a chef card," he said defensively. "I still count this as a win."
"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that," Zero said, wiping a tear of mirth from his own eye. He walked over to the espresso machine, pulled a shot, and then pricked his finger, letting a few drops of his dark blood fall into the cup. He slid it over to Soma. "Here. From what Erwin experienced, you'll need my blood to fuse another card."
"Thanks," Soma grumbled. "But I don't mind tearing your arms off after you laughed at me like that." He drank the espresso in one gulp, then pressed the [Remy] card to his forehead.
He groaned as the card dissolved. He began to glow brightly, his shape contorting, shrinking smaller and smaller until, with a soft poof, he had become a small, black rat.
Zero's laughter intensified.
The rat then dissolved into a pool of swirling blood, which coiled upwards and rapidly reformed back into Soma's human body. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's good," he said, his eyes wide with discovery. "It's strengthening my knowledge. My French cuisine is... more refined now."
"Ciit, ciit, ciit," Zero squeaked, mockingly.
Soma was about to retort when he suddenly screamed, pointing a trembling finger at the empty space above his head. "A FAT GHOST!"
Zero looked at where Soma was pointing. "What?"
"THERE'S A FAT, TRANSPARENT CHEF GHOST FLOATING RIGHT THERE!" Soma yelled. "HE'S TELLING ME I OVER-SALTED THE PHO LAST NIGHT!"
…
"So yeah," Zero explained to Sebas in the present day. "He's not crazy. He's just getting cooking advice from the spirit of a dead French chef that only he can see."
Just then, Soma pointed an accusatory spatula at the empty air in Erwin's kitchen. "What do you mean, 'anyone can cook'?! That's a bold-faced lie and you know it, Gusteau!"
…
Erwin woke with the sun, the events of the previous night a cold, hard stone in his gut. He dressed, slipping a heavy pouch of coins into his coat pocket. It was a small amount for Sebas, whose grip on the city's underbelly was already expanding, but for Erwin, it was a necessary tool.
He arrived at the hospital, the sterile scent of healing potions doing little to mask the underlying smell of sickness and despair. He walked the long, quiet hall and saw them—Elisa's parents, huddled together on a bench outside their daughter's room, their faces etched with exhaustion and worry.
The moment the mother saw him, she rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. She cried, her words a choked, desperate stream of "thank you" over and over again. "We owe you everything," she sobbed, her voice thick with emotion. "If it weren't for you, our daughter would be… would be—" She choked up, unable to finish the sentence. The father could only stand beside her, bowing his head repeatedly, the simple gesture conveying a depth of gratitude that words could not.
Erwin, his face a mask of gentle sympathy, gracefully accepted their thanks. "Why are you out here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be with her?"
"We're still waiting for her to wake up," the parents explained.
Erwin frowned. "Didn't the healers already tend to her last night when I brought her in?"
The father shook his head, a look of weary resignation on his face. "No healers stay at the hospitals, sir," he said. "They are... independent. They usually reside in their own mansions and only come when they are called."
"Let me check with the nurse," Erwin said, his tone hardening.
"Please, don't!" the mother pleaded, grabbing his arm. "We don't have the money to hire a healer. We can't afford it."
Erwin placed a reassuring hand on hers. "You don't need to worry about that," he said, his voice calm and confident. "I have some connections who can help."
He walked with a steady, purposeful stride to the front desk. "I require a healer for patient Elisa," he said to the nurse, his voice polite but firm.
The nurse didn't even look up from her paperwork. "You're not the guardian, are you? I already asked the parents. They can't afford one."
The casual, bureaucratic dismissal irked Erwin. He slammed his hand on the counter, the sound echoing in the quiet hall. He then tossed the heavy pouch of coins onto the desk. It landed with a loud, definitive clank of gold. "Get me the best healer in this duchy," he commanded, his voice now a low, dangerous growl. "Before the sun is high in the sky."
The nurse, taken aback by the sound of real gold, stared at the pouch, then at the cold, icy blue eyes of the man before her. The amount was more than enough. She immediately scrambled to her feet and bowed.
Erwin straightened his hair and coat, his composure perfectly restored, and walked back to Elisa's parents.
…
Time passed. Seconds became minutes, and minutes stretched into agonizing hours. Erwin sat with the parents, the tapping of his shoe on the floor the only sound in their silent vigil.
"It's usually like this with the healers," the father said meekly, trying to fill the silence. "They operate on their own schedules. They show up when they feel like it." He gestured vaguely, a look of bitter acceptance on his face. "And since they can charge whatever they want for a few seconds of work... well... why should they care about being on time?"
After nearly six hours of waiting, a commotion erupted near the hospital entrance. The small crowd in the waiting room parted like water before a ship. And then, he walked in.
He was a man draped in opulent white and gold robes, golden rings and necklaces gleaming under the light. His fat fingers were adorned with expensive, gaudy jewelry, and his bloated figure barely squeezed through the hospital doorways. His round face was caked in excessive perfumes and powders, an arrogant sneer permanently fixed on his lips.
The healer stepped into Elisa's room, his robes swaying dramatically. He glanced down at the small, unconscious girl, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Is this the thing?" he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.
Erwin watched the people around him. The nurses, the other patients, even Elisa's own parents—no one reacted. No one flinched at their daughter being called a "thing."
The healer let out an exaggerated sigh and hovered a fat, ringed hand over Elisa's body. A soft, golden glow spread from his fingertips. The bruises faded. Her breathing steadied. Her wounds closed. In just a few seconds, she was healed. Her parents immediately rushed to her side, bowing to the healer. "Thank you! Thank you!"
The healer sneered. "To be called away from my morning meal just to heal a peasant," he scoffed, adjusting his gold rings. Then, without another word, he turned and left. Just like that.
Erwin stood perfectly still, watching the man disappear down the hall. He clenched his jaw. His fingers tightened into fists, his knuckles turning white. For the first time in a long while, he had to actively remind himself: 'Stay calm. Stay composed. Keep your cover.'
He took a slow, steadying breath. Then, finally, he muttered under his breath, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.
"This world is even more fucked up than I thought."
…
Erwin arrived at the precinct well past noon, the frustrating and infuriating wait for the healer having thrown his entire schedule off. He walked up to the front desk.
"Erwin Smith. Here to see Sergeant Lomare."
The receptionist, a woman in her mid-40s with glasses too big for her face, barely glanced up. She pulled a visitor's badge from a drawer, slid it across the counter, and jerked her head toward the hallway. "Follow the escort."
Sergeant Lomare was waiting for him in his small, cluttered office. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, a testament to a long and sleepless night. "Welcome, Erwin," he said, gesturing to a chair. "I've already given the order to take the suspects into custody, actually. Sorry for not informing you, but I needed to move fast before word got out."
Erwin felt a wave of relief. "No need to apologize, Sergeant," he said. "Just make sure to interrogate them carefully. The evidence is circumstantial until we match the prints."
"Listen," Lomare said, leaning forward, his voice low. "I'm grateful for your help here. But there's more to this case than we thought, and as a Watcher, I can't divulge much."
A wry smile touched Erwin's lips. "Then why are we in the privacy of your office, Sergeant?"
Lomare chuckled, a tired, humorless sound. "It's not fun talking to sharp people. Or maybe I've just gotten too used to the nepo-tectives." He sighed, the humor vanishing. "Anyway, there's a complication. This case... it might be taken over by the Magic Towers."
"Magic Towers?" Erwin repeated, the name instantly familiar from the books he had read in the Royal Library. They were the seats of power for the Athenean Concord.
"What do you mean by that?" Erwin asked, feigning ignorance.
"I'm sure you know," Lomare said, eyeing Erwin's sharp, foreign-style suit. "Since your accent sounds like you might be from the Concord yourself. There are protocols. We 'mortals', as they so kindly call us, can't touch any case that has a direct connection to magic."
"You're kidding," Erwin said, though he was beginning to understand. He remembered Celvise's pale face when she saw the runes on the trapdoor.
"So what can we do?" he asked.
Lomare sighed and looked out the window of his office, down at the interrogation rooms where the newly arrested teachers and the headmaster were being processed. Before he could answer, a new figure entered the precinct's main lobby. A man in the elegant, flowing robes of a mage. He walked with an arrogant stride, and as he reached the main staircase, he didn't bother to take the steps. He simply floated up to the second floor, directly to Captain Kilpo's office, and closed the door behind him.
Lomare's face fell. "Seems like we don't even have time to interrogate them."
Sure enough, less than five minutes later, Captain Kilpo's door flew open. The fat, greasy-haired captain came out shouting. "Release the suspects in the missing child case! Effective immediately! The matter will be handled by the Magic Towers!"
"Are you kidding me?!" Erwin snarled, his hand instinctively balling into a fist. He was about to storm out of the office and confront the captain, the mage, anyone.
But Lomare's hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder. "Don't," the sergeant warned, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "Protesting will do nothing but make it worse. The Towers can make life very difficult for the victims' families if they feel their authority is being questioned."
Erwin froze, his body rigid with a cold, suppressed fury. He was trapped, not by a lack of evidence, but by a system designed to keep people like him, and the families he was trying to help, completely powerless.
