Olaf didn’t look like a killer. Raen remained seated in the interrogation room long after the boy had gone, eyes fixed on the empty chair. If Lisbeth had died on Friday—right after the argument—one might believe in a crime of passion. But Sunday? That meant Olaf had spent two days thinking it through. Then calmly returned to his fiancée, used his gift, and ended two lives.

  It didn’t track.

  The grief—whether real or expertly performed—had looked gutting. Raen had seen his share of dramatics across this table, but Olaf’s breakdown hadn’t felt rehearsed.

  A knock at the door cut through the stillness.

  “Boss?” Andreas leaned in. “We’ve got the Supremes profiles ready.”

  Raen stood, brushing off the quiet like a coat he no longer needed. “We’ll wait for Alice.”

  “Fair,” Andreas said, stepping aside. “Let’s regroup in the office.”

  Back in the squad room, Tyler arrived not long after. Raen briefed the team—relaying what had come from Master Eider and Madame Gutor. He held off on the HR files for now. Those could wait until Alice returned.

  An hour and a half passed.

  The murmur of low conversation drifted through the office, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers or the faint clink of a mug. Raen kept glancing at the door, but said nothing. Then—finally—the sound of soft, brisk footsteps approached from the hall.

  The door clicked open.

  Alice stepped in quietly, the soft click of the door drawing Raen’s attention.

  Her hair was still pinned up in the same rushed twist from her lab work—an afterthought. She said nothing, just crossed to Raen’s desk and placed a slim notebook and a set of arcanegraphs beside him, then sat with a quiet exhale.

  She flipped through her notes once more, thumb brushing the corner of the page. Her fingers hesitated over a line before she spoke.

  “Emotions are clear—despair, anger, pain… and a fractured crystal of love.” Her voice was steady, but there was a brief pause as she tapped the arcanegraph. “All of that fits with someone grieving someone they loved.”

  She drew a slow breath, then added, “What’s more telling is what’s not present. There’s no trace of fear. No anxiety spike. No defensive imprint. Either Olaf believes he’s innocent… or he truly doesn’t think anyone can touch him.”

  She looked up, gaze steady now. “But one thing is certain—based on the crystalline resonance, he didn’t lie in the interview.”

  Raen exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

  “Noted,” he said. “But until the Commission signs off on your methodology, we still can’t attach this to the official case file.”

  Alice’s brow furrowed.

  Raen continued, softer now. “They let us dig deeper into Lisbeth’s death because there was no visible trauma. But applying your method to someone still alive?” He shook his head. “That opens a whole storm—accuracy debates, ethical gray zones, legal headaches. Until your technique is formally approved, your readings on suspects are for internal eyes only.”

  Alice’s shoulders slumped, disappointment showing despite her efforts to hold it in.

  Raen sighed.

  “I don’t doubt your instincts, Alice,” he said after a pause. “But instincts won’t hold up in front of a tribunal. We need proof—enough that no one can dismiss it as a grudge or… legacy bias.”

  Tyler spoke up, voicing what they were all thinking.

  “Even without Alice’s analysis, I’ve gotta say… our student doesn’t exactly scream cold-blooded killer..”

  “Still,” Raen said, “we can’t dismiss the theory. We work the lead until we’re certain.”

  He turned toward the others with quick, clipped orders.

  “Blaine brothers—canvas for witnesses who may have seen him near Lisbeth’s apartment. Tyler, double-check his alibi. And talk to one of the prime vitalists. I want a formal opinion on how much power a technique like this would actually require. Olaf had a point.”

  “Seriously, how did none of us think of that sooner?” Tyler muttered.

  Alice flushed. Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic.

  “That was my mistake. I should’ve consulted with a prime-level vitalist right away.”

  Raen waved it off with a shake of his head and pulled a folder from the pile on his desk—the files he’d retrieved from Goldspire HR.

  “We all missed it. Including me. Let’s just fix it.”

  Andreas chimed in from across the room.

  “Let’s be real—if it weren’t for Alice, we wouldn’t even be calling this a murder. That bastard would be out there sipping coffee.”

  A brief silence settled over the room before Raen opened the first personnel file and began laying out the facts.

  “Gwion Bran. Former Executive Coordinator to Armon Eider. He held the role for five years before being dismissed two years ago when Eider appointed Lisbeth Vemund in his place. Bran is now fifty-three. Graduate of—yes, again—Vraveil University of Economics. Strong grades, solid references. No magical affinity. Born and raised in the capital. Registered in the Central District. Divorced, with two daughters—thirty and twenty-seven. Before Goldspire, he worked for the jewelry house LeaGold—second only to Goldspire in their field. That’s the extent of the formal file. We’ll need to run deeper checks through our channels.”

  “So, he had a motive,” Tyler said, not quite a question.

  “Apparently,” Raen nodded. “According to a few of Goldspire’s more talkative ladies, Bran took the dismissal hard.”

  “But why wait two whole years to act on it?” Thomas asked an obvious question, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

  “I agree—it’s not the strongest lead,” Raen admitted. “But it’s one we still have to follow.”

  Alice shifted forward.

  “Honestly, the whole office felt like a viper’s nest. The women resented Lisbeth—too pretty, too smart. They gossiped constantly, stirred things up. Only one—Katriane—treated her kindly. Lisbeth’s closest friend, though, was Sevrin Laurec. He’s in the economics division too. They studied together at university. He said he saw her last Friday—she told him about the pregnancy then. He doesn’t believe Olaf’s guilty, but we didn’t get far before Raen and I had to leave.”

  “Right. Leinar,” Raen said, flipping open the next folder. “Thirty-two years old. Currently a senior economist at the company. No magical affinity. Started out the same way Lisbeth did—through a university placement program. Excellent marks, strong reviews. Unmarried, no children. Been living in Vraveil for eight years. First in student housing, now in the Central District.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He paused. “But what stands out is this—he’s originally from the Kingdom of Grolas. Curious, no?”

  “Actually,” Alice frowned, “his age seems off. He said he was in his final year when Lisbeth enrolled. That should put them four, maybe five years apart—not seven.”

  “Could be he started late,” Tyler offered. “Maybe worked before university. Gap years, delays—happens all the time.”

  “Possibly. Still, worth flagging,” Raen said. “We’ll send an inquiry to Grolas, see what turns up.”

  He tapped the last folder. “We should also take a closer look at Eider’s secretary. The HR rep hinted that Madame Gutor had a relationship with Bran before his dismissal. After he was let go, he spiraled—started drinking, left the capital. Could be she’s nursing her own vendetta.”

  “She and Bran might have motive,” Andreas said, “but how? Neither one’s a vitalist.”

  “Far as we can tell, both are non-gifted,” Raen confirmed. “Bran’s file explicitly notes it.”

  “Then unless we’re diving into fantasy,” Tyler muttered, “it’s not like they hired a rogue vitalist for revenge. That’s about as realistic as blaming a Supreme vampire.”

  “Speaking of… —Blaine brothers?” Raen prompted.

  Thomas flipped open his notebook, cleared his throat, and launched in.

  “There are only two registered Supreme vampires in the city. First—Alex Fogan, head of the local clan, which includes twenty families. Age: five hundred seventy-six. Resides in the Brasam District, naturally. Unmarried. Took over clan leadership thirty years ago after winning the Centenary Trial of Strength.”

  He paused, tapping his pen.

  “Fogan’s a known risk-taker—fond of gambling, escorts, and reckless feeding. About a year ago, there was a borderline-lethal incident with an escort girl. But the Enclave couldn’t make charges stick. Turns out she’d signed a document giving Fogan unrestricted blood access under oath. In cases like that, the law considers the death accidental—even with a Supreme involved, even though someone of his rank should’ve had perfect control.”

  “And Fogan oversees the gnome community too, right?” Raen asked.

  “Right,” Andreas confirmed. “He monopolized the Averin Peaks mines years ago. Which means he controls the gold supply.”

  “So—direct connection to Eider,” Raen concluded.

  “Almost certainly,” Andreas said. “No way Goldspire sources their gold elsewhere when the mine is practically next door.”

  “Maybe Armon didn’t want us digging into his vendors because he didn’t want to expose ties to a Supreme,” Alice suggested.

  “I doubt that’s it,” Raen said. “The connection’s obvious. Besides, he doesn’t know we’re considering Supremes as suspects. That theory’s farfetched even by our standards. What about the second one?”

  Thomas took over again.

  “Grigor Destrian. Clan leader for over two centuries. Leads fifty-two families. Age: seven hundred thirteen. Lives in the Brasam District. Officially, his record’s spotless. Unofficially, there are whispers he’s tied to Jan Gordon.”

  “Gordon?” Alice asked.

  Thomas nodded. “Executor of the Gloam Order. They don’t just run a guild—they’re Vraveil’s cleanest line for dirty business. Espionage. Sabotage. Disappearances. All roads lead to him.”

  Alice gave a small nod—acknowledging the intel, or maybe just showing she was already familiar.

  “Destrian stayed single for centuries. Then, two months ago, he announced his engagement—to a human woman. No gift. Twenty-two. Mirela Vitor.”

  Tyler gave a low whistle. Alice’s brow lifted.

  “She’s pale-skinned, copper-haired—eerily similar to Lisbeth,” Thomas added. “The clan is in chaos. Dating a mundane is scandal enough. Marrying one? Unheard of. At least three poisoning attempts have been made... Now Destrian’s locked down in his estate with a handpicked staff. He’s been feeding her his blood in preparation for the wedding.”

  Everyone nodded in understanding.

  It was common knowledge—when a vampire chose to marry a human woman, the ritual required no less than three months of preparation. Daily doses of the vampire’s blood, carefully calibrated, were necessary to ensure a safe, gradual transition. It was the only way to preserve fertility long enough for the bride to bear an heir before the transformation completed.

  When the bride had a magical gift, the process was easier, faster, more stable. But this? A Supreme vampire and a completely ungifted human? The three-month timeline would likely need to stretch to nine before Grigor could formally bind his life to hers.

  “And here’s another curious detail,” Andreas added. “Destrian commissioned a set of wedding jewelry from Goldspire.”

  Alice blinked. “But vampire clans use heirloom bindings, don’t they? Family pieces passed down for centuries?”

  “Exactly,” Andreas said. “Which means this isn’t just a marriage—it’s a deviation. Maybe even a statement.”

  “Where’s the intel from?” Raen asked.

  The vampire shifted, a bit sheepish.

  “A friend. Let’s call her well-placed. But it’s solid—confirmed. The whole clan is in uproar. First over Destrian choosing a mundane, and now because he’s refusing to follow ancient traditions. The marriage bracelets are sacred—passed down for generations.”

  “Strange choice,” Tyler mused. “What would make him break a ritual like that?”

  “No idea. Best guess? Security. The clan leader’s bracelets are kept by the Matron of Bloodlines until the ceremony. And rumor has it she was behind the poisoning attempts.”

  “She wanted him to marry her daughter instead,” Alice guessed.

  “Exactly,” the vampire said. “Word is, Grigor turned her down—and she didn’t take it well.”

  “So that puts us right back in Eider’s territory,” Raen said. “If Destrian placed an order with Goldspire, Eider likely handled it personally. He wouldn’t pass off such clients. And if Lisbeth was working on that order…”

  “Then she crossed paths with Destrian too,” Tyler finished.

  “And the worst part?” he added. “There’s no discreet way to reach Supremes. They only deal with their own kind.”

  Raen snorted. “Right. Can’t exactly knock and ask, ‘Where were you between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. Sunday night, and do you have an alibi?’”

  “That’s what you’ve got us for.” Andreas straightened his collar. “My source? Kind of… our girl. She’s in Destrian’s clan.”

  “Our girl?” Alice raised an eyebrow. “As in… shared?”

  “She doesn’t exactly know there are two of us,” Thomas admitted, lowering his gaze with theatrical innocence.

  Tyler chuckled. Raen just shook his head. Alice laughed.

  “Alright,” Raen said, amused. “Stay close to your... contact. And I want ideas on how to approach Fogan discreetly.”

  He paused, then added, “We also need access to Goldspire’s archives—plus a list of their suppliers and VIP clients. But that won’t go over well with Eider. We’ll need authorization from Albert first.”

  “I’d pay to see Albert’s face when you tell him we’re profiling Supremes based on Alice’s readings—using a method the Commission hasn’t even approved yet,” Tyler chuckled.

  Raen gave a dry half-smile as he stood.

  “He’ll probably try to ship me off to a mind-healer. But what can you do?”

  He grabbed his coat. “First stop’s the intel division—background checks on the new names. Then I’ll head to Albert.”

  He glanced at the chrono. Almost evening.

  “Blaine twins, head to Lisbeth’s residence.”

  “Can I join them?” Alice asked.

  Raen nodded. “Of course. Ty—back to Concordia. Talk to Olaf’s neighbors. Try to catch a prime-level vitalist if any are still around.”

  He paused at the door. “Briefing first thing tomorrow.”

  ***

  Soon Raen stepped into Albert’s office and stopped short at the sight before him.

  Noland, Head of the Enclave, was sprawled in his chair, snoring softly with his head tilted back like a man who hadn’t slept in days.

  Raen hesitated. Waking him felt like a crime.

  We need that authorization to open up Goldspire’s archives, he reminded himself. But still…

  Coffee first, he decided. Let the proud new father nap a bit longer.

  Raen quietly backed out of the room. On the way out, he intercepted another investigator heading toward Albert’s office and waved him off. Then he headed downstairs, turning toward the same pastry shop where he and Alice had breakfasted before.

  By the time Raen returned, Albert was awake—barely. He blinked blearily, eyes unfocused as he tried to piece himself together. Without a word, Raen handed over a coffee and a paper box of food.

  Albert inhaled deeply, the scent of roasted beans reviving him faster than any spell. He took a bite of the sandwich, a sip of coffee, and broke into a blissful grin.

  Glancing at Raen with sincere appreciation, he murmured,

  “Ask me anything.”

  “Glad that’s how you decided to open,” Raen said dryly.

  Albert raised an eyebrow.

  “I need you, in your capacity as Head of the Enclave, to authorize formal access to Goldspire’s supplier records, VIP client list, and internal archives. Eider isn’t cooperating, and we’re running out of options.”

  “What?” Albert shot upright, scandalized. “You realize requests like that require substantial grounds?”

  “We have them.”

  Raen launched into a precise recap of the case so far—Lisbeth Vemund’s death, Olaf’s breakdown, the water residue analysis, the profile of Supreme vampires, and Eider’s evasive behavior.

  As he spoke, Albert’s frown deepened. When Raen finally finished, Nolan stood and began pacing the room in heavy strides. Raen said nothing—just waited.

  Eventually, Albert dropped back into his chair with a sigh.

  “Fine. I’ll give you the clearance. But let’s be clear—I’m not sending you to a mind-healer only because I know you, and you’re damn good at your job.”

  He fixed Raen with a sharp look.

  “You understand, right? If a Supreme really wanted a girl dead, she’d be gone without a trace. No residue. No signs. Nothing to investigate.”

  Raen’s voice was quiet. “We wouldn’t be investigating anything—if it weren’t for Alice and her method.”

  “Which still isn’t Commission-approved!”

  “You’ve read the papers, though, didn’t you?,” Raen countered. “Her evidence is strong. The Commission will approve it—it’s just a matter of time.”

  Albert leaned back, brow furrowed.

  “But what really concerns me is that Alice has a personal stake in this. She wants Eider to go down.”

  “I know,” Raen said. “But I don’t think that’s why she joined the team. I believe she came to me for help reopening her father’s case. Lisbeth’s death just… overlapped.”

  Albert looked at him long and hard.

  “Can you guarantee she’ll stay objective? That she’s really trying to find Lisbeth’s killer, not just building a case against Eider?”

  Raen exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand down his face.

  “I can’t guarantee she’ll stay objective,” he said, rubbing his brow. “But without her, we’d still think Lisbeth died of heart failure. She’s not the problem—she’s the reason we’re asking the right questions.”