"We should've brought our phones, Sandra." Arsy's tone turns pitiful. The dim lighting makes her frown more prominent, even from the ceiling-level camera.

I curl my knuckles as the heat in me grows dangerously hot. Who is behind this sick joke? Why should someone hack through the hidden cameras and send this to Roy's laptop?

Oddly enough, despite being so high in the ceilings, the camera still can receive their voices. The place looks deserted, full of sandy walls and dusty paths. Even the hiss at the slightest shift of their feet can reach the camera.

"Nonsense. Someone might track us." Sandra slaps Arsy's shoulder gently, offering a weak smile. Her drained voice makes my heart beat faster; if only she knows they're being tracked already. "We must stick together. Avoid bright places. Put on your mask"—she gestures to the patterned fabric collaring Arsy's neck—"and stay quiet. We're going to the First Lady's tomb."

Arsy adjusts her mask. "Do you think he's there? The First Lady died a decade ago."

"If the rumor is true, whose tomb will he visit daily besides hers?" Sandra chuckles as Arsy gives her a meaningful stare.

"Presidents and world leaders are, after all, famous for having more than a First Lady."

"They're in the Presidential Complex—in the Deep Tombs, to be precise." Roy knits his eyebrows together as he types on his phone with a heavy breath. The worry in his eyes is so clear that it makes my stomach lurch down.

If this matter worries a confident guy like Roy, how should I react, as the anxious one?

"What are they doing?" Mr. Orion sharply breathes in, which earns a scoff from Roy.

"You'll end up reporting this to Jorge, anyway. You don't need to know." He turns to me and takes over the laptop, his eyes observing the details of the ongoing scene. What is he looking at: the shadows from the lamps and lanterns, or the clueless girls, whose lives might be in danger?

Mr. Orion huffs as he steps away from the desk, throwing a swift glance at Lin-Irene. "We're leaving. Let him deal with this on his own."

Lin-Irene casts him a disapproving look, but as her gaze meets mine then moves to Roy's, she nods slowly, getting up from the floor. "I need to apologize—"

"I'll tell him later," I say as Mr. Orion's figure fades away in the distance. "You should catch up." Driven by my anxiety, I wet my lips before adding, "Be careful."

The simple words bring a small grin to her features, and as she puts up a brief thumbs-up, she mouths, "Good luck," before trailing behind her father.

It also earns me a smile, but not for long, once reality sinks into my brain. Whoever is tracking Sandra and Arsy down has known where we are as well, since they can find Roy's laptop's exact position.

Isn't that how it's supposed to work?

Roy returns the laptop in front of me. "Help me keep an eye on them, okay? I'll try to find out the gnat responsible for all these." There's a thick threat within his voice that makes me look up from the screen. His words of not getting more people hurt for his sake echo in my head, drilling the fact constantly.

So instead of continuing to panic, I refocus on the screen. Some shoulders roughly bump against mine, eager to find out what's going on. Some mechanical squeaks can also be heard.

Sandra and Arsy are moving deeper into the site, their steps shallow. Their shadows against the corridor's walls make the situation eerier than before. The lining-up paintings on the wall opposing the hidden camera show detailed battle scenes, like a burning mountain and fire-licked people, and also trees in the background with flames as their hair. The blinking red dot above that painting almost gives Sandra a reason to suspect something's off, but Arsy drags her forward instead—to the edge of the corridor, where it branches into five.

If she had noticed it, Roy's job would be done by now.

Sandra begins to lag behind Arsy as they choose the third road. Her steps become sluggish and weak, and she keeps on wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her head also bows several times, as if she needs more sleep. That won't be a surprise, knowing how Roy shares the same habit, and they've been best friends for years...

This corridor also has various paintings and orange-hued walls, similar to the previous. There are more doors between them though, with holographic signs—like the billboards in Dogson's streets—nailed above.

"They are going into the Deep Tombs," Mrs. Sybil mutters with a sullen tone next to me. "What are they going to find there? There is nothing but paintings, doors, and rooms of the warriors' dead bodies."

"Dead bodies?" I raise an eyebrow, scratching my nape as my heart beats quicker than before. "Do they bury people like this too in Dogson?"

"Of course," she huffs like it's the easiest thing she ever heard. "People are optimizing the land for general purposes. They let underground places like this to handle the dead. Sure, it's the same thing as the traditional burial, but just..."

"It's like they have no place in the upper world again, after they die," Grand-Mad's voice drifts from my back, containing a tinge of sadness. "Thank goodness my twins and Alexa died into ashes. They now have a place to go, where the wind carries them—to the clouds and above."

I swallow a huge lump of guilt. Memories of the three people threaten to reappear in my head, but I force them back for now. Flashbacks will get me nowhere. I must focus on Sandra and Arsy, or I will lose them.

"The camera keeps on switching, Lin-Roy," Xin-Yo squeaks from my shoulder, successfully snatching Roy's attention from his phone. "Whoever does this must be a technological expert."

"I know," Roy grumbles, ruffling his hair in frustration. Sighing, he plops himself on his mattress. "But this might be a device's doing too, Xin-Yo. I mean, isn't it possible? Yume Corporation seems to have enough resources to make something like this, moreover after they have the government's support..."

Once Xin-Yo makes its way to Roy, I block my ears from the sounds around me.

Sandra and Arsy are facing three paths now. Between them, a statue rises. It's a tree with branches as its staircases, and huge roots to anchor it on the circular slab—hold on, is it just me or this tree is familiar? Is that a house, wedged under the huge tree's leaves?

Does this mean something?

By now, Sandra's pace has fallen a lot behind Arsy's. She ends up dragging Sandra's wrist as they choose the second route. "Sandra, your muse isn't helping." She sounds weary as if she has talked too much these last few hours.

"Sorry. Are we close? I'm not the best with sports too—"

Tap.

Something is changing in Arsy's eyes. Something like raw panic.

What sound was that, and where did it come from? It was unclear, yet it should be somewhere...

Tap.

Arsy's eyebrows crease in worry as Sandra turns her head around. Their breathing becomes more labored. "Did you hear that, Arsy? Or is that just—"

Tap.

"Tell me you heard that too, please," Sandra whispers out, her arms tensed on her sides. Their pace increases. Arsy tugs her forward more urgently than before. "What do you think that was?"

"Footsteps. Different from the complex's guardians, though. This one's... weak."

Tap.

The image turns blurry as the two zoom past the corridors that follow after the last. Judging by Arsy's calmness and Sandra's held-back questions, one might think they've been here before. But what for? Do they have relatives who came from the wars that shaped Biliya Country?

As soon as the opened majestic door comes to view, my breath remains clogged in my throat. Unlike the previous doors, this one has a golden plaque above it, written with eye-pleasing handwriting.

"Kamal Section," Mrs. Sybil mutters next to me, almost making me jump away in shock. "So that's why they're here. They're looking for the president."

There are footsteps from this room, indeed. Arsy was right; they're weak. As if they can crumble anytime they clash too hard against the ground. At once, the camera switches its point of view—zooming from a face-level instead of the ceilings again.

It's like there's a ghost holding this camera, ready to aim the screen to its dead features. After all, this place is a tomb, right? There are lots of dead people here, and one of them might haunt this place forever since they didn't have a peaceful death...

The thought makes my skin crawl, and as I trace the goosebumps along my arms, Sandra and Arsy hide slightly before the door, discussing between themselves.

If only they know how they're already being tracked down. The thought fills me with guilt and regret, but a sense of hopelessness attacks me as well. There's no way we can let them know since they don't have their phones. And knowing how this bandit's hidden camera can catch the smallest of whispers, what can happen if either of them talks through the Onyx Agent Roy gave?

"Peek in." Arsy can't hide the fear in her oceanic eyes. "You know how he looks like, right?"

Sandra nods with a squeak. "Savannah-like black hair, lean shoulders, brown skin. But that was ten years ago, on his last official announcement. We never have access to his looks anymore since then."

"Just peek in already." Fishing out Roy's Rubik's Shield, Arsy braces near the doorframe, her stance signaling how she'll scuttle away once the hard part ends. "He must be seventy by now."

The camera changes its point of view again—now into the mysterious room, back on its ceilings. A hunch-backed man with hair grayer than steel is sitting on a stool, his feet tapping against the ground as he hums a dreary tune to the glass tomb he's facing. A cane lies forgotten underneath.

The rapid beating of my heart pauses as I approach the laptop screen. Is this Biliya's president, Benjamin Kamal? Have they truly found him?

"Got it." Roy's exclamation snaps my attention away from the unknown man. "I now know who's behind all these. Good thing I've learned how to track down some information—"

"Who—or what—is it?" I cut in. He can save his smart rambles for another day.

Roy's glances around for a while before saying, "Do you remember Ivon Fray's nickname from that other day? When Sandra explained what she saw on the treehouse's doorknob?"

"Was it an eye?" Miro chimes in. "That's all I remember."

Roy offers him a short, gentle smile. "It's good if you can remember. But yes, an eye. Ivon Fray's nickname is The Overseer. What does an overseer do, Allice?"

They watch other people, don't they? They're watchers, after all. Wait, but then everything will make sense, from this all-seeing-and-hearing camera; the treehouse statue from earlier, which fits the description of Ivon Fray's rather than Roy's; and Ivon Fray's nickname. He also lives in the Presidential Complex since he's one of the president's most trusted staff, and he has tried several times to stop Sandra and Arsy from visiting the president...

"For once, Allice, your out-loud muttering has a good purpose." Roy smirks weakly, before it turns into a flat line, filled with concern. "But now that we've solved that, how should we tell them? The Overseer is watching all of us. And it seems that Sandra and Arsy have entered a trap without knowing it..." he trails off. "Now it all depends on the president's mercy."