It was the middle of winter, and it had been two months since Wally had disappeared after going out to investigate a lead in a case. You, his secret partner, had found among the papers on his desk the name 'Edward Cranston' handwritten in red and surrounded by a circle. Although he, a local tycoon, was not infamous, his discretion made him suspicious.

One early Wednesday morning, around 3 a.m., a snowstorm was raging outside when you heard a knock on the door. The wind howled against the windows, and snowflakes danced wildly in the light of your porch lamp. With your heart racing and a gun in hand, you cautiously opened it, fearing the worst. Cold air rushed in, carrying the sharp scent of snow and something metallic.

In front of you stood a man staggering, covered in snow. You almost shot, but the dim light revealed Wally's face—pale and tired, with blood crusting at his nose and mouth, and a fresh scrape on his cheek. He slammed the door behind him, leaving a trail of melting snow on the floor. He looked at you, shivering violently, his clothes soaked through and his voice hoarse.

"I'm fine...just let me...pull myself together." He murmured, leaning heavily against the door for support.