The door clicked shut behind Raen, but the chill he left behind lingered.

  I stayed still, listening—not to footsteps or whispers, but to the unsettling hum of Goldspire’s arcane security field. It buzzed faintly in the air, too smooth to be natural. Like the rest of this place. The floors were too polished. The furniture too pristine. And Sabina Gutor? She hadn’t moved an inch.

  Still behind the reception desk. Still watching me like I was the one on trial.

  I didn’t like this building. I didn’t like her.

  But I wasn’t here to feel comfortable.

  I stepped forward, voice steady. “Where were you between eleven p.m. Sunday and one a.m. Monday?”

  Sabina blinked. “I was home. Surely… surely you’re not implying I had something to do with the murder?”

  Her voice wavered—just a little.

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “A friend came to visit Saturday… I think we stayed up talking until midnight or so.”

  Too neat. Too nonspecific. A friend, no name. A midnight timeline. I didn’t write it off—but it smelled like a placeholder story. One I’d need to pressure-test later.

  “I’ll need her contact information,” I said.

  With a trembling hand, she scribbled something on a notepad and tore it out. I took the paper without looking at it.

  One alibi, on record. But I’d need to verify it myself before crossing her off the list.

  I pushed back from the chair, thanked Sabina with the bare minimum of civility, and stepped into the hallway.

  Time to find Katriane.

  If she was still at her desk, I’d pull her aside again. Preferably somewhere quieter. The last conversation had only skimmed the surface—and I had a feeling there was more she hadn’t said.

  She met me at the same little café as before, greeting me with a tired smile.

  “How’s the investigation going, Arcaness Lamard?” she asked as we sat down.

  “We’re working on it,” I replied, careful to keep my tone neutral. “You understand I can’t share any details.”

  “I heard Olaf was arrested?” Her voice dipped slightly. “It’s hard to believe he could’ve done it. I thought he loved Lizzie.”

  “Where did you hear about the arrest?” I asked, more sharply than I intended.

  “I reached out to Liz’s sister—offered to help with the funeral arrangements. The company usually provides support for the families of deceased employees. Madame Volt mentioned it… and she seemed completely convinced Olaf was the killer.”

  “Olaf Gaspar has been detained as a suspect, but we haven’t proven anything yet. There are several working theories we’re looking into,” I said, then continued, “Where were you Sunday night, between eleven p.m. and one a.m.?”

  “Home, of course. It was a workday Monday.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  Katriane raised an eyebrow. “Am I one of your theories?”

  I offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’s just procedure—unpleasant, but necessary.”

  She paused, then nodded in understanding. “My husband can confirm it. Lucky me, I guess, that he actually decided to be home that night.”

  I glanced at her, picking up on the bitterness in her voice.

  “He has a mistress,” she added flatly. “Spends most nights with her. I’m no beauty, obviously. Sometimes I wonder why he married me at all.” She let out a hollow laugh and sipped her coffee. “Sorry. That’s not relevant. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this… I used to talk to Liz. Now she’s gone.”

  My chest tightened. Without thinking, I reached over and placed my hand gently on hers.

  “It’s okay,” I said softly. “If you need to talk, I’m not in a rush.”

  She blinked, then gave a small shake of her head. “No, I won’t burden you with my mess. It’s just… Whatever. Doesn’t change anything... My husband came home around eight Sunday night. I remember glancing at the clock. He was in a foul mood—wouldn’t eat, just grabbed a book and went to sulk on the couch. We barely spoke. I went to bed at eleven; he was still reading.”

  “Thank you,” I said, jotting down the details. “One more thing. Could you make a list of anyone who had issues with Lizzie? People who didn’t get along with her?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Of course,” she said, taking my notepad and starting to write.

  When she finished, I asked how to get to the economics department, said goodbye, and went in search of Sevrin Laurec.

  “He’s not in today—took a personal day,” said the boy at the workstation, rising as I approached.”

  He looked about sixteen, dressed in what could generously be called rebellious student fashion. The outfit clashed hilariously with the clean corporate aesthetic of the room—but the half-disassembled memorite on his desk told a different story. Not clueless. Just misaligned with expectations.

  “Is everything alright with him?” I asked.

  “Said it was family stuff. But he doesn’t have any family, so… who knows?” he chuckled, not unkindly. “He doesn’t really talk to anyone but Liz.”

  A woman in a fitted black suit shot him a sharp look.

  “Liz was his family. Maybe try a little empathy next time,” she said coldly. “If I see one more flippant comment, I’ll be flagging your internship report. Good luck finding placement with that hanging over you.”

  Ah. A student then.

  “Sorry, Madame Roven. I didn’t think,” he muttered, eyes down.

  “That’s the problem,” she snapped. “You don’t think. No idea how someone like you manages to keep top grades…”

  I slipped out before their argument could spiral further. It was time to find Raen and report in. I flagged down a passing employee and asked how to get to the archive.

  The archive room was cramped, its narrow aisles barely accommodating the rows of sagging shelves overloaded with folders and boxes. Just inside the entrance stood a single desk for the archivist—a drab-looking, dark-haired man in his forties who sat hunched over a memorite, lips moving in silent incantation as the device pulsed with faint blue light. Raen sat across from him, waiting for the results of his query.

  “I’m done, Arcanis Thorne,” I announced.

  The archivist looked up from the memorite, eyes flicking over me with a slow, assessing glance. Not overtly inappropriate—just a beat too long to be professional.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, voice neutral, but his gaze dipped—not quite quickly enough.

  I shifted my stance, pretending not to notice.

  Raen cleared his throat. The sound was sharp and pointed.

  The archivist blinked, flushed faintly, and turned back to the memorite without another word.

  “Thank you, Alice,” Raen said, offering me the unlocking charm. “Please wait for me in the vex.” Raen said, handing me the unlocking charm. Seeing me flush with irritation, he added in a gentler tone, “You understand… there’s barely room for one visitor in here.”

  I didn’t answer. Just twitched my shoulder and stepped out of the archive.

  It was obvious Raen didn’t want me there. He was likely afraid I’d start sniffing around the company’s business from eight years ago.

  Not without reason, I thought, pulling the charm tighter in my grip. I just need to convince him to help me.

  I waited in the vex for nearly half an hour, thoughts looping like a film reel. The dream still pulsed in my mind—sharp, insistent. I needed to get into the archive. If there was any chance the company wasn’t circling the drain when my father died, the truth would be buried there.… My thoughts kept spiraling back to the same point: those records. If I could just find one document—one piece of evidence—that proved the company had been financially stable, I might finally have leverage. Enough to corner Armon. Enough to reopen the case.

  But I couldn’t do it without Raen’s help.

  “Don’t take it personally, Alice,” he said softly as he slid into the driver’s seat. “It’s just better this way.”

  “I understand,” I replied, as politely as I could. I’d decided to play the good girl.

  He looked at me with surprise, and I gave him a soft smile in return. Raen hesitated for a beat. Then, shaking his head, he broke eye contact and tapped the ignition crystal.

  “What did you find out?” he asked as the vex hummed to life.

  “Maestra Gutor and Katriane both have alibis,” I said, and added that I’d asked Katriane to compile a list of Lizzie’s enemies.

  “A solid initiative,” Raen nodded. “But I doubt it’ll help. I’d wager there’s not a single healer with even average ability on that list. What would someone like that be doing at Goldspire? Of course we’ll verify every alibi—we should. But the real question is whether Lisbeth had any contact with the Supremes. And if she did… then what? I have no idea how to even begin approaching them.”

  “They do require a special touch,” I replied.

  “Exactly. So for now we head to the Enclave, review the documents we retrieved. We’re also expecting word back on Bran, though I’d bet that lead’s a dead end too.”

  “What if the team finds the Prime Arkanodes?”

  Raen paused, then let out a long breath.

  “Then I’ll have to admit my instincts were dead wrong,” Raen said. “Even without your water analysis, I’d say that boy is just a scared kid—not someone ready to be a father, let alone a killer.”

  I glanced at him. This wasn’t just professional certainty—there was genuine emotion behind the words.

  “A crime of passion?” he continued. “Maybe. I could stretch that far. But this?” He shook his head. “He waits two days after the fight, crafts amplifying amulets, shows up with flowers to throw us off, and then murders the woman he loves?”

  I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. When he laid it out like that, the logic really did fracture.

  “And after all that,” Raen finished, “he gives the performance of a lifetime at interrogation? No. That just doesn’t track.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Though the theory about the Supreme vampires isn’t much better. I only brought them up because of the method of murder.”

  “Maybe she found out something dangerous,” he said. “Something tied to them. Maybe that’s why she was killed. These documents should tell us whether she even had access to anyone at that level. It’s possible Eider kept her out of those dealings entirely.”

  “What if it was Eider himself? What if Lizzie had a falling out with Armon?”

  “And he asked one of the Supremes to kill her?” Raen skeptically raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, fine… that’s completely absurd.”

  “Alice, I understand how you feel about Master Eider. But we have to approach this investigation objectively.”

  He kept his focus on the road, hands steady on the wheel. I caught myself watching him—his expression, the way his jaw tightened when he concentrated. Too long. I looked away, heat rising in my face for no good reason. Not the moment. Not the person. And not a thought I needed right now.

  “Do you have plans tonight?” I asked casually.

  The vex swerved hard to the left. Another transport honked as Raen yanked the wheel to recover. He glanced at me, startled. I gave him an innocent smile.

  “Dare I ask what brought that on?”

  “I just thought… now that we’re working together, it might be nice to talk off the clock. I had dinner with the twins yesterday. It was good to get to know them a bit better.”

  “And tonight you’d like to have dinner with me?” he asked, suspicion clear in his tone.

  “Only if you don’t mind the company.”

  He went quiet. Every few minutes, I felt his eyes flick over to me—curious, skeptical. I looked out the window, keeping my face unreadable. Finally, just as I’d given up on an answer, he spoke.

  “I wouldn’t mind. Dinner. Or your company.”

  I leaned back, doing my best to look casual, even as my pulse gave me away.

  One step closer, I thought. To what, though...

  I wasn’t sure.

  Author’s Note

  Sometimes a quiet moment says more than a dramatic one. In this chapter, I wanted to show Alice navigating that strange space between professional focus and something more vulnerable, where emotions sneak in, even when she’s trying to stay sharp. Raen’s still a mystery to her, but maybe that’s exactly why he’s starting to get under her skin.

  Thanks for reading! More secrets (and maybe more tension) coming soon.