The cry for help reverberated through the café, tearing through the air like a blade. Before any of us could react, Toini had already stepped forward.

  “Go.”

  There was no hesitation. She knew that someone needed to stay and secure the area while the rest had to respond to the desperate outcry. I gave her a quick nod and moved to sprint alongside Yvon, Eugen, Egor and Lev toward the source of the scream—

  Only to be yanked forward, my balance off.

  Two hands seized my arms in grips so unyielding—one on each side.

  Yvon and Lev.

  They dragged me along without so much as a word. Yvon’s overprotectiveness wasn’t unexpected—he was my twin and was the man who spent our entire lives making sure I wasn’t alone to fend for myself despite knowing that I could handle myself. But Lev? My fiancé of a day? What was his explanation for this?

  Still, there wasn’t time to question it or complain that they were hurting me.

  The kitchen was dark, the same darkness that swallowed the first floor minutes earlier. It was so dark that it smothered all visibility.

  “Fix those lamps. Now.”

  Lev’s voice was steel, it rang out, sharp and authoritative. No panic, nothing unnecessary. Just a precise command.

  In the darkness, we could hear the staff scramble to obey. Fixing those lamps—powered by interconnected rylith circuits—wasn’t easy. Someone was frantic, trying to reset the ryndite conductor, but the charge wouldn’t hold. Sparks flickered and died but it failed to rekindle the lumenite nodes embedded in the wall. Another staff fumbled with the questone stabilizer, dropping it onto the tile with a loud clatter. A sharp whirr cut through the tension as another staff member spun the emergency hand-crank. The energy stuttered, surged, and finally locked into place

  Even in the dark we kept moving. Seeing what happened a few minutes ago when the lights also went out, we couldn’t afford to waste time. After all, someone ended up dead. But, in a kitchen—a place littered with knives, boiling liquids, and exposed flames—recklessness wasn’t an option.

  Yvon and Lev still hadn’t let go of me, but I clenched my jaw but didn’t bother to say anything.

  Then, finally! A sharp whir cut through the tension as a staff member forcefully spun the emergency hand-crank. The energy stuttered, surged, and finally locked into place. The lamps flared back to life.

  And then… we saw him.

  The Baker—a man in his forties, having a build similar to my father—was on the floor. Blood seeped from his lower right abdomen, and kneeling beside him was a Prep Cook, hands pressing desperately against the wound, her entire body trembling.

  Eugen was already moving, dropping to his knees beside the injured man.

  “Sir, my name is Eugen Guérisseur. I'm a doctor. Can you hear me?”

  No response.

  Eugen’s jaw tightened.

  “He’s awake but not answering—he’s either losing too much blood or going into shock,” He shifted closer. “Listen to me. If you can’t talk, just blink or squeeze my hand.”

  Still nothing.

  The Baker’s breathing was shallow and his skin was already turning to an unsettling shade of gray.

  Eugen immediately pressed firm, direct pressure on the wound.

  “He’s slipping. We need to slow the blood loss.”

  I didn’t hesitate. I ripped my dress—hand-tailored, imported fabric, worth a small fortune—without a second thought and shoved it toward Eugen.

  He barely spared me a glance before nodding, “Good thinking. We’ll use this as a compression bandage.

  Lev helped him wrap the cloth tightly around the wound, securing it with precision, his experience during the war coming in handy. Yvon pressed down where Eugen had directed him, his usual smirk wiped off his face replaced with grim determination.

  Eugen’s voice was clipped and focused.

  “Keep pressure here—don’t let up,” He said. “He’s lost a lot of blood but we still can save him.”

  “Cold, clammy skin, a rapid, weak pulse, and shallowed breathing…” Eugen’s frowned deepened as he muttered to himself.

  “He’s in shock. We need to elevate his legs! Someone, get on it!”

  At Eugen’s word Egor and I moved, carefully shifting the baker’s body.

  Eugen turned to the kitchen staff, “We need to keep him warm. Get coats, curtains, anything! NOW!”

  The staff snapped into action, draping aprons and tablecloths over the baker as best they could, even ripping out the curtain on the archway to the kitchen.

  Minutes felt like hours, but finally, the pounding of hurried footsteps notified us that the emergency responders had arrived. A team of medics pushed through caring medical suppliess and the necessary tools and equipment to stabilize him.

  Eugen didn’t let up his treatment even as they arrived.

  “I’m Eugen Guérisseur, a doctor. Emergency medicine. I’ve been stabilizing him—lower right abdominal stab wound. Applied pressure, kept him warm, and monitored for shock. He’s lost a lot of blood but still has a pulse.”

  The lead medic nodded in appreciation, “We’ve got him. Good work, Doc.”

  Eugen exhaled slightly, finally letting go as the professionals took over.

  “You’re in good hands now,” He said.

  As the medics worked, securing the Baker onto the stretcher, I took a step back leaning against the wall.

  I let out a sigh of relief, and that’s when I noticed that the fabric I tore from my dress was longer and wider than I had thought. My thighs and undergarments were out in the open!

  “Oh, shoot!” I let out in surprise, embarrassed at the state of my dress.

  I scrambled to tie the edges together. I didn’t want the whole empire to know what I wore underneath my dresses. Hearing my flustered noises, Yvon turned to me and his eyes widened and began to remove his coat but before he could hand it to me, someone had already beaten him to it.

  “Here.”

  Lev.

  Without a word, he grabbed my hand, placed his coat on it, and let go. No words. Just an action. Giving me no time to react at all.

  Then, he turned to Egor, “The paramedics should’ve sent another skyeire when they got the gist of the situation, which means it won’t be long until the intrèpolians arrive. They’ve already secured the area, our job right now is to make sure no one leaves the building and tampers with anything.”

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  As the two of them discussed what should be done, I let my gaze drift to the kitchen, scanning the scene.

  A puddle of blood on the floor.

  The backdoor open, the handle drenched in red.

  The chef’s hands had been clean and he was too far from the door.

  From what the evidence is pointing to, it seems the killer fled the scene.

  My mind raced. It had several questions but the answers eluded me.

  How did the killer close the curtains simultaneously?

  What was that strange smell Yvon and I noticed when the lights went out?

  How did the killer disappear so quickly?

  Why attack again when the building was already on high alert—

  “Hm!”

  I was lost in my thoughts but was yanked out of focus when I felt someone grab my hand and pull me back.

  I rolled my eyes and let out an irritated huff, ready to scold my brother’s ears off.

  “Iy—”

  But… It wasn’t Yvon.

  Instead, I found myself face-to-face with Lev’s cold but handsome features.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off before I could even begin.

  “We’re in the middle of a crime scene. A homicide investigation with no clear suspect. Right now we have to make sure that the people outside don’t panic and leave. But I can’t do that if I’m busy keeping an eye on my fiancée, trying to keep her safe and out of trouble.”

  His grip tightened slightly, pulling me even closer than before.

  “Do me a favor,” He said, his voice even, “Stop wandering around and stay close to me.”

  ?

  It didn’t take long—roughly three minutes at most—before the intrèpolians arrived.

  When they stepped into the scene, their eye landed on Lev and Egor, recognizing the two valorians immediately. One of them I knew too well, Inspector Juke, a middle-aged man with a commanding presence, approached us.

  “Vice Captain Lev! I wasn’t expecting you here,” the Inspector said, his gruff voice laced with surprise and grim understanding. “Unfortunate that we meet under these circumstances. Thank you for securing the area—we’ll take it from here.

  Lev, ever composed, barely reacted.

  “We weren’t the ones who secured the area,” he corrected. “Your thanks should go to the third and fourth cygnets of Oryx and their attendants. Egor and I just happened to arrive midway through their handling of the situation. This is your jurisdiction so we’ll leave you to it.”

  And with that, the intrèpolians got to work.

  The officers moved swiftly, establishing perimeters both in and out of the cafe. The doors were on lockdown, no one entered or exited unless they were authorized. Outside, they kept the bystanders at bay to prevent interference. Bloodstains, objects, footprints—everything was meticulously documented. A search began for the murder weapon, and the back door with its bloodied handle became an immediate point of concern. Some hypothesized it could’ve been a diversion and perhaps the intrèpolians did as well considering that they swept the building.

  The six of us remained on the first floor with other customers. One by one, everyone—starting with those who discovered the victims first—were questioned. People chatted amongst themselves and I listened closely, piecing together what I could.

  An hour passed before it was finally our turn.

  My interrogator was the sharp-eyed detective with curly hair, the one famously called Juke’s apprentice—Fàsach.

  “What was the first victim’s condition when you arrived?” he asked, his tone neutral, but expectant.

  “Inches away from death,” I answered. “Eugen and my brother tried to save her but her wound was fatal.”

  “Did you see or hear anything suspicious during the brief moments the lights were out?”

  “I didn’t see anything suspicious since it was dark, obviously,” He arched a brow at my answer but I smirked, finding his somewhat annoyed expression funny. “I didn’t hear anything suspicious either. But…”

  “But what?”

  “But we did smell something weird,” I replied trying to think of a way to describe the smell. “The stairs were near the kitchen so it’s easy to dismiss it as something they were cooking, but this didn’t smell like it belonged in the kitchen. It was… smokey? Like, something was burning and it wasn’t food. I know this because I practically grew up in the kitchen with my grandmother.”

  “When the lights came back on, did you notice anything suspicious?”

  “Not really, but then again I had my hands full,” I explained, “People were about to rush out in panic and two people fainted. If something suspicious happened, I wasn’t able to notice it.”

  “What about the second victim? What was his condition when you arrived?”

  “Barely alive. It was dark in the kitchen so we had to be careful and when the lights came back on he was on the floor and the prep cook was bawling her eyes out, desperately pressing on the wound. The poor girl’s traumatized. Eugen immediately sprang to action and we did our best to help him and thankfully help came soon enough.”

  “Did the victim say anything before passing out?”

  I shook my head, “Not really. He was conscious but wasn’t responsive.”

  Fàsach studied me carefully before jotting something down. “Did you move anything or anyone at any of the scenes?”

  “Only to administer aid to the two people who fainted, but other than that no. We didn’t touch anything unnecessary.”

  “Did you see anyone entering or leaving the crime scene?”

  I shook my head again, “No. Not personally.”

  He gave me one last glance before closing his notebook. “That’ll be all for now.”

  As I stepped out of the interrogation room, I expected to see the others at the table where we waited, but it was empty.

  Before I can scan the area for them, an elderly woman accidentally bumped into me, causing me to turn.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” she said sounding frail but kind.

  “It’s alright,” I assured her.

  She gave me a hesitant smile before asking, “If it isn’t a bother, could you help me back to my seat? It’s on the second floor and I’ve lost my cane.”

  I agreed, and she led me to the second floor. She held onto my hand and climbed up the stairs with her other hand on the rails.

  When we reached the top, a young woman—presumably her daughter—nearly collapsed in relief upon seeing her.

  “Mom!” she gasped, rushing forward. Her face was pale, like all the blood had been drained out, her hands were trembling as she grabbed the old woman’s arm. “Where were you?! I was looking everywhere! With everything that’s happened, how could you wander off without warning?!”

  I watched their reunion in silence, a slight smile tugging at my lips—until a voice spoke from behind.

  “She’s been running around all this time looking for her mother. She was inches away from a meltdown before you showed up.”

  I turned slightly seeing the man—who looked about Yves’s age—but didn’t respond.

  He continued, as if needing no response from me. A one-sided conversation.

  “The poor woman and chef. I didn’t know them personally, but I knew of them. People showered them with praise, it’d be hard to not know them in this side of town. The woman came here weekly after spending time at her late-husband’s orphanage with her son—a sweet boy, the spitting image of his father. And the chef? The street kids loved the guy. But you know what? Behind closed doors… Apparently they were terrible parents.”

  Another man chimed in, “Yeah, I’ve heard those rumors. Apparently, the woman spends—well… spent—more time with the orphans rather than her own son, the boy’s growing up violent and attention seeking as a result. The chef, ha! He’s raising his wife’s bastard son! The product of her affair with his brother. He’s raising him with much more care than his own daughter.”

  “If you think about it… do you really think their kids will miss them? I’ll bet a drink they wouldn’t, the kids would maybe even be relieved.”

  “I’ll bet another drink to that,” said the other one. “Better off an orphan than having parents who aren’t there, isn’t that so Miss?”

  My heart clenched.

  Neglected… An afterthought… Outsiders in our own family…

  Isn’t that how Yvon and I have lived our entire lives?

  But despite it all… would I rather live my life without our parents?”

  “Even if they weren’t great parents…” I found myself saying, “Maybe their kids would still miss them. Because… just maybe…. despite all the neglect, the hurt, and the pain they’ve caused…. their children still love them. For some unexplainable reason.”

  Then… A low chilling voice cut through the air like a soft eerie whisper.

  “Good answer, beautiful. 20:59.”

  Something about it made my skin crawl and I turned to ask. “Hey, did you hear that too—?!”

  But before I could finish my sentence, hands grabbed me. Again.

  This has been happening far too much today.

  I turned around, only to be met with an out-of-breath Lev and an irritated Yvon.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  Yvon clutched my shoulders, his expression furious.

  “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? DISAPPEARING IN A HOMICIDE CRIME SCENE LIKE THAT?!”

  I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could even get a word out, my brother had already yanked me into a tight hug.

  “You are an ARCHER! A MARKSMAN! Hand-to-hand combat ISN’T YOUR SPECIALTY sso DON’T TELL ME I’M OVERREACTING AND THAT YOU CAN HANDLE YOURSELF!”

  “Yvie…” He said, his voice desperate. “Don’t make me worry like that… Please…”

  I softened, hugging him back. Me disappearing might’ve reminded him of the accident. I was careless.

  “I’m sorry, Iy. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to help the old woman. I didn’t mean to worry you. Next time, I’ll leave a note.”

  But even as I comforted my brother, my mind lingered on that voice and the time he mentioned.

  20:59.