Alya was still standing in front of the desk when Raka placed the old photograph between them.
Neither of them said a word.
The only sound was the rain outside the window.
Alya picked up the photograph again. Her finger touched her father's face, then moved to the woman standing beside him.
“I've never seen this woman before.”
Raka studied the photograph carefully. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about the boy in the back?”
Alya shook her head. “I don't know him either.”
Raka pointed to the man in the photograph. “That's your father?”
“Yes.”
“And the house behind them?”
“Our old house.”
Alya turned the photograph over. The writing on the back was still clear.
The first trial begins with a sin from the past.
She swallowed.
“Why is my father in this photograph?”
Raka didn't answer right away. “We'll find out tomorrow.”
Alya stared at him. “I don't want to wait until tomorrow.”
“You're scared.”
“That's exactly why I want to know.”
Raka fell silent.
Alya raised her face. “If this boy is connected to all the murders, I need to know who he is.”
“We'll find him.”
“And if the killer really is connected to my family?”
Raka looked at Alya for a long moment before answering, “Then we'll find that connection.”
Alya nodded slowly.
But there was one thing she didn't say.
For the first time since the case began, she was starting to trust Raka.
At eight in the morning, a police car stopped in front of Alya's old house.
The house stood at the end of a fairly deserted road. Its yard was overgrown with weeds. The paint on the walls had begun to peel, and parts of the fence were rusted.
Alya stood at the gate, staring at the place that had once been her home.
The last time she came here, the house still held so many memories.
Now it felt different.
As if the house were hiding something she had never known about all these years.
Raka got out of the car with two police officers.
“Do you still remember where the key is?”
Alya nodded.
She took the old key from her bag.
But before putting it into the lock, she stopped.
“That's strange.”
“What?”
“It looks like the door has been opened before.”
Raka immediately moved closer.
“Why do you think that?”
Alya pointed to the doorknob.
There were small scratches around the keyhole.
“These weren't here the last time I came.”
Raka gestured to one of the officers.
“Check it.”
The officer put on gloves and examined the doorknob.
A few seconds later, he turned around.
“Sir, there are pry marks.”
Raka immediately looked at Alya.
“Are you sure you never told anyone about this house?”
Alya shook her head.
“No.”
Raka nodded.
“Then someone did get inside.”
The door was finally opened.
The smell of dust and damp air greeted them at once.
Alya stepped inside.
The living room was still almost exactly as it had been two years ago.
The old sofa.
The wooden cabinet.
The wall clock that had stopped.
And her family photograph still hanging on the wall.
Alya stood in the middle of the room.
She felt as if she had become a little girl again.
But the feeling lasted only a few seconds.
Raka suddenly said, “Alya.”
“What?”
“Look at this.”
He pointed to the floor near the cabinet.
A long line marked where the dust had been wiped away.
As if someone had just moved a heavy object.
Alya moved closer.
“The cabinet.”
Raka signaled to two police officers to move it.
The wooden cabinet shifted slowly.
Behind it was a small door that almost blended into the wall.
Alya's eyes widened.
“I never knew there was a door there.”
Raka looked at her.
“Then we've just found something even you didn't know about.”
The door was locked.
Raka took a key from his pocket.
But before he could insert it, Alya saw something.
A small carving in the wood.
A judge's gavel.
Her heart immediately began pounding.
“Raka…”
“I see it.”
Raka inserted the key.
Click.
The door opened.
Behind it was a small, dark room.
And on the farthest wall…
hung seven photographs.
A photograph of Dimas.
A photograph of Ratu.
A photograph of a victim they hadn't identified yet.
A photograph of Alya.
And three other photographs she had never seen before.
Below the seven photographs was a large message written in red:
SEVEN CASES. SEVEN VICTIMS. ONE DEFENDANT.
Alya covered her mouth.
Raka stood beside her, his expression turning grim.
“This isn't just a serial murder case.”
Alya stared at her own photograph.
“This is a trial.”
Suddenly, they heard something fall from the second floor.
Crash!
Alya and Raka turned at once.
Raka signaled for the two officers to stay where they were.
Then he drew his weapon and started up the stairs.
Alya followed behind him.
“Don't get too far from me,” Raka whispered.
They reached the second floor.
There was no one there.
But one of the bedroom doors was open.
Alya was sure all the doors had been closed before.
Raka approached it.
“Is anyone in there?”
There was no answer.
He pushed the door open slowly.
The room was empty.
There was only a small table near the window.
A single object sat on top of it.
An old notebook.
A name was written on its cover.
DARMAN MAHARDIKA.
Her father's name.
Alya looked at Raka.
“Why is my father's notebook here?”
Raka picked it up with gloved hands.
“We'll find out.”
He opened to the first page.
And there was a handwritten message that instantly turned Alya pale.
If Alya ever finds this book, it means they have returned. Alya stared at the book's first page without blinking.
She knew the handwriting intimately.
The slightly slanted A, the way the t was always taller than the other letters, even the uneven pressure of the ink.
It was her father's handwriting.
Her hand slowly touched the page.
“This is Dad's handwriting.”
Raka stood beside her. “Are you sure?”
Alya nodded. “I know his handwriting by heart.”
She turned to the next page.
There was no title.
Only a date.
March 17, 2011.
Below it were several sentences.
They came again today.
They asked me to reopen a case that had already been closed. I refused. I know the risks.
If something happens to me, never believe it was an accident.
Alya stopped reading.
“A case that had already been closed…”
Raka immediately took out his small notebook.
“What year did your father die?”
“2018.”
“Then this note was written seven years before his death.”
Alya nodded slowly.
Raka turned through several pages.
The next entry had a different date.
June 29, 2011.
They've started watching the house.
I've already asked for help, but no one is willing to take the risk.
The only person who knows everything is—
The writing stopped.
There was no name.
Only one long line.
Alya furrowed her brow.
“Why did Dad stop there?”
Raka examined the bottom of the page. “Maybe someone interrupted him.”
“Or he deliberately didn't write the name.”
Raka nodded.
“That is a possibility.”
Alya turned to the next page.
Blank.
The following page was blank too.
Until she finally found more writing.
January 4, 2012.
The boy is still alive.
They think I don't know.
I know who his father is.
I know who killed his mother.
Alya froze.
“The boy…”
She immediately remembered the photograph.
The boy standing behind her father.
The boy whose face had been crossed out with red ink.
“Raka.”
“Hmm?”
“This has to be about the boy in the photograph.”
Raka didn't answer.
He picked up the photograph they had previously found inside the box.
The photograph of Alya's father, an unfamiliar woman, and the boy.
He compared the photograph with the notes.
“Then this boy isn't just a witness.”
“Then who is he?”
“We don't know yet.”
Alya continued reading.
The next page contained only one sentence.
His name is Arka Wijaya.
Alya fell silent.
The name was unfamiliar.
“Arka Wijaya…”
Raka immediately wrote down the name.
“We'll find out who he is.”
They spent nearly an hour examining the contents of the notebook.
The more pages they read, the more questions arose.
Apparently, Alya's father had handled a major case while he was alive.
The case was connected to a company called Wijaya Group.
But most of the pages had been deliberately torn out.
Several dates were missing.
Several names had been crossed out.
As if someone wanted to erase every trace of the case.
Alya found one page that was different.
Her father's handwriting was messier than on the other pages.
If they return after my death, don't fight them alone.
Find the person carrying the black gavel symbol.
He may be the only person who knows the truth.
But don't trust anyone before finding the seven cases.
Alya read the last sentence twice.
“Seven cases.”
Raka looked at her.
“So that symbol has been around since then.”
Alya nodded.
“Then the current killer may not be the person who created all of this.”
“Correct.”
“He may be continuing something that began years ago.”
Raka looked thoughtful.
“That explains why the seven case files were arranged like a trial.”
Alya stared at the photographs in the secret room.
“But why am I the defendant?”
Raka didn't answer right away.
He walked toward the wall where the seven photographs were displayed.
“Because maybe you're not the main target.”
Alya furrowed her brow.
“Then who is?”
Raka pointed to her father's photograph.
“Maybe what's really on trial is your family's past.”
Suddenly, they heard footsteps from downstairs.
They both fell silent.
The footsteps were slow.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then they stopped.
Raka signaled for Alya to remain quiet.
He took out his weapon and slowly left the room.
Alya followed several steps behind.
They went down the stairs.
But there was no one in the living room.
The front door was still locked.
The windows were closed too.
Raka surveyed the entire room.
“Whoever it was, they're still in the house.”
Alya held her breath.
Suddenly, a sound came from the kitchen.
Crash!
Raka ran immediately.
Alya chased after him.
The kitchen door stood wide open.
There was no one there.
Only an open window.
Raka examined the window frame.
“He escaped through here.”
Alya moved closer.
A small object lay on the floor near the window.
A black suit button.
Alya recognized it immediately.
A judge's gavel carved into it.
“That symbol again.”
Raka picked it up with gloved hands.
“Don't touch it.”
Alya nodded.
But her eyes were fixed on something outside the window.
Someone was running at the end of the alley.
“Raka!”
Raka turned at once.
“There's someone out there!”
He ran out of the house.
Alya stayed inside.
A few seconds later, she heard Raka shout.
“Stop!”
The footsteps grew fainter as they ran away.
Then everything went quiet.
Raka returned a few minutes later, breathing slightly heavily.
“He got away.”
“Who was it?”
“I didn't see his face.”
Alya looked at the button, still inside the evidence bag.
“At least we have this.”
Raka nodded.
“And we have a name.”
“Arka Wijaya?”
Raka looked at her.
“Yes.”
He took out his phone.
“I'll have the team search all the records for that name.”
But before he could make the call, Alya's phone vibrated.
A message came in.
Unknown number.
There was only one photograph.
A photograph of Raka.
Taken just minutes earlier.
Raka was standing outside the house, chasing someone.
Alya stared at the screen, her face pale.
A second message arrived.
You're starting to understand this game.
But don't trust Raka too quickly.
Ask him who Arka Wijaya is.
Because he knows him.
Alya slowly raised her face.
Raka was still standing in front of her.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
Alya didn't answer.
For the first time, she began to wonder…
What was Raka's connection to Arka Wijaya? Alya was still staring at her phone screen.
The photograph of Raka that had just been sent felt like a blow.
Below it was a message that left her even more confused.
Ask him who Arka Wijaya is.
Because he knows him.
Alya slowly lowered her phone.
Raka, standing a few steps away, noticed the change in her expression. “What's wrong?”
Alya gripped her phone tightly. “I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know Arka Wijaya, Mr. Raka?”
For the first time since they met, Raka's expression changed.
It was extremely brief.
But Alya saw it.
Raka was silent for several seconds before answering, “Where did you hear that name?”
Alya became even more certain that he was hiding something.
“So you do know him?”
Raka didn't answer.
“Sir?”
Raka let out a long breath. “I've heard the name before.”
“Where?”
“In an old file.”
“My father's case file?”
Raka's gaze changed instantly.
“You read your father's notes?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Why does it matter?”
Raka stepped closer. “Because you don't know what you've opened.”
Alya took one step back.
“I have the right to know.”
“You do.”
“Then explain.”
Raka was silent for a long time.
Finally, he said, “Arka Wijaya was a name that appeared in one of the major cases from about fifteen years ago.”
“What case?”
“Murder.”
Alya's heart began beating faster.
“Who was the victim?”
Raka looked at her.
“A woman named Livia Wijaya.”
Alya immediately remembered the photograph.
The woman standing beside her father.
“The woman in the photograph…”
Raka nodded slowly. “Most likely.”
Alya covered her mouth.
“So she's Arka's mother?”
“Yes.”
“And my father knew who killed her?”
“That is what we suspect.”
Alya stared at the old photograph.
Suddenly, everything seemed connected.
Her father.
A woman named Livia.
Arka.
The seven cases.
Dimas.
Ratu.
And herself.
But there was still one much bigger question.
“If Arka is her son… where is he now?”
Raka shook his head.
“Officially, he was declared missing years ago.”
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“Then unofficially?”
Raka looked at Alya without blinking.
“There is no evidence that he actually died.”
They returned to the secret room.
Raka brought Alya's father's notebook and placed it on the table.
“We need to look at everything before drawing any conclusions.”
Alya sat on the floor and reopened the pages they had read earlier.
She found another entry they had missed before.
August 12, 2012.
Arka came tonight.
He asked me to tell Alya the truth when the time came.
I refused because Alya was still too young.
He said that one day Alya would become part of this case.
Alya read the last sentence over and over.
“He knew about me…”
Raka nodded.
“It seems so.”
Alya turned to the next page.
There was another entry.
If Arka returns, don't let him meet Alya.
Alya looked at Raka.
“But why?”
Raka didn't answer.
“Why was my father afraid of Arka meeting me?”
“I don't know.”
Alya kept turning the pages.
Several pages were blank.
Then, on the final page, there was a sentence.
I am not the person Alya should fear.
The person she should fear is the one who has stood closest to her all this time.
Alya fell silent.
Raka read the words over her shoulder.
“The one who stood closest…”
Alya slowly raised her face.
“Who does that mean?”
Raka shook his head.
“We don't know yet.”
Suddenly, Raka's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
One of his team members was calling.
“Yes?”
Raka's expression slowly changed.
“What?”
He stood up.
“Repeat that.”
Alya looked at him anxiously.
Raka walked several steps away before answering, “Make sure the identity is correct. Don't send anything by message. I'm coming now.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
Raka looked at Alya.
“We found Arka Wijaya's records.”
Alya immediately stood.
“Where?”
Raka didn't answer right away.
“In the old database.”
“Is he still alive?”
“His name appeared in a document from three years ago.”
Alya held her breath.
“Where is he?”
Raka looked at her seriously.
“In this city.”
An hour later, they returned to police headquarters.
Raka went straight into the archive room with Alya.
An officer handed him an old folder.
“This is the only document we found.”
Raka opened it.
Inside were several old documents.
Arka Wijaya's identification.
His date of birth.
His educational history.
An old photograph.
And an address.
Alya moved closer.
But before she could read the address, Raka stopped.
“This is strange.”
“What?”
“The address.”
Alya took the document.
Her eyes widened immediately.
The address wasn't a home.
Not an office.
Not an apartment.
It was a…
psychiatric hospital.
“Why was Arka there?”
Raka shook his head.
“The document doesn't say.”
Alya read the date on the document.
Three years ago.
Then she saw the name of the doctor who had signed it.
The name was unfamiliar.
But something about it made Alya uneasy.
“Raka…”
“Hmm?”
“Why does this doctor's signature look like the signature on the case files?”
Raka took the document.
He studied the signature for several seconds.
Then his expression changed.
“Because…”
He turned to the last page.
A hospital seal was stamped there.
Raka immediately stood.
“This isn't an ordinary psychiatric hospital.”
“What do you mean?”
“This place was shut down two years ago.”
“Why?”
Raka looked at Alya.
“Because all the patients were transferred after a fire.”
Alya felt a chill run down the back of her neck.
“Was Arka transferred too?”
Raka shook his head.
“His name isn't on the list of transferred patients.”
“Then?”
Raka stared at the document.
“Administratively, Arka disappeared three years ago.”
Alya fell silent.
But suddenly, her phone vibrated.
A message came in.
No number was displayed.
Only the words:
You finally found me.
Alya and Raka exchanged a look.
A second message arrived.
But you're too late.
Then a photograph appeared.
It showed a dark room.
A chair stood in the middle of the room.
And someone was sitting in it.
His face was difficult to make out.
But seven photographs of victims hung on the wall behind him.
Dimas.
Ratu.
And five others.
One of them…
Alya.
Below Alya's photograph were the words:
PRIMARY DEFENDANT
Alya held her breath.
Then the final message appeared.
Tomorrow at 8:00 p.m.
Come to the Old Courthouse.
Bring Raka.
If you don't, the third case will have an additional victim.
Alya looked at Raka.
“We have to go.”
Raka shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
“If we don't go, someone could die.”
“I know.”
“Then we're going.”
Raka stared at Alya's phone screen.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
“But this time…”
Raka took the photograph and stored it as evidence.
“…we make the rules.”
Alya looked at him.
“And if that person really is Arka?”
Raka answered in a low voice, “Then tomorrow night we'll find out who is really behind the seven cases.”
Alya looked at the final message again.
For the first time, she no longer felt like someone who was merely trying to survive.
She wanted to know the truth.
About her father.
About Arka.
About the seven victims.
And about why her own name was written down as the defendant.
But deep in her mind, one question kept circling.
If Arka really was still alive…
why had he chosen Alya as the defendant?
And more importantly—
who had been standing closest to Alya all this time?
That night, without either of them realizing it, someone was watching the police headquarters from across the street.
In his hand was an old photograph.
A photograph of Darman Mahardika.
Livia Wijaya stood beside him.
And a little boy.
Arka.
The man smiled faintly.
“The game has finally begun.”