When Raen arrived at the Enclave that morning, Tyler was already there, staring thoughtfully out the window. At the sound of footsteps, he turned.

  “Morning, Boss. Got some updates. Pretty interesting ones.”

  Raen raised an eyebrow in response and took his seat at his desk.

  “The dorm steward where Gaspar lives had a stroke Monday night. They didn’t catch it right away—he’s unconscious at Concordia vital center now. No idea if or when he’ll wake, or whether he’ll be coherent if he does. Vitalists say it’ll take time.”

  “How convenient for Olaf,” Raen murmured. “Was there any sign of arcane interference?”

  “Nope. Vitalists ran a full diagnostic—no arcane residue, no tampering. Stroke’s organic. But here’s where it gets interesting.”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed, voice dropping into a more analytical cadence.

  “I consulted two senior Arcanists from the Academy. Asked what kind of energy output would be needed to produce the fatal effect we saw. Both confirmed what Gaspar hinted at—it’s an intense magical override. High-level disruption of internal systems. The kind of thing that leaves a signature... unless it’s done clean.”

  He paused, running a hand over the back of his neck.

  “But here’s the catch—it only takes a few minutes to cast. So in theory? A mid-tier Arcanist could pull it off... if they were rigged with amplification nodes and a well-synced accumulator core, like the Prime Arkanode. The gear does the heavy lifting. All they’d need is precision, timing, and proximity.”

  “So Olaf’s still in the running.”

  Tyler nodded.

  “Pretty much. He’s no prodigy, but he’s been top-third in his elemental control classes for two years straight. With the right amulet? He’d have just enough juice to make it work.”

  “What about his dorm neighbors?”, asked Raen.

  “Not helpful. A couple of students saw Olaf leave around nine that night, but nobody saw him come back. Some girl on the floor above was throwing a birthday party—place was packed. Half the dorm was there drinking gnome fire brew. Chaos ‘til dawn. Even if someone did see our suspect, they’re too foggy to remember.”

  Tyler, true to form, had started gnawing on his self-writing quill again.

  “So no alibi,” Raen concluded.

  At that moment, Alice stepped into the office. Still distracted, Raen glanced at her—and was momentarily caught by those eyes, a hypnotic flash of Alaric Sea-blue. He broke the trance with effort.

  Alice looked pale and under slept, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and her ever-present forensic case in the other. Raen found himself wishing she’d smile—but she just nodded a quiet “good morning” and headed straight for her desk.

  A moment later, the Blaine twins swept in through the door, yawning in perfect sync and flashing their fangs in a show of theatrical exhaustion. They dropped into their shared seat—Raen had insisted they take separate desks once, but they had flatly refused. They did everything together, and that wasn’t changing.

  “We’ve got news, Boss! Alice, you didn’t spill it all without us, did you?” Andreas asked brightly.

  Alice offered a faint smile and shook her head.

  “Excellent. Then listen up,” Andreas said, his red eyes gleaming with energy as he launched into a retelling of the previous night’s witness interview.

  As he spoke, Raen’s frown deepened while Tyler smirked.

  “Well, that’s it then. We’ve practically solved the case, huh?” Tyler grinned.

  Alice and the twins exchanged glances, then turned expectant eyes toward Tyler and Raen. They could tell the shifter had brought back something important—something that worked against Lizzie’s fiancé.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Raen stood and wandered over to the window, staring outside. Tyler filled the rest of the team in on what he’d learned at Concordia.

  Raen eventually returned to his seat.

  “I still don’t buy that Gaspar is the killer,” he muttered.

  “No alibi, a witness placing him nearby, and magical strength that fits—if he had help from the Prime Arkanode,” Tyler pointed out.

  Alice finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. “What about the water?”

  All eyes turned to her.

  “I know my analysis method isn’t officially validated yet, and I understand we can’t formally use it in the case file. But the blood crystals showed that Olaf wasn’t lying during the interview. And the witness saw him near the apartment—with flowers. Who brings flowers to someone they plan to kill?”

  She folded her arms, more resolved now.

  “Olaf said he took a walk in the park near Concordia that night. It’s true—the park’s right near Lizbeth’s building. He wasn’t lying about that. And one more thing—Prime Arkanode isn’t cheap. Olaf lives on a scholarship. How would he even afford one?”

  Thomas leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the table. “Lizzie had a good job. She could’ve bought it for him.”

  Silence settled over the room. Raen returned to his seat, his mind still grappling with Tyler's revelations, before he began issuing orders with crisp authority.

  “All right. For now, the Gaspar theory remains our top working lead. So—Tyler, Blaine twins—you’ll search his dorm room. Look for any evidence of amplification gear, especially Prime Arkanodes. Same goes for Lisbeth’s apartment. The conclusions we draw will depend heavily on what you find.”

  He continued, tone sharp but steady.

  “We’re also continuing to vet the other connections in the case. We’re still waiting on that response to our background request, and we’ll quietly verify alibis just like we planned.”

  Raen glanced toward Alice.

  “Albert promised me he’d assist with access to Goldspire. So Alice and I will handle reconnaissance there. For now, I’m heading to see Noland—he may already have the clearance.”

  With that, Raen strode out.

  As he walked through the corridors of the Enclave, his mind turned over the implications. If Olaf really turned out to be the killer… it would be a hell of a twist. On paper, everything pointed to him. But still, Raen couldn’t shake the sense that something didn’t fit. It wasn’t about evidence—it was about instinct. He just didn’t match the profile of a calculated killer.

  Even if ten dorm stewards swore the boy came back late that night, Raen’s gut was screaming that the pieces didn’t line up.

  Raen entered just as Noland glanced up, the hum of a sealing rune still fading from the document before him.

  “Ah, Raen. Good timing,” Albert said. “I just finalized the seal on your access to Goldspire.”

  Raen exhaled.

  “Thanks,” he said with genuine gratitude as he dropped into the visitor’s chair and brought Noland up to speed on the morning’s findings.

  “You still think you’ll need this authorization?” Albert asked, watching him closely.

  “I do. I need to check every angle, even the absurd ones. I still don’t buy Gaspar did this. Which means we can’t waste time.”

  Noland drummed his fingers against the desk, then slid the document across.

  “All right. Go. Just… keep an eye on our girl.”

  ***

  An hour later, Raen stood inside Goldspire’s sleek executive office. Armon Eider sat behind an enormous carved desk, frowning as Raen approached.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Arcanis Thorne? I was under the impression that we’d already resolved everything during your last visit.”

  Raen said nothing at first—he simply approached, pulled the official document from Noland out of his coat, and placed it squarely on the desk.

  As Armon read it, his brow lifted steadily.

  “And may I ask on what grounds this was granted? Are you suggesting someone in my company is involved? Or perhaps… me?”

  The last part was delivered with an amused, mocking lilt.

  Raen didn’t flinch.

  “You understand I’m not at liberty to share active leads,” he said, voice deliberately mild, letting Eider read whatever he liked into the careful neutrality. “But yes—we believe the murderer has ties to Goldspire. I’ll need the full list of your major suppliers and VIP clients. Please mark the ones Lisbeth worked with directly.”

  “You realize what you’re asking?” Armon said slowly, his tone sharpening. “My VIP clients value discretion above all else. If word gets out that law enforcement is probing into their names, they’ll cut ties instantly.”

  Raen kept his voice neutral. “We’ll be careful. Quiet. Discreet. No one’s cutting ties.”

  Armon drummed his fingers across the polished surface of the desk, scanned the clearance again, then stood.

  “Fine. I’ll give you the information.” He moved to the wall and opened a large arcane-lock safe.

  As he gathered the files, Raen added, “Also—please contact your archive team. Instruct them to cooperate fully with any requests we submit.”

  That stopped Armon mid-motion. Raen could’ve sworn he heard a faint grinding of teeth.

  “And may I ask—we, meaning who exactly? Will Arcaness Lamard be included in these requests?”

  “Of course,” Raen replied, feigning innocence. “She’s part of my team and actively investigating the murder of Lisbeth Vemund. Surely that’s not an issue?”

  Armon smiled tightly, all charm sharpened to a blade.

  “No problem at all, Arcanis Thorne.”

  He placed two folders on the desk, used a duplication charm to produce copies, and handed them over.

  “I’ll alert the archive.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Raen said, collecting the files and exiting without another word.

  When he returned to the reception area, Sabina Gutor was alone. She looked up, lips pressed into a tight line—evidence of the dressing-down Alice must have just walked her through. Raen guessed Alice was headed to HR now.

  “Good timing,” he murmured.

  Regardless of what he said to Eider, the archives held too many buried threads—and Raen wasn’t ready for Alice to start pulling at them.