Camila Cho had been a rising star on Broadway before landing the lead in Thousand Nights in Ballet Land, the new musical from an Oscar-winning director. That role had made her the target of Karen Lawrence, a rival who believed the part was hers by right and that Camila had stolen it through backroom deals.
Her boyfriend, Hector Tin, was a different kind of soul. A veteran who had retired after taking shrapnel to the leg in Bactria five years ago, he now worked for the Wounded Warrior Project. They had met at a charity gala three years ago and moved in together last year.
The day he vanished, Camila had been at the film studio. When she returned home that night, she found a single note pinned to the fridge:
“I have to leave. I’ve lost hope in you and this country. I’m going abroad for work. Don’t look for me; I don’t deserve you.”
His clothes, shaver, wallet, and military bags were gone.
Camila’s calls and texts were met with a wall of silence. Desperate, she reached out to his coworkers, but none of them had seen him or heard a single word about a plan to move abroad.
The following morning, Camila took a day off from the studio. She spent the hours retracing his life, visiting his office, talking to his friends, and finally making a heartbreaking call to his parents. She gained nothing but more questions. It was Hector’s superior who eventually suggested she contact the authorities.
The police arrived, but their investigation was perfunctory. They glanced at the note, scanned the apartment, and pulled the building’s CCTV footage. The digital timestamps were cold and final: Hector had left at 7:33 a.m. and returned at 11:27 a.m. Thirty-four minutes later, the cameras caught him leaving for the final time, burdened by a suitcase and two military bags. To the police, it was a closed case of a man walking out.
It was four days after Hector’s disappearance when Trevor first met Camila. By nightfall, he convened an urgent video briefing with the rest of the team to present the facts.
“She doesn’t buy the ‘departure’ story,” Trevor told the team. “Hector’s friends and parents haven’t heard a word about him moving. More importantly, Camila watched the footage. She’s convinced the man who returned at 11:27 wasn’t Hector. Hector’s leg injury is severe; even with his exoskeleton, he struggles to carry heavy loads. The man in the video was carrying two military bags and a suitcase with ease. Plus, he wore a low-profile cap, never showed his face.”
“Classic infiltration,” Report Man noted. “The person returning was likely an imposter. Did she tell the police that?”
“The police ignored her,” Trevor said. “They just shrugged and claimed the exoskeleton probably gave him more strength than she gave him credit for.”
“And that is exactly why she needs us,” Lady News said. “Unfortunately, Report Man and I are tied up in Milan for Fashion Week, after which we’re heading straight to Paris. We won’t be back until January 26th, just in time for the Cheval Blanc Soirée. If we take this case, the heavy lifting on the ground will have to fall on you and Spion.”
“We’ll provide the analytical backbone from here,” Report Man added. “Keep the group thread updated with every data point you find.”
“Copy that,” Trevor said. “Spion, do you have an opening to hit Camila’s apartment with me tomorrow?”
“Perfect timing, actually,” Spion replied, his voice slightly distorted by a laggy connection. “There’s a massive student strike on campus tomorrow—protesting that ICA(Immigration and Customs Authority) shooting of those civilians—so my afternoon classes were scrapped. I’m free to move.”
“Great. We’ll meet there at 4:00 p.m. once Camila is off-set.”
With the team in sync, the case was officially live. The next day, with a couple of subway transfers, Trevor and Spion arrived at Camila’s apartment.
While not overtly luxurious, the space was spacious and radiated a quiet, stylish comfort. The living room featured a seamless blend of sleek minimalism and the playful, bold accents of Scandinavian design. In the bedroom, a compact walk-in closet was filled to capacity with Camila’s attire, stripped of any sign that a man had ever lived there.
“He’s a simple man. He didn’t have much,” Camila said softly as Trevor and Spion examined the bedroom.
“Did he say anything unusual before he left?” Trevor asked. “Any strange behavior?”
“Nothing stood out,” Camila said, her voice trailing off. “That morning was just like any other. I woke up before him, rushed out for the studio, and told him I’d probably be home late. The night before, he’d mentioned buying a box of chocolates. I told him to save them for the weekend so we could enjoy them together. I’ve been so consumed by this role… maybe that’s why he left.”
“The chocolate,” Trevor interjected. “Is it still here?”
“Yes, I haven’t touched it. It was strange—we don’t really eat sweets. He said he found them on sale and just wanted to be romantic. I told him he didn’t need to do all that; that he should save his money so we could move to Beverly Hills one day. You know, where the ‘real stars’ live.” Camila’s eyes suddenly widened as a look of horror crossed her face. “Could those words have hurt him? I was only joking… I didn’t mean it like that.”
“We can’t be sure yet,” Trevor said, gently changing the subject to ease her guilt. “Can we see the note?”
“Yes,” Camila whispered, wiping her eyes. “Follow me into the kitchen.”
The note remained on the fridge, held by a Cupid-themed magnet. It was printed on a clean sheet of regular letter-sized paper, the sharp black ink lacking the personal touch of a pen.
Trevor leaned in, squinting. “Why print this? It’s fewer than thirty words. Handwriting is faster than setting up a printer.”
Spion, meanwhile, was looking at a gold box on the counter. “Is this the chocolate?”
“Yes,” Camila whispered, nodding as she crossed the room. She picked up the gold box, cradling it in her hands as if it were a fragile relic.
Trevor’s gaze drifted to a nearby vase holding a fresh bouquet of roses. “He certainly leaned into the romance,” he remarked quietly. “The flowers, the chocolate.”
“No,” Camila said, her voice dropping. “The flowers arrived this morning. They’re from a friend, Mr. Goblinez.” She looked down at the chocolate box, her thumb tracing the gold edge. “Would you like one? Forgive me, I haven’t offered you anything to eat or drink.”
“No, thank you,” Spion said gently. “That was a gift from your boyfriend. We shouldn’t.”
“He’s right,” Trevor added. “We should probably focus on the CCTV footage. There isn’t much else for us to see here.”
“That might be a problem,” Camila explained, her hands trembling slightly as she pried open the lid. “The ICA took our doorman into custody yesterday. I have to go through the property manager now, and they’re notoriously slow.” The lid came off, revealing twelve artisanal chocolates shaped like the signs of the zodiac. “Please, take one. I have to maintain my figure for the film, so I won’t be eating many of them anyway.”
“Thank you,” Trevor said, selecting the Scorpio.
Spion offered a small, appreciative grin and picked up the Cancer.
“I’m a Scorpio as well,” Camila murmured, a ghost of a smile appearing for the first time. “And Hector is a Pisces. We’re all water signs.” She reached for the Pisces chocolate and took a small, hesitant bite.
“This is actually incredible,” Trevor noted. He took a second, larger bite, but mid-chew, his expression froze. Something hard and metallic clicked against his teeth. He reached into his mouth and pulled the object out, his eyes widening as he wiped away the chocolate. Resting in his palm was a glittering diamond ring.
The room went deathly silent.
“Now you can be sure he didn’t plan to leave you,” Spion whispered, his voice thick with realization. “He originally planned to propose to you.”