Raen woke half an hour before his alarm, his mind already tugging toward the day ahead.

  Goldspire. Alice. Just the two of them.

  Maybe he'd grab coffee and pastries on the way. Maybe she'd even smile again. He didn’t need much more than that.

  The idea sat with him, steady and stubborn, making him feel almost... lighter.

  He got up, pulled on a shirt, and made for the kitchen to set the kettle boiling.

  Only then did he notice the faint green blinking on his home commulet—a detail he’d completely missed the night before. He’d been too wrapped up in thoughts about Alice, her new method, and all the doors it might open.

  A ripple of guilt stirred in him.

  He checked the commulet and saw it: a missed connection attempt—from his sister.

  Without hesitation, Raen triggered a call back.

  Amina answered just as he sat down with his tea.

  "Raen, are you okay?" Her bright voice came through the crystal, full of warmth and just a hint of worry. "You didn’t check in last night."

  "Sorry, kiddo," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Long day. Fell straight into bed."

  "Good. I mean—not good, but I was starting to worry.

  When are you coming by? The girls have been asking for you, and Patrick brought back some ‘special vintage’ from Alar. I miss you too."

  Raen smiled, the tightness in his chest easing.

  "I’ll come by this weekend for sure. We’ll grill something, catch up properly."

  Amina Thorne—no, Amina Ramon now, for six years—was Raen’s younger sister.

  As a child, she had been sick more often than not, battling a severe respiratory condition.

  Their parents—good, hardworking people—carried only the faintest spark of gift between them. Their mother worked as a nurse at a local clinic; their father pulled long shifts at a vex factory. They simply didn’t have the resources to heal her properly.

  The municipal vitalists did what they could, but even their best treatments fell short of the strength needed to truly cure Amina.

  By the time Raen turned eighteen, the situation had grown critical. Their parents had even begun speaking in low voices about selling the house to pay for more advanced care.

  That was when Raen made his decision. He would join the patrol division. As a patrol officer, he could get Amina access to the Ministry’s affiliated healing centers, where treatment was subsidized. He also enrolled at the Academy of Arcane Forensics training to become an investigator.

  He didn’t need a strong gift to do the work. Just grit. And that, he had in spades.

  His parents had been proud—so proud. Because of Raen, Amina got her chance. And against all odds, within a few years, she stood healthy again, with only the faintest shadow of her old illness lingering behind her.

  Later, Amina became a nurse herself, dedicating her life to helping children who faced the same battles she once fought.

  Seven years ago, while working at the children's clinic, she met Patrick Ramon—a calm, steady vitalist with a quiet smile and endless patience.

  Six months later, they married.

  Not long after, the twins arrived—two wild little girls, born close together, a pair of unstoppable whirlwinds.

  Patrick adored his daughters. He worshiped the ground Amina walked on.

  Sometimes Raen still marveled at it—at how life had finally, finally given his sister the happiness she deserved.

  Amina had always been precious to him. More than family. She was hope he had fought for—and won.

  After finishing his tea, Raen took a quick shower and dressed.

  It was time to head to the EAA, then out to Goldspire with Alice.

  He still had a few minutes—enough to swing by the bakery near the office and pick up coffee and pastries.

  He stepped outside, heading toward the glider stop, his thoughts already drifting.

  Winning back Alice’s trust wouldn’t be easy. And somehow, it mattered more than he wanted to admit.

  You know damn well why, a voice muttered in the back of his mind.

  You’ve known since the first time she looked at you.

  You keep searching for that same spark—and you never find it.

  Eight years ago, he hadn’t thought much about it. She had just been a kid back then—bright, stubborn, full of potential. If anything, what struck him even then was her eyes. That rare, shifting green—the exact shade of the Alaric Sea under a high sun.

  A color you didn’t forget, no matter how many years passed. Back then, he hadn't understood why it unsettled him.

  But yesterday, when she smiled at him... The difference was impossible to ignore.

  Alice wasn't a child anymore.

  The girl he remembered had grown into a young woman—sharper, more grounded, carrying herself with quiet strength. Her curls had lengthened, soft waves brushing past her shoulders. Her presence had changed—subtle, but undeniable.

  Only her eyes had stayed the same. Still impossibly bright. Still carrying that endless, restless green of the Alaric Sea.

  Raen stepped off at his station and made his way to the bakery.

  He stopped in front of the display case—and immediately froze.

  He had no idea what Alice liked.

  For a few moments, he stood there studying the endless rows of pastries, trying to guess. He didn’t even notice the doorbell chime.

  Until a familiar voice spoke beside him.

  "Raen? I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth."

  Startled, he turned too fast—nearly colliding with the glass case. Straightening up and rubbing the sore spot, he looked at her.

  Alice stood there, dressed in a sharp gray skirt that hit just above the knee and a light blue short-sleeved blouse. Her legs were long and slim in another pair of needle-thin heels, and her usual small case hung from one hand.

  Her voice was serious, but her eyes—they were laughing.

  Raen felt his face heat up. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he actually blushed.

  Noticing his discomfort, Alice dropped her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

  "Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me."

  She smiled—and once again, golden sparks lit the sea-glass green of her eyes, the rare color of the Alaric Sea caught under sunlight—and Raen found himself stuck, just for a second.

  Alice spoke again, pulling him back.

  "Were you getting breakfast? I was starving—my fridge’s empty again—so I thought I’d grab something quick."

  Raen coughed, forcing himself to get a grip.

  "Yeah. I mean... yeah, I’m a bit of a sweet tooth," he said hoarsely.

  There was no way he was admitting that he’d been picking out pastries for her.

  She grinned.

  "Then let’s have breakfast together."

  Relief—and something else he didn’t want to name—surged through him.

  They placed their orders and found a small table by the window.

  Keeping up the image of a confessed sweet tooth, Raen chose a light pastry topped with white cream. He had to force himself not to grimace at the sickly sweetness as he worked through it, chasing each bite with bitter black coffee.

  Across from him, Alice delicately sliced into her own pastry—a pale pink rectangle topped with a perfect strawberry.

  Raen made a mental note, studying her plate carefully.

  Soufflé, he guessed. She likes soufflé.

  "Alice," Raen said, steering the conversation toward business, "since we’ve run into each other, let’s go over our visit to Goldspire. I’ll be the one handling the conversation with Master Eider. You’ll observe, stay silent unless asked, and most importantly—keep your personal feelings out of it."

  "I understand, Raen," Alice replied, her voice steady. "I’ll act professionally. And... thank you for letting me come along, despite my, well, personal reasons."

  Raen nodded.

  "Does Master Eider know you studied to become an investigator? Or that you’re now with the EAA?"

  "I doubt it," Alice said, stirring her coffee absently. "After... after my father’s death, he tried to keep in touch with my mother. Played the part of a family friend. But she... she wasn’t herself for a long time. She barely noticed me, let alone anyone else." Her voice softened.

  "For the first six months, we lived with my grandfather. Mom couldn’t even take care of herself, much less me."

  She paused, poked at her half-eaten pastry with her spoon, then took a sip of coffee before continuing.

  "After we moved back home, Armon showed up and offered to buy out our share of the Goldspire estate—the part my mother and I inherited. He made it sound like a generous deal, showed us papers saying the company was drowning in debt.

  But I knew it was a lie. I’d heard my father and Torian discussing business often enough to know the truth. Mom never cared much about the company. She loved painting. That was her world. I tried to convince her to get a lawyer and look into it properly, but... she just didn’t have the strength. Or the will."

  Alice’s voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.

  "She loved my father. And Torian too. They'd been friends since childhood.

  Losing both of them broke something inside her."

  "I’m sorry, Alice," Raen said quietly.

  "So am I," she replied, her voice flat.

  After a moment, she went on.

  "Once the sale was finalized, my mother completely withdrew from the world. She cut ties with everyone—including Armon. As for me... you already know how I feel about him. I was relieved when he finally stopped coming around."

  She set her coffee down carefully.

  "I doubt he even knows about my career. Maybe he kept tabs from a distance. But honestly? I don’t think he ever took me seriously. He knew I didn’t like him. And he never saw me as anything more than a grieving kid."

  "I understand," Raen said.

  He took another sip of coffee, considering.

  "In a way," he added, "your presence might work in our favor. If Eider had anything to do with Lizzie’s death, seeing you might shake him. He could slip up."

  Alice gave a humorless smile.

  "A man who spent years deceiving my parents—and Torian—without once tipping his hand isn’t going to lose his composure because he sees me."

  "But you suspected him even back then, didn’t you?" Raen pressed.

  "I had my methods," she said simply.

  Raen wanted to ask—what methods? But instinct told him it wasn’t time.

  First, he had to rebuild her trust. So, he stayed silent.

  They finished their coffee, left the bakery, and headed toward the enclave’s vex lot.

  The Goldspire Jewelry House was located in the prestigious Brasam District. It occupied an entire building—boutique shops lined the ground floor, while offices filled the second and third stories.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Back when the company had been run by Kian Lamard, Alice’s father, and Torian Ved, it had gone by a different name: Goldencraft.

  A small, beloved jewelry shop nestled in the heart of the city. It had never brought in vast profits, but it provided a steady, respectable income.

  Its main clientele were middle-class citizens—those who appreciated fine craftsmanship and unique designs rather than lavish displays of wealth.

  For Kian and Torian, Goldencraft was never about the money. It was their passion project.

  They had hired talented artisans—true artists—who worked with gold, silver, and semi-precious stones to create pieces that were elegant, original, and accessible.

  There were luxury pieces too, but that line was never the focus.

  Alice’s father and Ved had shared a dream since childhood: to build a place where beauty could be created—and owned—by ordinary people, not just the elite.

  When Armon Eider joined the company, he had pushed for a different vision.

  He lobbied to shift Goldencraft’s focus toward the wealthy—negotiated deals for pricier gemstones and partnerships with renowned jewelers.

  But Kian and Torian refused.

  They stood by the company’s founding spirit. And for a time, Goldencraft stayed true to its heart.

  Only after the business fell solely into Armon Eider’s hands did things change.

  He gutted the old model, rebranded the shop as Goldspire, and within a few short years, turned it into the most exclusive jewelry house in Vraveil.

  Exactly how he managed such a rapid transformation was anyone’s guess. But Raen remembered the rumors—whispers that the new owner had close ties to someone high up in the city’s criminal underworld.

  Half an hour later, their vex coasted to a halt in front of Goldspire’s shining facade.

  For a moment, neither of them moved.

  Raen caught the slight stiffening of Alice’s shoulders before she reached for the door latch.

  Silent, composed—but not unaffected.

  He tucked the detail away.

  They stepped out into the sunlight, the jewelry house gleaming down at them like a challenge.

  At the entrance, a doorman in full livery stood at attention. At the sight of Alice and Raen, he bowed politely and stepped aside, opening the door with a silent flourish.

  As soon as they entered, a sharply dressed young consultant approached them. She wore a pale, elegant dress, her hair styled neatly into a twist. Tiny diamond earrings glinted coolly against her skin. She gave them a quick, professional once-over—her gaze lingering a fraction longer on Alice’s polished shoes—before offering a polished smile.

  "Welcome to Goldspire. How may I assist you?"

  Raen produced his badge with a practiced flick.

  "Good morning. We have an appointment with Master Eider."

  "Of course," the consultant said smoothly. She gestured toward the staircase.

  "Second floor, to your right. You’ll find Master Eider’s office at the end of the hall. I’m not permitted to leave the sales floor, but Madame Gutor—his secretary—will meet you upstairs."

  "Thank you," Raen said curtly.

  "Have a wonderful day," she added with another rehearsed smile, already retreating into the glitter of the showrooms.

  Raen and Alice climbed the marble staircase and turned right at the landing.

  A plain woman in a black suit looked up from her ledger as they approached.

  "Good morning. From the EAA?" she asked.

  Raen flashed his credentials. The woman—Madame Gutor—stood and silently gestured them forward.

  They entered a richly paneled office, the air thick with polished wood and old money.

  Near the tall windows, Armon Eider stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind him.

  "Master Eider," Madame Gutor announced. "Representatives from the EAA. Shall I bring tea or coffee?"

  Slowly, Armon turned. At the sight of Raen, a flicker of recognition—and mild surprise—passed across his face.

  "Ah, Arcanis Thorne," he said lightly. "So you’re with the EAA now?

  I can't say I'm surprised. Your talents always did stand out."

  Then his gaze shifted to Alice—and froze.

  His brow furrowed slightly as he struggled to place her.

  Raen noted it, unsurprised.

  Alice had changed.

  Without the unmistakable green of her eyes—the rare color of the Alaric Sea—Raen himself might have needed a second look.

  Alice met Eider’s gaze with cold detachment.

  "Good morning, Master Eider," Raen said, keeping his voice neutral. "I can’t say the reason for our visit is pleasant."

  He stepped forward, identifying them formally.

  "I am Arcanis Raen Thorne, Senior Homicide Investigator with the Enclave of Arcane Affairs. This is my colleague, Arcaness Alice Lamard. Although, I believe you two have met before."

  Armon’s face tightened.

  His eyes locked onto Alice, confusion and discomfort flickering beneath the surface.

  "Well," he said finally, forcing a smile. "This is unexpected. Good to see you again, Alice."

  Alice didn’t return the smile.

  "Good morning, Master Eider," she said coolly. "Please address me formally. I’m here on official business."

  A polite cough from Madame Gutor reminded them of her presence.

  Armon blinked and turned.

  "My usual coffee, please," he said.

  "And you, Arcanis Thorne? Arcaness Lamard?"

  "Just water," Raen replied.

  Alice echoed the request.

  With a nod, Madame Gutor departed, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Armon crossed to his desk, settling behind it with deliberate ease.

  He gestured toward the two leather chairs opposite him—sleek, expensive, and unmistakably designed for appearances rather than comfort.

  "So, what happened to my Executive Coordinator?" Armon asked, his tone clipped.

  Raen began, watching Eider’s reactions closely.

  "Lisbet Vemund was found dead yesterday morning in her apartment. Her sister, Ariana, discovered her.

  The investigation confirms it was murder. What can you tell us about it?

  When did you last see Lisbeth?"

  Armon’s brow furrowed. He paused for a moment, then sighed heavily.

  "Liz was at work last Friday—that’s the last time I saw her. This is a complete shock, believe me. A deeply unpleasant one. Liz kept a lot of things running here—kept them running well. Without her, I’m practically crippled."

  He grimaced slightly.

  "She had asked me for Monday off—said she had some important personal matters to attend to. I agreed, reluctantly. Normally, I don't schedule anything major for Mondays—it's clean-up day, sorting through whatever problems cropped up over the weekend."

  The door opened then, and Madame Gutor slipped in, quietly setting down their drinks before retreating again.

  Armon took a sip of his coffee before continuing, a sour look crossing his face.

  "Liz let me down by disappearing like that. She handled all the tedious day-to-day operations, and now—well, who’s going to replace her? I’ve got a mountain of work piling up and no one to handle it."

  Raen thought of Lisbet’s white socks—the small, innocent detail—and for a brief, dangerous second, he wanted to punch Armon square in the jaw. But years of experience taught him how to bottle up disgust. Indifference to life and death was a common enough poison in this line of work.

  Before Raen could speak, Alice’s voice cut in—sharp and clear.

  "You know, Master Eider, you're not even trying to hide your true nature anymore," she said, her voice tight with anger. She took a steadying breath, then continued, each word razor-edged.

  "A young woman—your trusted employee—was murdered two nights ago. And not only her. She was two months pregnant. Two lives lost. Forgive me if I don't feel any sympathy for your administrative inconvenience."

  Raen didn’t even feel the urge to reprimand her for breaking protocol. Instead, he found himself admiring her. Alice Lamard, sitting up tall, bright-eyed, and furious, was a sight worth seeing.

  Armon’s fingers tapped once against the cup before he took another slow sip of coffee.

  "You’re right," he said in a conciliatory tone. "Forgive me. I am truly sorry for what happened to Liz. This is... all very sudden.

  And as for her pregnancy—I knew nothing about it. She never told me.

  She wasn’t married, but I do know she had a fiancé. Do you know who killed her?"

  Raen lightly touched Alice’s hand, a silent gesture to steady her, and answered coolly:

  "The investigation is ongoing. You understand we can’t disclose details."

  He leaned back slightly.

  "Tell me, Master Eider—how did someone so young end up as your Executive Coordinator? I thought such a position would demand more seasoned experience."

  Armon nodded, leaning back in his chair.

  "Our company partners with the best universities across the country—internship programs for promising students. Naturally, the Capital's Economic University is among them. Liz was one of the top students in her year. She started with us in the finance department and impressed us all. Presented several outstanding optimization proposals— I took notice. At the time, I had an older, more 'experienced' Executive Coordinator—but he lacked initiative.

  I decided to take a risk with Liz. And I wasn’t wrong. Experience is valuable, of course, but it can also breed complacency. Liz was different. Driven. Creative. Fearless."

  Raen gave a neutral nod.

  "I see. Were there any known conflicts between her and other employees?

  Particularly the former Executive Coordinator—he might not have been pleased to be replaced."

  Armon allowed himself a small, humorless smile.

  "I imagine he wasn’t. But this is business. I’ll instruct Madame Gutor to prepare his file for you. As for any other conflicts—I wouldn’t know. I'm the owner. I don't concern myself with minor office squabbles. You’ll have better luck asking Madame Gutor."

  Raen pressed on.

  "Any issues with clients or suppliers? Any particular project Liz was working on lately that might be worth looking into?"

  Armon’s smile thinned.

  "Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual work headaches. And forgive me, but I won’t be discussing our projects in detail. Confidential company matters. And as I understand, you’re in my office informally—for now."

  "You’re correct," Raen said smoothly. "For now."

  Armon set his cup down with a quiet click.

  "Look, I had no reason to wish Liz any harm. Her death is a loss for me, nothing else. Unless you have a compelling reason to continue this conversation, Arcanis Thorne, I must ask you to excuse yourselves. Feel free to speak with the staff—but try not to disrupt business for long."

  With that, he rose from behind his desk, making it clear the meeting was over.

  Raen and Alice stood as well.

  "Goodbye, Master Eider," Raen said politely.

  Alice remained silent.

  "All the best," Armon said coolly, already striding past them and issuing clipped instructions to his secretary as he disappeared down a corridor.

  Raen immediately sank into one of the visitor chairs near Madame Guthor’s desk, with Alice settling quietly beside him.

  “We’ll need to visit Human Resources to retrieve the personnel file of Master Eider’s former Executive Coordinator. Would you like to wait here?” the woman asked.

  “No, we’ll come with you,” Raen replied. “But first, a few questions. Tell me, what can you say about Lisbeth Vemund? When did you last see her?”

  “Friday. Here at work,” Madame Guthor answered briskly. She paused, then added, “What can I say? Lisbeth was definitely one of Master Eider’s favorites. No surprise there. It’s hard for men to look past that kind of beauty.” She sniffed. “Always flirting, even though she had a fiancé. Probably he’s the one who—” She stopped herself with a shrug.

  Alice and Raen exchanged a glance. Raen sighed inwardly.

  A quick glance at Madame Guthor’s hand revealed no wedding ring. A battered romance novel sat at the corner of her desk, its cover featuring a swooning couple locked in an overly dramatic kiss. Everything about the woman — her sharp tone, her bitterness — filled in the rest.

  He knew the type.

  An aging clerk with an ax to grind, and Lisbeth had been an easy target.

  “That’s confidential. The investigation is ongoing,” Raen said smoothly. Then he pressed, “Are you suggesting that Master Eider and Miss Vemund had a romantic relationship?”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Madame Guthor said, her voice sharpening. “But really—why else would he replace an experienced, reliable Executive Coordinator with a fresh-faced little coquette just out of university?”

  “Master Eider claims Miss Vemund was a quick thinker and an excellent worker,” Raen countered.

  The woman gave a scornful snort.

  “Oh, please. We all know what part of her talents he was really impressed with.”

  Alice watched her, calm and unblinking. Raen leaned forward slightly.

  “All of you?” he asked quietly.

  Madame Guthor faltered.

  He pressed, his voice still pleasant:

  “You understand, Madame, if you’re suggesting that Master Eider was involved with Miss Vemund, that would constitute a motive for murder. Which would make him a prime suspect. Are you prepared to officially make that statement?”

  The secretary’s hands trembled. She began shredding a piece of paper unconsciously between her fingers, sweat beading lightly above her lip.

  “No,” she said hastily. “No, of course not. It’s just—we were all surprised when he replaced the previous Executive Coordinator. That's all. Maybe there was nothing between them. I’m just a secretary. I file papers and deliver coffee. I don’t know anything.”

  “Very well,” Raen said crisply. “Earlier, you also mentioned other men. That Miss Vemund ‘flirted’ with them. Names and positions, please.”

  Madame Guthor’s chin jerked up.

  “Why are you interrogating me? I have work to do!”

  “Madame Guthor,” Raen said, voice polite but steely, “you just told us your duties consist mainly of filing papers and fetching coffee. I’m certain you can spare a few more minutes. And for the record—you are legally obligated to cooperate with an investigation.”

  The secretary wilted. Her hands shook as she crushed the paper tighter in her fist.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “In general, Lisbeth smiled at everyone. Always laughing, being nice. Acting sweet, even after she got someone fired.”

  She huffed.

  “But if you want specifics—there’s one man. They claimed to be just friends, but I don't believe it. Sevrin Laurec. He’s our Senior Economist. Always hanging around with her—lunching together, whispering in corners. I’m sure they were... closer than they admitted. She had a fiancé at home, but here at work? No one keeping an eye on her.”

  Raen tapped the table lightly with one finger.

  "Thank you." He stood.

  “Now, if you please—take us to Human Resources.”

  Madame Guthor led them down a long corridor and opened a heavy wooden door.

  Inside, rows of filing cabinets loomed over two clerks—one young, hunched over a ledger, the other older, shelving files.

  Both straightened at the visitors' arrival.

  “Good afternoon,” said the older woman.

  “Good day,” Madame Guthor replied briskly. “Investigators from the EAA, regarding Lisbeth’s murder. Master Eider requested Gwion Bran’s personnel file.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Raen added. “And if it’s not too much trouble, we’ll also need the files for Sevrin Laurec and Lisbeth Vemund.”

  He glanced at Madame Guthor, his tone dry:

  “Thank you for your assistance. I’m sure you have paperwork waiting.”

  Madame Guthor scowled but left without argument.

  The younger woman, still seated at her desk, hesitated. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying.

  “What happened to Lizzie?” she asked quietly.

  Alice lowered herself into the chair beside her.

  “She was murdered in her apartment. Were two of you friends?”

  The young woman — Katriane, judging by her badge — gave a sad, wary smile.

  “We weren’t close, but Lizzie was kind. Always had a way of making a bad day seem a little easier.”

  She hesitated, glancing down at her hands.

  “A lot of people here didn’t appreciate her warm personality,” she added quietly.

  “’Warm?’” scoffed the older woman, folding her arms. “She was ‘warm’ because she flirted with anything that breathed.”

  Katriane’s spine straightened.

  “Or maybe some people were just jealous,” she said sharply, throwing a look at her colleague. “Young, smart, promoted faster than most.”

  Madame Morvan bristled.

  “You watch your tone, Katriane. I'll say what I please. Your little friend chased after men — and one of them finally caught her.”

  Katriane didn’t answer. She turned her face away, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She turned away, refusing to be drawn further into the argument.

  Raen kept his expression neutral, though internally he sighed. Bickering clerks. Even in the city’s most prestigious jewelry house, some things never changed.

  Madame Morvan, catching herself, quickly shifted tactics.

  “Please, Arcanis, have a seat,” she said, suddenly saccharine. “I'll prepare the files for you immediately.”

  She beamed at Raen — or tried to. He thought she resembled a toad trying to purr.

  Without a word, he sat down at the second desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Alice making a small hand gesture toward him — a signal.

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  Alice turned to Katriane and said lightly:

  “I don’t suppose there’s a break room around here? A little coffee wouldn’t hurt. Maybe you could show me?”

  “Of course,” Katriane said quickly, rising to her feet.

  Raen gave Alice a subtle nod of approval.

  "Go ahead, Alice. I’ll review the files and meet you shortly. After that, we’ll head to the finance department."

  Madame Morvan threw Katriane a dirty look but said nothing.

  Once the two young women left, Raen turned to the remaining clerk.

  “So. Tell me about Gwion Bran. You’ve been here a while, haven’t you?

  You must know the story.”

  Madame Morvan straightened, smoothing her skirt importantly.

  “Of course. It's practically my job to know everything,” she said with a hint of pride, dropping two folders in front of him. “And Gwion? He was a fine worker. Reliable. Respected. Until that little vixen charmed Master Eider right under everyone’s noses.”

  Raen kept his face blank as she went on.

  “He worked here for nearly five years, you know. Stable. Dependable. But once she showed up — barely out of university — he was shoved out. He was devastated. Almost weeping in my office, poor man. Sabine — Madame Guthor — and I did our best to console him.”

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

  “They were...close, you know. Sabine and Gwion. He even courted her for a while.”

  “And after he was dismissed?” Raen asked smoothly.

  “Oh, he took it hard. Started drinking, last I heard. Eventually, he left the capital altogether. Must’ve been six months ago.”

  Raen flipped open the file, scanning.

  “And why didn’t he find another position in the city?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.

  Madame Morvan huffed.

  “You don’t just replace a position at Goldspire. It’s the most prestigious house in Vraveil. This job was the pinnacle of Gwion’s career. And they kicked him out — over some silly girl with big ideas and no real experience.”

  “So in your opinion, he had serious reasons to resent Lisbeth?”

  “Maybe,” Madame Morvan admitted. “But don’t you go thinking he would’ve hurt her! Gwion Bran wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, it’s been two years. Who carries a grudge that long?”

  Raen didn’t answer immediately.

  Two years. Long enough for the anger to cool. Or long enough for it to rot into something worse.

  Still, it seemed unlikely.

  “Thank you,” he said neutrally. “I’ll review the files. If I have any more questions, I’ll let you know.”

  Madame Morvan beamed.

  “Of course, Arcanis. No one here knows more than I do.”

  Raen suppressed a sigh.

  Of course you do.

  He turned his attention to the files, blocking out the woman’s eager expression. There was work to do.

  And something about this case was already starting to stink.