Raen stormed down the hallway and into the office with purposeful steps, pushing the door open without hesitation.

  "Why didn’t you warn me who my new subordinate was?" he demanded, his voice low but edged with barely contained frustration.

  Arcanis Albert Noland, sitting behind his cluttered desk, looked up with tired, bloodshot eyes and blinked at him in confusion.

  "What’s the issue?" he asked, frowning. "She’s the top graduate of the Academy of Arcane Forensics. Developed her own proprietary method—analyzing blood crystal formations as emotional and behavioral markers. The Commission's already flagging it as a category-shifting breakthrough in forensic magic. No one’s ever approached blood crystallization this way before—not as a dynamic, memory-retentive liquid medium capable of psychological mapping."

  He tapped the file on his desk.

  "And let’s not forget—you were the one asking for a high-capacity assistant. You said you were stretched too thin and told me to contact the Academy directly."

  "Albert," Raen said, his tone darkening, "it’s Alice Lamard. You don’t just drop a chaos burst like that without warning. I nearly lost it when I saw her in my office."

  "You know her?" Albert’s brows shot up, and then something shifted in his expression as realization dawned. His mouth parted in silent recognition. “Ah. Void take me... I’m sorry, Raen. I didn’t connect the dots.”

  "You need more sleep, Master," Raen replied, shaking his head in quiet reproach as he sank into the visitor’s chair. Then, more seriously, he added, "And I’ll tell you something else—this current case is somehow connected to Goldspire."

  That got Albert’s full attention. He straightened, tension creeping into his stance.

  "Explain," he ordered, his voice suddenly sharper.

  "There’s nothing solid yet. Alice is in the lab working. I’ll update you once I have more."

  Albert crossed his arms and paced behind the desk. "Are you sure you want to rely on her findings? I can reassign her if needed. She did indicate she wanted to work with your team, but ultimately, that decision’s mine."

  Raen drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk, lost in thought for a moment.

  "No," he said finally. "Let her stay. I want her where I can see her. I observed her at the scene—her technique, her attention to detail. So far, she’s done everything by the book. No reason to doubt her skills."

  "Alright," Albert replied, stopping mid-stride. "You know I trust your judgment. Just… keep me informed. And Raen?"

  Raen looked up at him.

  "Let go of the guilt. You did what you had to back then."

  Raen didn’t answer. He simply shrugged, gaze falling to the floor.

  Trying to redirect the conversation, he asked, "Tell me more about that research of hers? Blood crystals—what are we even talking about?"

  Albert opened a desk drawer, rummaged through a pile of documents, and finally pulled out a thick folder. He slid it across the table.

  "This is what the Academy sent over—everything on Alice and her research. It’s… impressive. The girl’s a diamond in the rough. But read it here. You don’t get to walk off with it," he added with a faint smirk.

  Raen flipped open the folder and immersed himself in the report. To his surprise, it was genuinely compelling. Alice’s research described a method of flash-freezing blood droplets to capture arcanegraphs of their crystalline structures—then decoding those patterns to chart emotional imprints and behavioral inclinations. It was a sophisticated fusion of forensic alchemy and empathic analysis.

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  She's talented. No doubt about it. The Enclave could use more minds like hers.

  He shut the folder with a quiet snap, handed it back to Albert, and took his leave. But out in the hall, Raen didn’t move right away. He stood there for a moment, the hum of passing voices muted by the noise in his head.

  He had to tell Alice about Goldspire. She deserved to know—and he needed to see her reaction.

  After her father’s death—and the suspicious demise of the prime suspect, Torian Ved—only one man had remained at the helm of the family’s business: Armon Eider. Since then, Goldspire had risen from a respected jewelry house to the most powerful arcane luxury empire in Vraveil.

  Back then, whispers had followed Armon like a shadow. People speculated he’d orchestrated both deaths—the murder of Alice’s father and the conveniently timed downfall of his rival. The motive? Clear as crystal. But no evidence. No arcane residue. Not even a circumstantial trail. And his alibi? Too perfect.

  Raen had never believed Armon handled it personally. More likely, he’d hired someone clever enough to leave no trace.

  And then Ved died in his cell.

  The case was closed within days. Too fast. Too neat.

  And the one who gained the most? Armon Eider, who quietly bought out Alice’s mother and turned Goldspire into a glittering juggernaut. Why her mother sold the legacy of her late husband—and for a fraction of its worth—was a question Raen had never been able to answer.

  Now, with Alice working this case… and with Goldspire’s name back in the mix… the unease stirred again.

  The old case wasn’t as cold as he’d tried to believe.

  Raen reached the laboratory wing of the Enclave and found the room Alice had claimed. Without knocking, he stepped inside.

  She was seated at a long worktable, a white lab coat draped neatly over her dress, surrounded by enchanted instruments and tagged evidence from the Vemund case. Her attention was razor-sharp, her pen moving quickly across the pages of a thick notebook. Long, pale curls were pinned back in a loose twist, though one strand had escaped. She tucked it behind her ear absently, never looking up.

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  That’s when she looked up.

  Those sea-colored eyes—serene, searching, unreadable—met his without hesitation. For a moment, Raen forgot why he’d come. The sharp line he’d rehearsed vanished. The name, the warning, the confrontation—it all slipped from his mind like water through cracked stone.

  So instead, he did what he always did when emotions threatened to take the reins.

  So instead, he reached for the only shield he trusted: the case file.

  “Apologies if I’m interrupting, Alice. Any developments?”

  “Yes, Arcanis,” she replied evenly. “Based on preliminary analysis, this was no natural death. Her blood was subjected to external interference—frozen from within, forced into a crystalline stasis. Circulatory collapse followed, and her heart failed. I know how unusual that sounds, but I’ll provide the full report, including arcanegraph captures and a crystal pattern matrix to support the conclusion.”

  Raen narrowed his eyes slightly. “This is your method, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” she said with quiet pride. “The foundation of my thesis. It earned top distinction at the Academy of Arcane Forensics, and the placement offer here. If you’d like, I can provide the full research manuscript.”

  Raen gave a faint, knowing smile. “According to Noland, the High Commission is nearing the end of their validation trials. Once it’s approved, your technique could reshape the field entirely. You’ll make your mark.”

  “I’m not looking for fame, Arcanis Thorne,” she said quietly, almost shyly. “My goals lie elsewhere.”

  His expression cooled. The shift was almost imperceptible, but Alice caught it.

  “And what goals are those, Alice?” he asked, voice lower, more guarded. “I understand why you'd want to join the Enclave. But why my team?”

  She met his stare without flinching. “Well, you’re the best, Raen. The capital’s finest. A living nightmare for criminals.” Her voice was silky, with just a trace of mockery.

  Raen said nothing.

  He stood there—still, unreadable—then turned sharply and left. The door shut behind him with a resolute thud.

  For a moment, all was silent.

  He didn’t know why he’d asked her that. Didn’t know what he’d been hoping to hear. But her answer—the tone of it—had knocked something loose inside him. And he didn’t like how easily it showed.

  A few seconds passed.

  Then he came back.

  The door opened again, his posture composed, his voice flat but deliberate. “Alice. Our victim worked as the personal assistant to Armon Eider.”

  She froze.

  Slowly, she straightened, her wide eyes locking onto his with stunned clarity. The air seemed to still. No words came.

  “I expect your report soon, Arcaness,” Raen said, his tone clipped.

  He turned again, crossing the threshold. Then, as if caught by something just before he left, he paused. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

  “I failed you, Alice. I’m sorry. If I could turn back time... I would.”

  And then he was gone.