Raen was still processing the impossible fact that Alice Lamard had asked him to dinner—voluntarily. He knew exactly what it meant: Goldspire’s archives. And he wasn’t ready to say no.

  Then again… why not help her?

  She wanted to uncover the truth about her father’s death. If he were in her place, he’d do the same. But it would have to be handled carefully. If Eider truly had a hand in Kian Lamard’s death, he would expect Alice to dig. Which meant they’d need to tread carefully and come up with a plan to pull the threads without Armon ever noticing.

  Albert will send me straight to a mind-weaver if he catches wind of this, Raen thought grimly.

  Inside the office, he spread the stack of documents across his desk and gestured for Alice to take the chair opposite. First order of business—verify the alibis. He rested a hand on his commulet and, after two quick pings, looked up.

  “Confirmed,” he said simply.

  Alice nodded without looking up, already scanning through the paperwork. Raen pulled a few files toward himself and settled into the same quiet rhythm of review.

  The door opened a few minutes later.

  “Raenie,” Diana’s voice dripped with sugar as she slipped inside, a slim folder balanced in her manicured hand. Raen’s shoulders stiffened.

  “I rushed this through—special priority. Just for you.”

  She drifted closer, the sway in her hips as deliberate as her tone, only to pause when she noticed Alice at the desk, buried in files. Diana’s expression flickered—an almost imperceptible tightening around the eyes—before smoothing back into polished charm.

  “Thank you, Diana. That’ll help,” Raen said, his tone polite but clipped.

  Diana’s smile sharpened, her voice still silky but more subdued. “Then you owe me a drink sometime. Just a glass—consider it professional courtesy.”

  Raen glanced briefly at Alice. She remained focused on her files.

  “Not tonight. Raincheck?”

  Diana lifted a delicate shoulder in a casual shrug, smile softening to something more genuine.

  “Fine. But careful, Raenie—third refusal and I’ll stop trying.”

  She set the folder down neatly and slipped out without another word.

  The door clicked shut. Silence reclaimed the room.

  Alice turned a page without looking up. “Breaking hearts before lunch. Heartless as ever, Arcanis.”

  Raen gave her a sideways look. “Not you too please…’”

  Alice finally glanced up, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

  Raen glanced up and met her eyes—calm, curious, quietly amused. He felt his attention slip, momentarily unanchored, and forced himself back to the files. Alice had already moved on, and he followed her lead.

  A few pages in, Raen’s eyes caught on a familiar name in the Goldspire client ledger: Grigor Destrian. His brow furrowed as he traced the entries. Two order forms stood out—one from just two weeks ago, detailing a pair of binding bracelets, and another from nearly three months back for a pendant. The latter, judging by its design notes, had been an engagement piece. Both were personally signed off by Eider. Apparently, the master jeweler hadn’t trusted Lisbeth with a client of Destrian’s weight. But that didn’t rule out the possibility they’d met.

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  The office door swung open. Tyler and the Blaine twins stepped in, the wolf leading with a lidded box in hand.

  “Found something, Boss,” Tyler said, striding up to Raen’s desk and setting it down.

  Raen’s frown deepened. Alice, glancing up from her stack of reports, mirrored the look.

  “Nothing in the dorm,” Tyler went on. “But these were in the victim’s apartment. Prime Arcanode amulet pair—one piece for accumulator, one for amplifier. Stashed in a drawer with her clothes. Lizbeth’s sister swears she’s never seen them before.”

  Raen muttered something sharp under his breath, catching himself a beat later. “Apologies, Alice.”

  She gave a dry little shrug. “No offense taken. I share the sentiment.” She crossed to the window, gaze distant.

  “So… bring our student back in for questioning?” Tyler asked.

  Raen didn’t answer right away. He flipped the latches on the box and brushed his fingers over the etched surfaces of the amulets, letting his senses probe their reservoirs.

  “They’re full,” he said at last, a faint edge of surprise in his voice.

  Alice turned from the window, hope flickering across her features.

  “And that means… what exactly?” Thomas asked, settling with Andreas into their usual shared chair.

  Alice stepped forward, a note of relief in her voice. “If they’d been used, they wouldn’t be fully charged. Not unless Olaf wore and actively recharged them for days—which we know he couldn’t.”

  Raen nodded in confirmation. Andreas slumped back, lips twisting into a pout.

  “And here I thought we’d wrapped this case up. No celebration, huh?”

  “Save the toast for later,” Raen replied dryly. “The kid doesn’t need another strike against him just yet.”

  The twins exchanged exaggerated looks of innocence. Raen snapped the box shut with a decisive click.

  “Most likely, Lizbeth bought them for him. A gift she never got the chance to give. Winter Solstice is months away, but…” Alice tapped the side of the box thoughtfully.

  “Olaf’s birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

  Raen dug through Olaf Gaspar’s personnel file, flipping past his academic reports until he found the date.

  “Haveren Nineteenth,” he confirmed with a low grunt. “Noted. Guess we keep digging.”

  Alice slid back into her chair and bent over the documents once more. Raen, meanwhile, summarized the team’s findings from Goldspire. Then he scanned through the intel Diana had delivered.

  “Gwion Bran is off the suspect list,” Raen said finally. “Dead a year now—renal failure.”

  Tyler frowned. “Bran had daughters. Could they be after revenge?”

  “Unlikely,” Raen said, eyes skimming the report. “Both married with kids, negligible magical aptitude. But we’ll still check alibis to be thorough. And we need to speak with Sevrin Laurec. He wasn’t at Goldspire today.”

  “He’s just human, right? That’s what his personnel file said,” Thomas cut in.

  “Clearly. He graduated from an economics academy, not an arcane institute,” Andreas noted.

  “But his background isn’t entirely straightforward,” Alice added, glancing up from her pages. “Laurec moved to Vraveil for university, but he was born and raised outside the Republic—he’s from the Kingdom of Grolas.”

  The name drew a few raised brows. Everyone in the Republic knew about Grolas—the monarchy to the west with its rigid, old-world traditions. Humans and arcanists held the power there, while other races struggled beneath heavy restrictions. Aristocrats and commoners were sharply divided, marriages tightly controlled, and divorce outright forbidden. It was why so many, especially the free-spirited or disillusioned, fled to the Republic. Here, rank meant nothing and relationships were fluid. But information from Grolas? That could take weeks, months—or never come at all.

  “I can track down Laurec in the meantime,” Tyler offered, rising from his chair. “See if his alibi holds.”

  “Do it,” Raen said. His gaze flicked toward the Blaine twins, pointed and unspoken. “The rest of us will keep digging into Goldspire’s files.”

  Tyler slipped out of the office, and the twins divided up the remaining folders, settling in their table. The hours bled together, the only sounds the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional scratch of a quill.

  “Got it,” Alice said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet. She slid a document free from the stack and held it up. “Here—contract amendment for monthly gold shipments from the gnomish consortium. Signed by curator Alex Fogan… and Lisbeth Vemund, acting as proxy for Armon Eider.”

  Raen leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing as he processed it.

  “So they were at least acquainted,” he murmured. “Which leaves us with one problem: figuring out how to approach a Supreme without a single direct connection.”

  Alice’s gaze shifted from Raen to the twins, and the corners of her mouth tugged upward in something halfway between a grin and a dare. Her sea-colored eyes narrowed ever so slightly, catching the light in a way that suggested mischief rather than malice.

  “Do any of you happen to know an exceptionally talented illusionist?”