COLD

Chapter 4

Yesterday,

19:25 PM.

His arrival was immediate. Stepping out of the sleek, black Aventador, Stephan stared into a world of impossible, breathtaking scale.

He stood before towering white stone walls that shimmered beneath the pale moonlight, their razor-sharp spires vanishing upward into low, freezing veils of mist. The sprawling mountain estate felt less like a private residence and more like an ancient monument built explicitly to guard terrifying secrets.

With numbed limbs, he marched up a sweeping, monumental marble staircase. Massive double doors parted before him with a synchronized mechanical whisper, revealing a grand hall that looked as if it belonged in a forgotten, prehistoric dream.

Monolithic pillars of pure white stone rose majestically into the high shadows of the vaulted ceiling. Beneath his shoes, the polished floor gleamed like treacherous black ice under the cold, clinical radiance of massive sky-blue chandeliers. Every single footstep rang out with an intrusive, echoing heavy thud, as though the building itself were actively listening and measuring his weight.

As he walked, Stephan’s gaze drifted along the vast western wall, instantly drawn by a row of solemn, larger-than-life portraits. One ornate silver frame in particular seized his attention, freezing the breath in his lungs.

Three figures stared back out of the canvas.

A stern, imposing man with iron-gray hair stood protectively behind a woman and a young girl. His face carried subtle, far more terrifying distinctions—deeper lines of ruthless experience, and a sharper, predatory intensity in his light blue eyes. The woman beside him was ethereally beautiful, with pale-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like spun silk. The daughter, who looked no older than seventeen, was her absolute mirror—possessing identical, luminescent sky-blue eyes, the same delicate jawline, and the exact subtle, aristocratic arch of the brow.

The sight of those eyes sent a violent, inexplicable shiver rushing straight down Stephan's spine, triggering a sudden, phantom ache in his chest. His fingers hovered mere inches from the glass face of the portrait, trembling with a sudden, desperate urge to touch the painted canvas.

“Mr. Hellinghammer.”

A calm, level voice echoed sharply down the long corridor. The handler approached unhurriedly, his brief facade of warmth instantly turning ice-cold as he took in Stephan's fixation. “I see the Linchsteyn family has caught your interest.”

Stephan nodded with a dangerous affirmation, his gaze utterly locked onto the painted faces, unable to tear himself away. “Yes… I am quite curious about them,” he replied, his voice dangerously low. “Especially the mother and child.”

The handler smiled briefly, his gaze escaping Stephan's cold, death-like stare. “Well, my master has been expecting your arrival, Mr. Hellinghammer.” He spoke smoothly, his tone remaining calm and laced with professional respect.

Stephan gave a subtle nod. Both men marched toward a pair of towering, ancient oak doors at the far end of the long gallery. The handler's gloved hands closed tightly around the heavy, rusted iron rings.

With a deafening groan, the massive oak doors parted.

Warm, heavy amber light spilled outward from the room, aggressively pushing back the gallery's shadows and bathing Stephan’s pale bronze face in its golden glow. He blinked rapidly, his pupils straining to adjust to the sudden warmth. Halfred Ahdelsen stepped forward with smooth, deliberate movements, wordlessly leading him into the sanctuary.

The study was a breathtaking monolith of forbidden knowledge and corporate secrets. Towering, shadowed bookshelves stretched all the way from the floor to the vaulted ceiling like silent, dusty sentinels guarding lost histories. The dense air carried the rich, comforting scent of aged leather, polished wood, and crumbling parchment. For a fleeting, dizzying second, Stephan felt a jarring shock of inexplicable comfort—as though some deeply buried, un-erased part of his soul intimately recognized this exact room.

Yet, the desk at the center shattered any sense of peace. It was cluttered with yellowed expedition journals, highly complex topographical maps, and jagged, obsidian-like fragments of alien black stone that actively seemed to swallow the ambient light. Bizarre artifacts lined the walls—objects that looked horrifyingly half-machine and half-ancient relic.

As the heavy doors creaked shut behind him, Stephan felt the crushing weight of unseen gazes pressing down on him. Some felt like they emanated from the cold portraits in the hall. Some belonged to the immediate present. And perhaps, some belonged to a force that had been waiting in the dark far longer than either. For the first time since waking up in the sterile lab, the terrifying emptiness inside his skull no longer felt like a tragic loss. It felt like the opening note of a long-awaited song.

Ahdelsen remained perfectly still by the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, his face an unreadable mask. Stephan turned to question him, but his gaze was instantly dragged toward the dark silhouette of a man seated behind the massive oak desk. The stranger’s light blue eyes shimmered with an unnatural, faint luminescence in the low light. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, watching Stephan with a cold, predatory, and absolute focus.

“I believe we have a great deal to discuss, Mr. Hellinghammer,” the man said. His voice was a low, melodic baritone, utterly devoid of human emotion.

Stephan slowly turned in the direction of the voice, his eyes meeting the silhouette staring at him from behind the desk. “I was sent to you concerning a job,” Stephan muttered, his voice void of warmth, yet entirely free of fright.

“Is that so?” The silhouette raised an eyebrow, rising from his seat as he stood taller than Stephan had anticipated. “I believe your handler would have told you the nature of the job,” he began, wearing a dark, mysterious smirk.

“He said you would tell me about it yourself,” Stephan replied, the words creeping out of his lips as he clasped his hands behind his back.

A dark, mysterious chuckle escaped the stranger’s lips. He stepped toward a side cabinet, pouring a measure of whiskey into a heavy crystal glass. He took in a deep breath, his chest rising with a force, before letting out a thin cloud of condensation through his nostrils. “Xander did teach you well,” he complimented lowly.

“He did,” Stephan agreed.

Rheinhard's face remained static, the dark, mysterious smirk playing on his lips as his eyes squinted at Stephan, searching for anything hidden behind those deep grey eyes. Yet, there was nothing. They were a complete void.

Taking a sip, the older man cleared his throat. “I'm hiring you to protect my daughter, Hildegard.”

Stephan raised an eyebrow. “You're hiring me to protect your daughter?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Rheinhard answered.

Stephan breathed in deeply, his eyes narrowing at Rheinhard as a surge of questions roamed instantly through his mind. “Why?” he demanded coldly. “Why hire me to protect your child? Isn't that a job for a father?”

Studying Stephan for a moment, Rheinhard finally broke the heavy silence between them. “Yes, it is,” he murmured, escaping Stephan's gaze as he looked toward the window, watching the gentle snowfall outside. “But I don't want her to be here.”

Stephan looked away. Family business was never his concern. “How much?” he breathed.

A cold smirk instantly escaped Rheinhard's lips, his light blue eyes glowing with a sense of hidden calculation. “How about I pay you half, twenty-five thousand Markel, right now? Then I will pay you the remaining half upon completion. How is that?”

Stephan let out a deep, contemplating breath, boring his gaze into Rheinhard's eyes. “Twenty-five thousand Markel in two installments… that would be fifty.” he observed, his voice dangerously low.

“Good,” Rheinhard murmured, moving back toward his study desk. He pulled a thick file of documents from a drawer and extended them to Stephan. “Here.”

Stephan collected the folder, opening it to scan through every letter of the documents, his eyes narrowed with dangerous precision.

“That contains every piece of information you need about her,” Rheinhard uttered, before taking another slow sip of his whiskey.

Stephan paused at a specific page. His eyes squinted at an old, grainy photograph buried inside the file. As he drew it out, his fingers tightened against the edges. The photograph revealed a massive, pyramid-like architecture swallowed by a towering shelf of ancient glacial ice.

His eyes frowned, a heavy weight sinking into his chest as his mind struggled to process what he was looking at.