Alice

  Dead girl. Frozen blood. No answers yet.

  The ride back to the Enclave was quiet… The ride back to the Enclave was quiet, save for the hum of the vex gliding through the streets. Raen kept casting odd glances my way, as if he wanted to ask me something but couldn’t quite bring himself to. I didn’t make it easier for him. Instead, I turned to the window, watching the city blur past.

  The Blaine twins, meanwhile, were completely unbothered—fast asleep in the back seat. Unbelievable. There was a young woman—dead. Pregnant. Murdered, possibly. And these two were napping as if we’d just returned from a routine errand. Then again… they were vampires. I supposed their kind processed things differently.

  When we arrived at the EAA, Raen sent the twins off to compile a report on their neighborhood inquiries, then announced he was heading to give his debrief to Arcanis Noland. I asked him where to find the forensic lab, and as soon as he pointed me in the right direction, I left without another word. I had a long night ahead of me.

  The laboratory was nothing short of impressive. It was far larger than the one we had at the Academy and consisted of several separate workrooms, offering each investigator a private space to focus entirely on their case. Back at the Academy, we’d had no such luxury—we all worked in a shared space, shoulder to shoulder, with only individual desks to stake out for ourselves. Privacy had been an illusion.

  Here, every room brimmed with precision and purpose, outfitted with specialized crystals and enchanted tools—each attuned to the delicate work of forensic arcanists. Along the far wall, towering shelves stood like silent sentinels, cradling an extensive collection of reference texts. Many were rare, their spines bearing titles I had only glimpsed in passing at the Academy. My fingers traced the embossed lettering, pausing on volumes so coveted that, back at the Academy, they were locked away in the restricted archives, accessible only under strict supervision—and never for long.

  Impressive. But there was no time to linger. I set my case on the table, took a steadying breath, and rolled up my sleeves. Time to get to work.

  I opened my forensic kit, carefully extracting the samples—Lizbeth’s blood and the remnants of the tea she drank before her death. Working with steady hands, I diluted the blood with a neutral thinning agent, then let a few drops fall into a glass dish. Placing my palm over it, I reached for my gift.

  All right, Lizzie, let’s see what you have to tell me.

  Warmth. Light. Love. The strongest impressions always came first—foundational emotions woven into the very essence of a person. Lizzie had been kind, open, endlessly curious. The kind of girl who likely smiled at strangers and laughed easily.

  But recent emotions surfaced next. Sorrow. Worry. Yet they weren’t overwhelming—nothing festering or deep-rooted. The kind of sadness that follows a fight with a loved one, the kind of worry laced with hope. Anxiety about the future, but anticipation as well. She’d been nervous about her pregnancy, but not afraid. If anything, she had been excited.

  Nothing indicated poison. No lingering traces of dark magic beyond the usual minor, everyday traces that clung to nearly everything in a city like Vraveil. Just a presence—a sudden, unnatural stillness. A moment where life simply… stopped.

  A chill curled down my spine. Ariana’s description of Lizzie matched exactly, as did the vitalist’s assessment of her rare health. But something had killed Lizzie—and her unborn child—forcing her blood to halt in its tracks. And not something. Someone.

  Someone who understood blood intimately.

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  Someone skilled enough to freeze it inside her veins.

  My fingers curled into my palm. There were only two types of creatures capable of such precise control—vitalists and supreme vampires. And neither should have been able, or willing, to do this.

  A vitalist’s gift was meant to heal, not harm. Their magic worked in harmony with the body, restoring rather than destroying. It would take a truly unhinged mind to twist a life-giving force into a weapon. And on top of that, the target had been a young woman and the child she carried.

  The very first suspect who came to mind? Olaf.

  Lizzie’s fiancé.

  A vitalist, though not yet a certified one.

  He had every reason to panic at the news of her pregnancy—Ariana said as much. But there was a vast, yawning chasm between not being ready for fatherhood and murdering the mother of your child in cold blood. It didn’t add up.

  No, I thought. No sane person would react like that.

  But sanity wasn’t always a guarantee.

  And that meant Olaf was definitely worth investigating.

  The possibility of a supreme vampire was even more far-fetched. Lizzie’s pregnancy wouldn’t have been an obstacle to them—everyone knew the cold detachment and self-serving nature of their kind. But what possible connection could an ordinary human girl have to a clan leader? Because that was the problem—every supreme vampire was one. They didn’t waste time mingling with mortals unless there was something to gain.

  And yet… anything was possible. I’d have to consider the angle. However unlikely, dismissing it outright would be careless.

  I exhaled slowly, already dreading the team’s reaction when I presented my findings. A vitalist or a supreme vampire—both absurd, both requiring an explanation. They weren’t going to like it. I didn’t like it.

  But work was work.

  Setting aside my unease, I turned my attention to the second vial—the tea sample. The same method, the same careful process.

  I pressed my palm over the dish and focused.

  Come on, Lizzie. What else were you feeling?

  The response was immediate but unsurprising—nothing new. Melancholy and hope interwoven, the echo of a heart that had been torn but still held onto love. No bitterness. No terror. No sharp, lingering pain.

  Just the emotions of a girl in the wake of a fight with the man she wanted a future with.

  Which meant I was still standing in the same place. And Lizzie’s killer remained a ghost.

  Now came the hardest part—justifying my findings to Raen and the team.

  Unfortunately, no one believed in my gift. No one except my grandfather and my closest friend. Over time, I learned to keep it hidden, even developing an alternative method—one that allowed any forensic arcanist, even without my ability, to extract the same information from a liquid sample that I could simply by reading it.

  It was a painstaking process. It required first learning to interpret water crystal formations and linking them to corresponding emotions or external influences. Blood was even more complex—it held echoes of behavioral patterns, emotional imprints. But it was worth it. If done correctly, it provided a direct, irrefutable glimpse into both victims and suspects. After all, blood never lies.

  I let a drop of Lizzie’s blood fall onto the magnification artifact and whispered a freezing incantation. The crystals took shape. I captured the formation with an arcaneograph for the case file, then reached for my notebook, carefully sketching each pattern and annotating its meaning.

  How much easier it would be if I could just tell them what my gift revealed and have them believe me.

  But in a way, this method was better. My ability was mine alone. This technique, however, could be used by anyone.

  As I worked—familiar motions, but time-consuming all the same—memories from my childhood surfaced.

  My father at the head of the table in our old house, my mother seated to his left. To his right, Torian, laughing, teasing her. Across from him, Armon, smiling along with them.

  But I had seen past his smile.

  I used to test my ability on the drinks of my parents’ friends, just out of curiosity. And I was stunned to learn that Armon—charming, pleasant, always laughing—was drenched in malice and jealousy.

  I had tried to tell my parents so many times.

  They never took me seriously.

  “You can’t read water, Alice,” they’d chuckle. “You’ve been reading too many wizard tales.”

  But I could. And they never believed me. My magic was weak, my potential unimpressive—what I claimed simply wasn’t possible.

  It wasn’t until Academy that I found a way to prove it scientifically—to justify my bond with water in a way others could understand. My methodology was now under review by the Arcanist Commission as a potential breakthrough in forensic magic. It had been my key into the EAA, allowing me to stand where I was now.

  And one day, my gift wouldn’t just be my secret weapon. It would be a tool for justice.