The Lost Equation Chapter 2 Snippet

I reach for the tumbler of scotch on the side table, which has a

distinct dried fruit, ginger, and toffee aroma, before taking a sip. The wood spice and zesty citrus flavor have just the right warmth as it goes down, starkly contrasting the chill outside. It's a Macallan Double Cask, one of many gifts from Wyndworth McKinzie. The rich, complex flavors remind me of the intricacies of the case before me.

My mind wanders back to the matter at hand, Hoffmann's

disappearance thirty-five years ago. It's a long time for a case to go

cold, but I've solved colder ones. The McKinzie case taught me that

no mystery is truly unsolvable, given enough time and persistence.

I set down the glass and lean forward, elbows on my knees, feeling

the weight of my 57 years. The fire crackles, bursting sap in the pine

logs sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, each one a fleeting moment of brilliance. Outside, the first stars of evening begin to twinkle in the purple twilight sky, reminding me of the vastness of the cosmos that Hoffmann's work might help us understand.

"Alright, Hoffmann," I mutter, my voice barely audible over the

crackling fire. "Let's see what you were really up to." I reach for the

stack of papers on the coffee table, ready to dive back into the

labyrinth of numbers and symbols. Something tells me it's going to be a long night, but that's fine by me. After all, the night has always been when I do my best work.