The headline banner screamed across the bottom of the screen in bold red: TERROR IN HIGHSPIRE.
A reporter stood in front of the ruined facade of Quinn Tower. The lobby was boarded up with heavy steel sheets, but the scorch marks were visible on the stone. The top of the tower—where the chrome spire had once stood—was a jagged, broken tooth against the grey sky.
“Authorities have confirmed the identities of the radicals responsible for the devastating attack on Quinn Enterprises,”the reporter said, her voice grave.
Photos flashed on the screen.
First, Riven. A grainy surveillance shot from years ago, looking cold and dangerous.
“Riven Ashborne. Disgraced former consultant. Wanted for multiple counts of murder and acts of magical terrorism.”
Then, Dane. His official police ID photo, looking stoic and dependable.
“Detective Dane Lennox. Accused of aiding and abetting a known fugitive.”
And finally, me.
It was a photo from my graduation day. I was smiling. I looked young. I looked like someone who believed that the law protected people.
“And Detective Selene Rowan. Wanted for the murder of philanthropist Varessia Quinn and conspiracy to incite magical unrest.”
The screen cut to a photo of Varessia. It was a glamour shot—professional, benevolent, untouched.
“Ms. Quinn is being hailed as a hero today,” the reporter continued. “She died trying to protect her employees from the assault. A memorial service is being planned for later this week.”
I stared at the screen, a knot tightening in my stomach.
“A hero,” I whispered. “She was going to feed the city to monsters, and they’re calling her that.”
“History is written by the ones with the power,” Riven said, stepping away from the periphery of the room. “The microphone is simply a tool they purchased.”
He walked towards me, the black iron dagger in his hand. His movements were slow and methodical as he ran the rag over the blade one last time. He looked recovered from his physical wounds, though the intensity in his expression had remained fierce since we fled Highspire. Stopping at the table, he placed the clean metal flat on the stone directly in front of me. It was a silent offering—a promise of his continued help, and a firm push to hold my ground.
I stared at the weapon. My fingers drifted to the back pocket of my jeans, finding the hard edges of my police shield. I pulled it out and set it on the table next to the dagger. The silver crest looked small and entirely irrelevant now. I was a detective once, operating within the boundaries of the law. The city had stripped that away. Yet, looking at the dagger, and then at the man who had placed it there, my resolve solidified. I refused to cower. I was going to fight back, and I was absolutely certain I wouldn’t be doing it alone.
“There’s more,” Orin said, his voice returning as the news feed cut out. “We no longer have access to the Calysteri murder cases. They’ve scrubbed those records completely. Miller Cross, Varessia’s employee who turned up dead—his entire file was deleted. It’s like the man never existed. The warrant you tried to serve to lock her up is also gone. Erased. Officially, that arrest never happened.”
“It happened,” Dane growled. “We were there.”
“We know,” Mira said softly. “And we aren’t going to let them bury it completely. Orin has backups of the autopsy. We have the logs.”
“Don’t use them,” I said sharply. “Not yet. If you release anythingnow, they’ll track it back to you. You’ll end up on a wanted wall next to us—or worse.”
Orin looked like he wanted to argue, but I kept my focus on Mira.
“But there is a play you can make. Daniel Thorne’s evidence box—the physical documents he gathered against Highspire. I stashed them under the loose floorboards in my bedroom.”
Mira leaned closer to the camera. “You want me to extract it.”
“Only if it’s clean. Highspire will have eyes all over my building. If it looks too hot, you walk away.”
Mira gave a tight nod. “I’ll get the box.”
She placed a hand on Orin’s arm to quiet his lingering protests and then looked back at me, her expression softening into genuine concern. “How are you holding up, Selene? Really?”
I looked around the Cistern—at the solid stone walls, the dusty books, and the team standing ready in the low light.
“We are standing,” I said. “But we aren’t cops anymore, Mira. We are the only defence left against the entities Korenth brought through the Rift.”
