Back at the office, I dropped the stack of files onto the conference table with a satisfying thud that momentarily lifted the dust from their ancient covers. The musty smell of aged paper filled the room - that distinctive scent of history, secrets, and forgotten knowledge - tickling my nostrils with whispers of the past. Little particles danced in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the half-drawn blinds, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere around our otherwise mundane conference room.

  Jovan sat hunched in his usual spot, his lanky frame contorted into what looked like an uncomfortable position but was probably his version of ergonomic. Multiple terminal windows on his screen cast an eerie blue-green glow that reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes behind screens of scrolling code and data fragments.

  "Found something interesting," Jovan said without looking up. "All five files were digitally archived on March 11th, 1932. And get this - nothing else was processed that day. Not a single document."

  "We gathered as much," I said, pulling up a chair. "That's why I asked you to look into it."

  Goran spread the files across the table, their yellowed edges creating a fan pattern against the dark wood. "They went for all five to mask which one they really wanted or they were not sure themselves. Anyway smart move - now we have to figure out which file is their actual target."

  "Could be any of them," I mused, picking up the report about strange lights on Fru?ka Gora. "A military intelligence report from World War I, Pan?i?'s coded botanical journal, royal family's occult correspondence... they all sound equally intriguing and potentially dangerous in the wrong hands. But my bet is on one of the blank files."

  I watched Milenko adjust his reading glasses as he carefully examined each document. His methodical approach always impressed me - the way he could quickly separate historical fact from carefully crafted fiction.

  "Well not realy any of them. For example, these two," he tapped the Avala and Fru?ka Gora reports, "are essentially worthless. Both Petkovi? and Lozani? published follow-up papers explaining the phenomena. Just standard Order operations - testing new magical techniques. Nothing groundbreaking."

  "And here I thought we had some real X-Files material," I sighed, pushing the reports aside. The way technology and magic intertwined still fascinated me, even after all this time with the Order. Every case felt like peeling back another layer of hidden history.

  Milenko's eyes crinkled with amusement. "The Kara?or?evi? papers are even less interesting. A clever piece of misinformation we planted ourselves." He lifted the yellowed pages, treating them with reverence despite their deceptive nature. "By the 1960s, every magical organization worth their salt knew these protection rituals were complete fabrications. The real ones..." He paused, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, those remain properly classified."

  "So that leaves us with Pan?i?'s botanical journal and Cviji?'s underground research," I said, pulling the remaining files closer. "What makes these special?"

  "That's what we need to figure out," Goran interjected from across the table. "Our cyber-magical friends didn't go through all this trouble for a history lesson about fake rituals."

  "Thinking about it now..." Milenko tapped the documents thoughtfully. "Both mention underground magical lay lines, though in different contexts. Pan?i? disguised them as rare plant locations, while Cviji? mapped them as water flows. But something about this feels... familiar."

  "How so?" I leaned forward, catching the hesitation in his voice.

  "Well," Milenko adjusted his glasses, a habit I'd noticed he had when approaching uncertain territory. "It reminds me of old stories about the shadow network. Though that's probably not relevant-"

  "Shadow network?" I interrupted, my curiosity piqued. "First time I'm hearing about this."

  Milenko waved his hand dismissively. "It's nothing more than an urban legend in magical circles. Like those conspiracy theories about underground tunnels connecting all of Belgrade's important buildings. Some claim there's an ancient network of magical energy lines running beneath the city, even whole country, predating even the oldest settlements."

  "But?" I prompted, sensing there was more.

  "But it's nonsense," he said firmly, though his eyes kept returning to the documents. "The kind of tale you'd hear in pubs after too much rakija. People love a good conspiracy theory, especially when it involves hidden power sources and secret societies."

  I glanced at LJiljana, who has been unusually quiet through out our conversation. Her expression was unreadable, but something in her stance suggested she was paying very close attention to Milenko's words.

  "Still," I mused, "our friends went through an awful lot of trouble to get these specific documents. Maybe there's something to these 'tall tales' after all?"

  "Perhaps," Milenko conceded reluctantly. "I'll need to examine these in detail. Cross-reference them with other sources from the same period. If there's any connection beyond coincidence, we'll find it."

  I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with Ljiljana. Her usual sharp-tongued commentary was notably absent, replaced by an unsettling silence as Milenko spoke about the shadow network. When she finally spoke, her voice carried an edge I'd rarely heard before.

  "I'll take those files," she said, waving at the documents with an almost protective gesture. "We can't risk digitizing them until we know exactly what we're dealing with."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Worried about something specific?" I asked, studying her face for any tell-tale signs. Years of detective work had taught me to trust my instincts when someone's behavior shifted unexpectedly.

  Ljiljana's fingers drummed against the table - once, twice - before she pulled her hand back. "Just being cautious. You've seen how sophisticated their attack was. Any computer connected to the internet could be compromised."

  "She's right," Jovan chimed in, finally looking up from his screens. "Nasty stuff."

  "Fair enough," I conceded, though I filed away her reaction for later consideration. "But you'll let Milenko finish his analysis first, right?"

  "Of course," she replied, perhaps a touch too quickly. "Just make sure everything stays offline. And Jovan-" she turned to face him directly, "I want you to set up additional security around the building. Something old school, pre-digital era."

  "Already on it," Jovan nodded, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Though I still think we should at least scan-"

  "No," Ljiljana cut him off firmly. "No scanning, no copying, no digital traces whatsoever. Some things are safer staying on paper."

  "Right," Jovan cleared his throat, turning back to his screens. "About that streaming link - as I already mentioned, I managed to trace it back to a server in Romania. Some backwater town called Targu Ocna."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

  "That's because it's practically in the middle of nowhere," Jovan said, his fingers dancing across his keyboard. "But it hardly matters since it was set up remotely."

  "But here's the weird part," Jovan continued, spinning his chair to face us. "The attacks on other facilities? They were just noise. Empty packets, no real payload. Like someone throwing rocks at windows just to make a racket."

  I rubbed my chin, pieces clicking into place. "So the Archive was the only real target? They used the basketball game stream to create a smokescreen."

  "Exactly." Jovan pulled up a diagram on his screen. "See these patterns? The other attacks were designed to look serious enough to trigger our detection systems, but they didn't actually do anything. Classic misdirection."

  "Look at this," Jovan was pointing to the part of the screen displaying a complex network diagram. "Every institution got hit with the same initial scan pattern, but the Archive was the only one where they went deeper. In other places, it's like they just opened the door, took a quick photo, and left."

  I leaned closer, studying the intricate web of connections.

  "Hold on," I raised my hand, interrupting Jovan's technical breakdown. "You're saying they now have a complete catalog of everything stored on those servers?"

  "Well, yeah." Jovan pushed his glasses up his nose, the reflection of his screens creating an eerie glow on the lenses. "Think of it like casing a neighborhood before a robbery. They now know exactly what's behind every digital door in Belgrade's institutional network."

  I slumped back in my chair, the implications hitting me like a punch to the gut. "That's... actually brilliant. Horrifying, but brilliant. They've basically mapped out Serbia's entire digital archive system."

  "And not just the visible stuff," Jovan added, pulling up more diagnostic windows. "The scan went deep enough to catalog hidden directories, encrypted files, even some of our masked magical archives that were supposed to be undetectable." He paused, fingers hovering over his keyboard. "We're talking about a complete blueprint of our digital infrastructure."

  "Great," I said drily, reaching for my now-cold coffee. "So while we're focused on these five files, they're sitting on a treasure map of every sensitive document in the country. What about the IP trace? Got anything?"

  Jovan quickly modded. I leaned forward, my interest piqued as Jovan's chair creaked with his movement. "Actually," he said, his eyes lighting up behind those reflective lenses, "I went down quite the rabbit hole with this one. That IP address that accessed the archives that we've been tracking? Two days ago, it popped up with the same magical fingerprint. But here's where it gets juicy - they hit the server maintenance protocols in Romania first, then made a beeline for the archives catalog."

  My coffee cup froze halfway to my lips. "Where's this digital breadcrumb trail leading us?"

  "That's where things get properly weird," Jovan's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as if the very walls might be listening. "It traces back to this absolute dump of a pub near VMA hospital in Banjica. You know the spot I mean? That's deep in United Force territory - where those FC Rad ultras practically live. Nobody without their particular fashion sense for team colors even thinks about wandering in there unless they're looking for trouble." I could feel my detective instincts tingling - this was getting more interesting by the second.

  "Are they even smart enough to pull something like this off?" Goran asked, leaning against the desk.

  "Trust me," Jovan replied, fingers drumming nervously on his keyboard, "United Force has more than a few brilliant minds in their ranks. Some join for the ideology—anarchist black hat types who get off on fighting the government. Others..." he shrugged, "they're bought or forced in. Debts, drugs, the usual leverage points."

  "So they could definitely manage this hack?" I asked.

  "Good bet they did," Jovan nodded. "But they're still pretty amateur hour. Not connected to any official magical group we know of." He glanced up at us. "Honestly, I'm not convinced they even know magic exists. They might be sitting on this power without understanding what they've actually got."

  A heavy silence fell as we all considered the implications.

  "Ah yes, almost forgot, and Madame Svetlana..." Jovan began, breaking the silence, but Ljiljana cut him off with mock seriousness in her voice.

  "You know what they say," she declared, her voice dripping with solemnity. "Every young man should learn a thing or two from... experienced ladies of reputation."

  I nearly choked on my coffee, while Jovan's face turned an even deeper shade of red.

  "Would you just—" he huffed. "Look, she told my source that about a month ago, some skinheads approached her. They gave her this little device and specific instructions: when Dr. Proti? visits, she needs to grab his USB keychain and connect it to their gadget."

  "And she just agreed to this?" Goran asked.

  "Apparently she had to. They were pretty persuasive. Also a guy practically camping in front of your house tends to be a good argument. Though it took three weeks because Proti? wasn't bringing his USB. She had to... make certain promises to ensure he'd rush over with it directly from office."

  "Charming," I mumbled.

  "After she did it, she handed the device back to them and split. She's in Vienna now and doesn't plan on returning to Belgrade for at least eight or nine months."

  "So it is United Force," I said, connecting the dots. "The guys who visited Svetlana match the description of our football ultras perfectly."

  Something had nagged at the back of my mind. United Force... it had been too perfect, too convenient. Since when did football ultras dabble in high-tech espionage? And why would they have targeted magical data when they weren't even part of our world? No, it had felt like someone wanted us to look in that direction while they...

  "Hey, I've got an idea," I say, leaning forward. "I still know some guys in the force who've got plants inside United Force. Let me hit up the pub, work some contacts, maybe set up a meet-"

  "Absolutely not," Goran cut me off, his tone leaving no room for debate. "It's far too risky."

  "But if we could just-"

  "I said no, Aleksandar," he interrupted again, fixing me with that stern look I've come to know well.