“I’m saying it’s a possibility,” he said quietly.
“I mean…” She shook her head. “Just the official story. Civic heroes, preservationists, people who wanted to honor and protect the land. The names have shifted over the years, but…”
Her breath caught. “There must be some who’ve been on it since the beginning.” She looked up at him, horrified and fascinated all at once. “Do you think they know?”
Splice set his glass down on the coffee table, the sound sharp in the silence. “Have we ever seen the original paperwork for the Trust? The founding documents before any amendments were made or shares changed over.”
“No,” Goldie said slowly. “I actually tried to find it in the city archives for some Solstice planning stuff. But it wasn’t there. It had been checked out.”
Her throat tightened as realization struck. “It was checked out for the Ashenvale Ventures meeting.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think—no. Sure, they’re a massive corporation, so, automatically three-quarters evil, but they wouldn’t… they wouldn’tknowinglybe part of something like ritual sacrifice. Would they?”
Splice began to pace, dragging a hand through his hair. “I doubt they know anything about it,” he said quietly. “And I doubt the paperwork itself holds proof of murder. But if we could see theoriginalTrust documents, we might learn who those seven were.”
A flicker of memory surfaced, sharp and insistent.‘It should’ve defaulted to the rest of us. That’s how we set it up. He agreed. No heirs, no holdup.”
Goldie drew in a slow breath. “I heard something at my first planning meeting. Councilwoman Mishra talking to Councilman Swale about shares. Swale said something about a closed-door meeting coming up, and then Mishra said something like,‘You’re sure the will didn’t change?’”
She gave a helpless little shrug. “At the time, I thought it was just politics.”
Splice’s head lifted, his attention razor-sharp. “Mishra. Swale. I recognize those names. They were at the meeting with Truckenham’s lawyer—along with another one, Idris. The only ones important enough to have nameplates.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “And they were the loudest voices objecting to Mycor inheriting the shares.”
Goldie looked up sharply, her heartbeat quickening. “The Big Four,” she whispered.
He frowned. “What?”
“The Big Four,” she repeated. “Truckenham, Mishra, Swale, and Idris. My friend Carmen said they basically run the Land Trust. Real movers and shakers. Between politics, money, and influence, they own half of Bellwether.”
Splice absorbed that, silent for a moment.
“Great,” Goldie said, her voice going brittle. “Let’s say they’re all in this together. Why kill Truckenham? He had the bead, sure, but they werewinning.They were getting everything they wanted.”
Her mind snagged on Mishra’s voice, rising sharp and accusatory from memory:“If you truly cared about the Trust, you’d have negotiated a higher percentage of the back-end profits for all of us, not just padding your own lump-sum payout!”
Goldie’s breath caught. “The sale,” she whispered. “Ashenvale Ventures. It has to be connected. But why kill him if it puts the whole deal at risk? He was making last-minute changes, sure, but… ”
The thought crumbled halfway out of her mouth. All the threads she’d been trying to tie together slipped loose again. She pressed her palms to her eyes, shoulders trembling.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “None of this makes sense.”
Her throat burned, hot and tight. She was tired of puzzles and gods and politics and death. The ritual’s strange afterglow had drained from her, leaving only exhaustion and the bitter, metallic taste of fear.
“What do we do now?” she asked, her voice a fractured whisper swallowed by the quiet.
Splice crossed the room, slow and deliberate. He eased the glass from her hand and set it aside, then crouched beside her, brushing her hair gently from her face. “Now, you rest.”
Goldie opened her mouth to argue, but Splice laid a finger gently against her lips. “No,” he said, firm but kind. “The mystery will still be here tomorrow.We’llstill be here tomorrow. But tonight has been enough. You’re exhausted.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, the world that had been spinning wildly finally slowing, settling. “Okay,” she whispered at last, the word a small white flag of surrender to the enormity of it all.
He drew her gently to her feet, and before she could sway, his arms were around her. She was too tired to protest, too wrung out to even tease him for the gallantry of it. He carried her into the bedroom, his movements careful.
He laid her down and pulled the sheets up to her shoulders, tucking them around her like he was anchoring her to the world.
“Don’t go,” she mumbled. “Stay here. Please.”
For a long moment, Splice was silent. Then she felt the mattress dip and the sheets rustle slightly. The air around her seemed to exhale.
