He hurried over, nearly tripping over a chair leg.
“Selene,” he whispered, eyeing Riven warily. “You brought… backup.”
Riven didn’t speak. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture loose yet threatening.
“We’re working the case together, Orin,” I said, keeping my voice breezy. “You know that.”
“Right. Yes. Technically.” Orin swallowed, adjusting his glasses. “But, uh… you might want to see this. Now.”
He waved us towards the tech bay.
Mira was already there, looking grim. She nodded at Riven—a curt, professional acknowledgment that held no warmth—but her focus remained glued to the screen.
“Morning,” I said, leaning over the console. “Tell me about the body.”
“Male. Umbrakynn,” Mira said, typing rapidly. “Found in the Industrial Crescent, jammed behind some old machinery near the river intake. He’s been there since Sunday.”
I froze. Sunday afternoon. The timeline matched perfectly.
“Cause of death?”
“Broken neck,” Mira said flatly. “Clean snap. Professional.”
Beside me, Riven stood perfectly still at my side, held in a rigid state of focus. He knew exactly who snapped that neck, and so did I. We were the only two people in the room who knew the truth, the secret anchoring us to one another.
“And there’s more,” Orin added. He pulled up an image of the guard’s uniform—specifically, a small, embroidered crest hidden on the inside lining of the jacket. “He wasn’t just a random heavy. We ran the insignia. It’s a subsidiary security firm.”
“Who owns it?” Riven asked. His voice was low, but it cut through the drone of the servers.
Orin hesitated, glancing at the screen.
“Quinn Enterprises,” Orin said. “It’s a shell company for Varessia Quinn.”
I froze. Quinn. Everyone in Ravenholt knew the name. Old money. Arcane influence. A reputation for getting exactly what she wants, by any means necessary.
“Varessia Quinn,” I repeated. “Why would a high-society magnate have unregistered, augmented guards lurking around an old building?”
“Good question,” a voice said from the walkway.
We all turned.
Standing at the edge of the tech bay, flanked by two slick lawyers in expensive suits, was a woman in blinding white. Silver-black hair. Pale, luminous eyes. A smile that looked like it could cut glass.
“Perhaps,” Varessia Quinn said, stepping into the light, “you should ask me yourself.”
The tech bayseemed to shrink the moment she stepped fully inside. Varessia Quinn advanced into the room, occupying the space entirely with a presence that screamed money and dangerous, old magic. Her gaze slid over Orin, Mira, and finally landed on Riven. She ignored me entirely.
“There you are,” she purred. Her voice was smooth, rich, and terrifyingly calm. “Korenth was wondering if you’d forgotten where your leash was tied.”
Riven remained still. He stood beside me, a dark, immovable object against her blinding glare. “I’m working, Varessia.”
“Are you?” She stepped closer, invading his personal space with the ease of someone who assumed she was welcome everywhere. “It looks more like you’re playing with the local constabulary.”
She reached out, brushing a speck of invisible dust from his lapel. The gesture was intimate. Possessive.
A hot knot of jealousy twisted in my stomach. I hated the sensation instantly, but I couldn’t stop it. She touched him like she owned him. Like she knew the map of his scars by memory alone. And he let her. He endured her touch, watching her with a stone-faced mask.
“We have a body, Miss Quinn,” I said, stepping forward. I forced my voice to remain steady, authoritative. “An unregistered guard employed by your company.”
