— COMMISSIONER SIEGMUND —
Today was a beautiful day.
The sun was shining. Morning dew glittered in the light, and his cigarette tasted especially good.
Siegmund could feel it—this day would be his day.
Everything around him seemed to whisper the same words: Today is your day.
The commissioner was absolutely convinced of it.
Just last night, he had dug deeper into the true nature of the Bernheim family—and he had uncovered several things the state would most certainly not approve of.
Yet one crucial piece was still missing.
Hard evidence.
The child.
The gray-haired man gazed down from the balcony at the city below. Behind the glass door, his office looked as chaotic as ever—but it was a chaos he navigated flawlessly. In his hand, he held Marcel Bernheim's file, and on his tongue lingered the taste of victory.
He would still need proof.
But he was certain he would find it today.
"Today is the funeral," he said as he heard his colleague Wilhelm enter the office. "We'll attend. Have you prepared everything?"
"As ordered, sir," Wilhelm replied obediently.
Siegmund flicked his cigarette off the balcony, turned around, and smiled at him.
"Then let's go. I can hardly wait."
The drive didn't take long. The commotion at the cemetery on the outskirts of Straßn irritated him.
Eventually, he and Wilhelm sat down in the last row of chairs, giving them a perfect view of the gathering.
At the front stood an old, bald man—mouth moving endlessly—in the Church of the Many-Faced, reading from a prepared script.
Siegmund barely listened.
What truly caught his attention was the Bernheim family seated in the front row.
On the platform lay two coffins. One was closed. The other was open, revealing old Gustav Bernheim—once a loyal servant of the state… until he chose a different path.
The bald priest didn't speak for long, praising the good deeds of the deceased, especially Gustav's.
Siegmund silently added to himself:
And yet he betrayed the nation.
Afterward, the guests were invited to say a few words or pay their respects. The official part had ended. Soon, the burial would begin.
Marcel Bernheim was the first to stand.
He stepped forward, turned to the guests, and said, "It is tragic to lose such a man. He will always be remembered—and to me personally, he was a great role model."
Then he turned toward the coffin.
Beside him, a small girl suddenly stood up—perhaps seven, maybe almost eight.
Dressed entirely in black, wearing a long skirt and a low-pulled hat, she grabbed his hand.
As they approached the grandfather's body, she began to cry.
Interesting.
Siegmund watched closely as more members of the Bernheim family stepped forward.
Wilhelm, usually inseparable from his notepad, stared ahead with suspicion.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Siegmund asked, a wide, confident smile forming on his face.
"I… don't know," Wilhelm replied cautiously.
Siegmund pointed forward—directly at the small girl dressed in black.
"That," he said softly, "is our missing proof."
"Proof of what?"
"Of what?" Siegmund repeated, sounding offended. "Have you forgotten why we're here?"
Wilhelm looked startled. "To find out… why both of them died…"
"No," Siegmund hissed. "To expose the Bernheims as traitors—and to find the murderer. The beast-folk."
Wilhelm nodded, though doubt still lingered on his face.
They continued to observe in silence.
Once the last farewell had been made, the coffin was closed. The guests were asked to leave, and Siegmund followed Wilhelm outside.
Pallbearers lifted both coffins and carried them out. The crowd parted to let them pass.
Siegmund calmly observed everything, never losing sight of Marcel—and the child holding his hand.
The procession began to move.
Blending in, dressed in black like the others to feign sympathy, Siegmund slowly approached the Bernheim family. Outwardly mourning—while inwardly rejoicing at the thought of their downfall.
The little girl continued to cry, unlike the other children, who remained quiet.
She really must be the one I'm looking for.
Unobtrusively, he drew closer, walking beside Marcel and the girl as they followed the family.
With a victorious smile, he spoke: "A sad day, isn't it? Even though the sun is shining. As if the sky were indifferent to the suffering of the earth."
Marcel shot him a sharp look.
"Who are you?" he snapped. "A poet?"
"No," Siegmund replied calmly. "Someone who brings the truth to light."
"A journalist? We don't need one here."
Siegmund scoffed. "Hardly. I am someone who seeks the truth—and finds it. Don't you find it strange how your ex-wife and your father died?"
"Strange?" Marcel replied coldly. "What's strange about it?"
They walked in step. The child clung to Marcel's hand, trying to hide from Siegmund's gaze.
"Well," the commissioner continued, "I've taken a close look at everything. And it's clear that someone is responsible."
Marcel's eyes widened for a brief moment.
I've got you, Siegmund thought triumphantly. He knows. This is what I've been waiting for.
"What… are you talking about?" Marcel asked, staring straight ahead at the coffins.
"I mean that someone has been pulling the strings. And I believe you know who."
Marcel fell silent.
Siegmund had him exactly where he wanted him.
"And I'm sure," he continued, stepping to the other side, reaching toward the girl's hat, "you'll assist me in finding this person."
Marcel seemed frozen, even as his legs carried him forward.
Just as Siegmund's fingers touched the trembling hat, a pale hand—emerging from an unusual black suit—grabbed his wrist.
Siegmund recoiled in shock.
He turned and found himself staring into the face of a pale man with black hair and a wide, unsettling smile.
"You do know what people call men who touch other people's children, don't you?" the man asked calmly.
Siegmund froze, then tore his hand free.
"Who are you?"
"A companion," the strange man replied. He was grotesque—taller than anyone else—yet strangely unremarkable in the crowd.
"Someone who is always there."
A chill ran down Siegmund's spine. He took a step back.
"What are you doing here?"
"Accompanying," the man said with a casual shrug. "And perhaps… protecting."
Cold dread crept through Siegmund's body.
He stopped walking, letting the procession move on without him.
What was that?
He had been so certain of his victory. And then this man appeared and disrupted everything.
Who was he?
Siegmund knew the Bernheims were traitors. He knew the child was a beast-folk.
But this man…
A threat radiated from him—one far more terrifying than any extremist beast-folk group Siegmund had ever faced.
Wilhelm approached cautiously.
"Sir… are you all right?"
Siegmund stared after the procession, his eyes burning with rage.
"You're next," he whispered to himself.
Ignoring his colleague, he stepped past him and walked away.