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Going to the police was the logical choice.
And he, Justus Jonas, was carved out of logic and cold hard facts.
...So why?
"You must go to the police!" Jelena pleaded, almost a yell.
Just how stubborn could someone be? Justus, of all people, knew that there were things too big for a bunch of amateur detectives to solve. As competent as they were.
He should've nodded. He would've agreed that the case was larger than them. It had developed into an international incident, damn it. A conspiracy involving a secret organization. What could a regular boy from a junkyard do?
Go to the police—trust that the good ol' inspector would do anything in his power to bring Peter back.
Be a good citizen and sit tight.
...Sit tight?
And do nothing?
"We must go to Peter!" Justus exclaimed.
Perhaps he was more surprised at himself than anyone else.
Go to Peter? With what plan? He didn't have one. Not yet. But he would think of it. He always would.
"Oh no, I know that look."
Peter's voice echoed in Justus' mind. He'd always complained whenever Justus and his brilliant mind got them into situations. Justus had learned to live with Peter's complaints. It was for the sake of the detective firm. Peter knew that, so he'd always tagged along.
But this time, the First Investigator's chest felt heavy with guilt and regret.
Peter wanted a vacation. A well-deserved one, he would admit. How many times had Peter risked his life to save theirs? Faced dangers even when he was reluctant? He could have led a peaceful life and left all this behind. But Peter stayed. Every time.
Justus swallowed a painful lump in his throat. If only he'd listened. If only he hadn't picked up that call.
It was for the sake of the detective firm.
Was it? Or was it to satisfy his own curiosity?
Justus clenched his fists. He'd made up his mind.
Find Peter.
It didn't matter that he might lose his life in the process. It wouldn't make a difference.
Without Peter, he was dead.