Cool air burst against his face just as he opened the windows.
The sky was clear, almost too clear, no clouds in sight. The Sun shone bright without barrier, though the temperature were just as it always were in the winter of Turkey--cold and breezy.

Cars drove past on the roads and pedestrians walked in the streets. He could hear vendors shouting and the ringing of bells.
The apartment was in a faded shade of beige from the outside, railings and pipes in brick red.

He leaned against the the window, black eyes out to the normal daily life of the citizens of Atakum, Samsun.

Lucky them.

It wasn't a normal occasion for him to see all this.
But he'd taken the day off.

"Baba!"

He turned around, and smiled.
His little daughter--his most precious treasure--ran to him with her long, dark hair uncombed. She wore the long-sleeved striped shirt Ulrike picked the other day.

"Baba, baba!" she clung to his legs, and looked up with a big fat beam on her face. She had the cheek fat as her mother's, and inherited the straight, thick hair. Her eyes-dark and warm-came from Tacitus himself. "Will you send me to the kindergarten today?"

He slowly knelt down. "I'm kind of busy, sayın."

"But you're not working."

"That's right. I'm not," he nodded, kissing her head when she frowned. "But I have other things to do. I'll be pick you up from school, though. Is that okay?"

"Eat with us, too?" her eyes glinted.

"Yes," he promised. "Yes, I'll be free after lunch."

"Promise." she held up her small pinky finger.

"I promise." he hooked his with it, a bittersweet smile on his face.

A promise.

Why didn't you keep yours, Ulrike?

"Will mutter be back?" she asked innocently, to which he stiffened at. "Will she call tonight?"

She won't be at ease until she see that Wild Hunt she wants to see so much.
Why didn't you call for three days, Ulrike?

"I don't know, she's very busy," he touched her soft cheeks. "But we can call her tonight."

She nodded.
"Galilea," his mother's voice rung as she stepped in the open living room, a blue comb in her sick, pale hands. "Come here."

She obliged, sitting on her oma's lap on the black leather cushion against the wall. The whole interior of the house was in a modern shade of grey, the curtains in indigo blue left hanging free.

The fan in between two simple rod lamps spun slowly with a creak. In the middle of the living room was a furry rug, and by the side of it, a decent television. Bookshelves in white decorated the space beside it, Galilea's toys in wooden storage boxes at the opposite end.

One big framed picture of the family--Tacitus and Ulrike, in love and young and with baby Galilea in their arms--hung above the television like a ghostly reminder of her non-presence.

Where are you?
What's going on?

Galilea groaned when the comb pulled back her hair. "Oma!" she whined. "Oma, it hurts!"

"That's why you need to comb it everyday."

Her old eyes swept over her son, despite still scolding her granddaughter. Tacitus gave a smile, his arms nonchalantly crossed.

A mother knew her children well.

Because she was frowning and shaking her head, then moved her focus to the comb.

And when their eyes met for a slight second, there was a tinge of sadness, of hope, of pity, in hers.

He sighed.

"It's time to go, Galilea." she said. "Take your bag."

Galilea happily ran in to get it.

"Tacitus Page," even if he was a grown, married adult, when mother called his full name, he knew it was serious. "What is going on?"

"Nothing."

"Do not lie to your Anne."

Her tone was stern. Her eyes were set, furious and sharp, despite the greying strands of hair almost into them.

"Ulrike."

"Where is she?"

"Germany."

"And what is wrong with that?"

"She didn't call, Anne," he looked away. "No news from her at all for the past 3 days."

"She is a busy gorme, more so than you."

"I've retired from creäture-hunting, and she plans to too," he stepped closer. "But first she wants to see something called the Wild Hunt in Germany."

"Then you know she would be tired and distracted."

"I'm still worried."

"She is a fighter, and she fights well," she said tenderly. "We will pray for her safety, but the rest of fate is up to her. She is a smart, grown woman. I don't let just any woman marry my son."

"I suppose," he gave a small smile, a hand in his curly short hair.

"Trust your Anne, Tacitus."

"Yes, Anne."

Galilea ran to them with her bag over her shoulder. Her grandmother stood up slowly, hands clutching the walls.

Tacitus rushed over and offered his arm, which she accepted as she took a step towards the door.

"Do not worry," she whispered with a soft, reassuring squeeze. "We will pray nothing bad happens to her."

He nodded quietly.

Innocent Galilea hugged Tacitus's leg. He laughed, for a moment full and happy, and brushed a lock of her hair. "Be good in kindergarten."

"I will!"

With a slight nod, his mother led her out of the house.

What came after was silence.

He paced into his room and picked up his phone from his small bed, punched numbers and raised it to his right ear.

It was fairly small, but homely and had always put him at ease.

Soft blue peeling walls and an open window Ulrike always refused to close.

She likes the fresh wind outside.

A small shelf tucked at the corner of the room, full of books he read and books he bought for her.

She doesn't like reading.

He closed his eyes.
She likes cakes.
Desserts.
Food in general.

Looking at the bed, at her side of the bed, at the whole room in general, brought back painfully happy memories in his head.

Please be alright.

Beep.
Beep.

"Pick up the phone," he muttered. "Ulrike, please."

A long beep.

He sighed, crumpling to the ground.

He pressed his face on the side of his bed, one hand clutching his phone so tightly it would break. His other hand tugged on his own hair, and he screamed out-out of anger and frustration and worry and fear.

He had no doubt she would be alright.

But he also had no doubt she could be in trouble.

Hurt, in some way.

3 days.
Ulrike never leaves her phone more than 6 hours.
Ulrike never breaks her promises.
She loves that phone.

And then his phone rung.
It was an anonymous number. It could be anyone.

Maybe it's her.
Maybe her phone got lost.

He picked it up instantly.

"Hello? Ulrike?"
"Tacitus Page."

His breath caught in his throat."You."

He hadn't heard the voice for 3 years since he retired from creäture-hunting.
Calm, cold.
Calculating.

He could almost recall their first meeting, the first time he saw the eyes as cold as ice--the hair as white as snow.
The straight posture they would always be in. Straight lips and an eyebrow up always on their face.
A witness when he proposed to Ulrike.

"Yes. Pleasure to hear from you again. I trust there is a problem with Ulrike Galiena?"

Maybe she's with them.

"Yes," his voice rasped, his hands into fists. "Where is she? Do you know?"

"Hmm, there were similar cases with Nolan Teagan of Ireland and Puteri Nafiya of Malaysia. Their relatives were reporting cases that they were missing."

"Missing?"

"These three are our most experienced, best Sights of the world, and just yesterday, 6 more were lost without a trace, before that 5 and before that 4. There seems to be a pattern."

"Even those stupid magical gems?"

"I am afraid to say, Mr Page, they are not working, completely in an impassive state."

"Then do you know where they are, Aphra?"

I need my Ulrike.

"No," a sigh. "But we will lay a plan to figure these issues as fast as we can."

"Why are you calling me?"

"I wanted to keep track of the Sights still able to contact," another sigh. "It is getting lesser and lesser."

"Then get them back," he croaked. "Get my Ulrike back."

"We have made our move, Tacitus Page."

"It better be quick."

"We've hired recruits that we dare to guarantee would never get missing the same way. They might not accept the offer, but we've alerted them to come to the headquarters."

"Who...are these people?" he draped one arm over his bed, picking on the drapes. "Who is responsible to find my Ulrike?"

"They go by the names Theodore Too of Bondi, Chloe Malakós of Athens, Aloin Génial of Loire-Atlantique, Kwame Helder of Gabon, Amaya Fumihiko of Kyushu and Sakima Lotstein of Michigan."

"Hold on, Chloe?" he crinkled his nose. "She's sixteen."

"Yes, I am aware, Tacitus Page."

"Teenagers?" he groaned. "You hired teenagers?"

"Six best. The six best teenager Sights we can find," they explained. "All who are taken are only certificated official Sights, which would be titles earned at 18. These Sights have yet to be official--they will not be a target."

"You can't confirm that."

"We will take a risk. A small one. Loss of unofficial Sights is not as impactful to the League."

"You're crazy," he said. His heart burned, his stomach twisting. "These teenagers have a family and a life they should enjoy while they could. Their loss would mean a decrease in the number of Sights in general."

They should enjoy while they can.
They don't know anything yet.

"Ah, but you haven't seen them in action," they replied. "We have, from the magical gems. They're not weak and naive, Tacitus. They have their own wisdom--and the energy and passion we rightly need for the mission."

"Whatever it is," he sighed, his head feeling light and heavy, both at the same time. "Find Ulrike."

"I will not promise anything."