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It didn’t matter what time of day it was; the Highmage’s office was always so dark, multiple lamps and candles were required to illuminate the books and texts he was referencing.

The old leather of the chair slowly swallowed Mira as she sank deeper into the cushions. Perhaps that’s why Dawson rarely sat down. He had taken his position by the shelf of books to her right. What had his role been during the war? Had Obryn helped him in the aftermath? Was that why he didn’t suffer the consequences like his father had?

The more time she spent with Dawson, the more desperate she was for answers.

The Highmage sat behind his desk with a stoic face. Mira pulled on her left sleeve, and the scrape of the fabric against her scar felt soothing. The moment she confirmed her scar was still covered, she could breathe a little easier.

She hadn’t told Obryn about finding Dark Magic in her scar yet. She would once they were alone.

The Dawson heir kept twisting his signet ring with his thumb in slow, methodical circles, awaiting the news from the Highmage regarding Buckley’s blood.

“Now that Miss Winters was able to locate the Dark Magic present in the victim, I analyzed its proprieties. It’s not poison but a masking potion. It wasn’t the potion that killed Buckley. It was merely a method for the killer to cover up their crime.”

That made everything so much more confusing. “But why go through such an elaborate scheme? It would be simpler to just burn the bodies.”

Obryn leaned back in his chair. “Not if the number of victims would be suspicious.”

Whatever they had uncovered was just the very tip of the iceberg. Mira’s feet were no longer touching the ground, and she kept sinking deeper and deeper into the old chair.

“Council work?” Dawson asked with a clipped voice. “Some form of medical experiments gone wrong?”

“Possibly. Off the books, of course. Just because nobody has been able to recreate Synth doesn’t mean they aren’t trying.”

Today, any attempts to create it were punishable by death. “But…it’s strictly forbidden,” she said.

Even as Dawson remained quiet, she could practically hear him say she shouldn’t be so naive. So gullible. Not as a Wielder.

“Quite so,” the Highmage said, “and yet, those at the top will never be sated. Power begets power, Miss Winters. I don’t want you to underestimate the danger of this.”

“I’m not.”

“Did you not go to a crime scene by yourself without a single signifier acquired at the time?”

Her eyes shot at Dawson with accusation, but he appeared unmoved. Of course he told Obryn. “Well, yes, but—”

“I believe my instructions for you were rather clear.”

“They were. I just—”

“Good,” he said with finality.

Even after weeks of working for him, she was certain Obryn hated her. Perhaps because she was a Caster who didn’t want to be in his department.

“I was able to get samples of spent magic from Buckley’s home,” she countered. “That’s something.”

For once, the Highmage had no comeback.

“I isolated the ingredients,” she said. “I would tell you what I found, but I’m sure you already know.”

Her eyes went to the pale Wielder in the corner, who gave her a knowing smirk.

Of all the ingredients, one stood out to her. Cleritas was not a commonly used amplifier. Its rarity was another indicator the council might be behind the killings. Who else would have access to something like that?

“If it came from the council, is there a way to find out who used cleritas last?” she asked.

Dawson shook his head. “I have zero access to their ingredient library.”