PERFECTION: Brotherhood

Chapter 4: School Mystery

Previously in this book, dawn unveiled mysteries as Caith discovered an unexpected guest in her home. Markov, a curious visitor, delved into secrets, prompting a hasty departure. The TV echoed international intrigue, and Luther joined the intrigue. Markov's enigmatic departure coincided with Caith's revelation of a school murder, setting the stage for their shared journey into the unknown. 

Markov, Caith, and Mr. Luther ventured to the scene, drawn together by the revelation of a school murder. As they approached the unfolding mystery, the trio braced themselves for the unexpected twists that awaited them in the investigation.

As they made their way to the school campus, a police officer halted Markov, Caith, and Mr. Luther, citing restrictions on civilians.

"I am a journalist; let me through," insisted Mr. Luther.

"Sorry, sir, but we are ordered to mainta—" the officer began, interrupted by Caith.

"Let's go back, Dad. We have nothing to do here," Caith suggested.

"Yea, wait, where's Markov?" Mr. Luther questioned, prompting a search through the crowd

They scanned the crowd until they spotted Markov standing in one corner.

"What are you doing here?" Caith inquired.

"Do you know any backdoors to your school?" Markov questioned.

"What— Why?" Caith responded.

"I'll get into the campus. Wanna join?" Markov proposed.

"Right, as long as we don't get in any trouble," Caith agreed cautiously. She then guided Markov to a hidden back passage leading to the school, setting the stage for their unconventional entry.

In the deserted hallway, Caith questioned their presence, asking, "Why are we even here?"

Markov replied with determination, "I am gonna find the murderer."

Caith, baffled, retorted, "You are a complete weirdo."

"I could say the same to you," Markov countered. Caith took a step ahead and stopped, turning to Markov.

"How exactly?" she inquired.

"A typical 15-year-old wouldn't even dare to come here. Let alone a girl," Markov explained, hinting at the unusual nature of their venture into the heart of the mystery.

Markov ventured into the empty classroom before turning to Caith with a question. "Did you hate that boy?"

Caith took a breath and responded, "We all did. His name was-"

Ignoring the conversation, Markov proceeded to investigate further, checking the locker room of the boy who had been murdered.

Caith appeared annoyed with Markov's persistence. "Forget it. You'll never find the code to this locker," she remarked. Undeterred, Markov continued his attempts without turning back.

Caith couldn't resist asking, "Were you talking to yourself last night? 'Cause I heard you talking."

Finally, Markov turned back just as the locker behind him creaked open, revealing what lay inside.

"How did you open it?" Caith inquired.

"Quite easily. You have to notice the fingerprints on this thing," Markov explained.

"Isn't this a 4-digit code? How'd you know the sequence?" Caith asked.

"Do you know about one of the most common passwords?" Markov responded.

Caith stared at Markov with a blank look.

"It's their birth year. Now let's see what's inside," Markov suggested, unveiling the contents of the opened locker. As Markov uncovered a crumpled piece of paper within the locker, Caith moved a bit forward to inspect it. The note revealed a short but intriguing message: 

"We Are The Keepers of Peace"

"What does this mean?" Caith asked Markov.

"I've uncovered the mystery. This wasn't just a murder. It's about... sending a message," Markov replied, his eyes reflecting determination and realization.

"So what did you find out?" Caith inquired.

"It's him, the lord of criminals. My arch-nemesis," Markov declared, his tone laced with a sense of urgency. 

Markov and Caith emerged from the hidden room, leaving the place behind. Caith couldn't help but question, "Who is this arch-nemesis of yours?"

"He's a serial killer," Markov admitted.

"Does he know you?" Caith pressed for more information.

"He might. I've been trying my best to find him," Markov responded, revealing the gravity of the situation.

"Since?" Caith inquired.

"Five years..." Markov's words hung in the air, emphasizing the long and relentless pursuit that had consumed a significant part of his life.

As they walked towards Mr. Luther, they could see him engaged in a conversation with a police officer, the seriousness of their discussion evident in their body language.

The police officer looked at Markov and asked Mr. Luther, "This kid yours?"

"N- Yea, he's my son," Mr. Luther replied a hint of hesitation in his voice.

Markov played along with the act, casually greeting, "Good day, Officer." 

The officer nodded in response to Markov's greeting, while Caith observed them curiously about the unspoken truth. Mr. Luther concluded the conversation with the police officer, and the trio decided to leave the scene. 

"Since when did he become your son?" Caith questioned her father as they walked away from the scene.

"Hey, I want no trouble, alright? Also, where the heck were you both?" Mr. Luther inquired.

"Um, we—" Caith began, attempting to come up with an explanation.

"We were inside the school compartment," Markov interjected, choosing to speak the truth and maintaining eye contact with Luther

"We can expla—" Caith started to defend herself.

"You are grounded, miss," Mr. Luther interrupted, his tone firm and resolute. Caith frowned, turning around to see Markov had seemingly vanished.

"Where is Markov?" she asked.

"Let's go home. He might have already left us," Mr. Luther suggested, the uncertainty of the situation lingering as they headed back, leaving behind the mysteries of the school and the questions surrounding Markov's sudden disappearance.

(At another scene: Forest) Markov arrived here alone, muttering to himself, "Markos, be not afraid. We are here. This is a good spot." He stood in solitude, with no visible presence beside him. The rustling of grass caught his attention, signaling someone's approach.

"So, it was you, my arch-nemesis," Markov declared.

"Markos, why are you here?" The voice belonged to the old man who had been taking care of Markov, stepping out from the shadows of the forest.

"You wrote the hidden message with lemon juice, didn't you?" Markov asked, piecing together the mystery.

"Yes. So, you found me after all these years. Well, I wouldn't care to explain," the old man responded, a sense of resignation in his tone. He then pulled out a gun from his jacket, pointing it at Markov, signaling a confrontation that had been brewing beneath the surface for years