“Not much.” He rounded the bonnet, falling into step beside me. “Most of it’s missing. Reports gone, interviews gone… half the damn thing looks like it was stripped for parts.”
A bitter laugh scratched its way out of my throat. “Of course it was.”
“But,” he added, leaning in as we reached the shelter of the stone overhang. “There was one thing left. His last known address.”
That straightened my spine. “Where?”
“Midtown Row.” He shook the water from his coat. “Old building. Might not even exist anymore, but it’s a lead.”
“Better than nothing,” I murmured. “Once we’re done here, we go there.”
“Works for me.” He swung the massive oak door open. “If anyone still remembers Thorne, we’ll find them.”
We stepped inside. The air shifted immediately. The scent of rain gave way to paper, varnish, and dust. Beneath it all lingered the metallic tang of a trapped storm. My senses prickled.
“Charming,” Dane muttered, eyeing the high, vaulted ceiling. “Bet the heating’s from the last century.”
“Let’s not insult the building until we get what we came for.”
The Main ReferenceDesk sat beneath a vaulted arch. The clerk glanced up, unimpressed, until he saw the badges landing on the wood.
“Morning,” I said, placing the folded authorisation slip on the counter. “We’re looking for someone who handles Restricted collections. We have clearance from Chief Inspector Hale to access specific materials.”
The clerk’s expression shifted—not quite alarm, but a healthy dose of respect. Restricted access in this place clearly wasn’t a daily request.
“Of course,” he said, smoothing the slip open to check the seal. “The Restricted Section is usually staffed by appointment only… but with this level of clearance—“ He nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’ll want Aelira Valtaris. She oversees most of the Restricted archives.”
Dane tilted his head. “Is she available?”
“I’ll call her down,” the clerk replied, reaching for the desk comm. “She’s usually upstairs. Might take her a moment. Please waitthere.” He gestured towards a cluster of worn leather chairs near the stairs.
A short wait followed before soft footsteps echoed from a side corridor.
A tall woman emerged—elegant, precise, with that quiet Calysteri air of someone who had lived too long and seen too much. Pale-gold hair braided back, grey coat tailored close, and luminous eyes that seemed to take in everything at once without moving.
When she saw me, the polite distance evaporated. Her gaze locked on, and the air between us shifted. A sudden wave of warmth projected from her, washing over me with a vibrating hum of nostalgia. It struck with the weight of a physical touch. She stared at me with the raw, unguarded familiarity of a resurfacing memory.
“Selene Rowan,” she said softly. “It has been… a long time.”
I blinked. “Do we know each other?”
“You used to visit with your father.” Her voice remained warm, steady. “After your mother passed. You were very young.”
I swallowed. All I had from that time were fragments—warmth, the scent of lavender, someone humming in the dark. Nothing solid. Nothing shaped like this woman.
Aelira turned to both of us, the professional mask sliding back into place. “How may I help the Major Crimes Unit?”
“We’re looking for information related to a rare alloy,” Dane explained. “Old records, early metallurgy. We were told your Restricted Stacks might hold relevant material.”
She studied us a beat longer than necessary, then nodded. “Come with me.”
We followed her through the Public Hall to a locked iron gate. A swipe of her keycard, a soft buzz, and the gate opened.
The temperature dropped as we climbed the metal stairs, the air thickening with the scent of dust and age. Shelves towered overhead, forming a forest of old knowledge.
“This level holds our earliest collections,” Aelira murmured. “Folklore. Pre-Settlement technology. Artefacts with uncertain provenance.”
That word again. Uncertain. Deliberately vague.
