The halls of the Clock Hand Tower were narrow, tall, and endlessly winding—constructed like a labyrinth meant to confuse or test whoever dared to walk its length. Isolde walked ahead with a joyful hum with the casual stride of a tour guide who had roamed these halls more times than they could count. This did not go unnoticed by Grand Master Varin.

  "How many times have you walked these halls to have the layout memorized?"

  Isolde laughed, "How about you just ask what you really want to know?"

  "Are you planning to defect to The Hallows and leave the Sanctum?" Varin asked. Isolde looked over her shoulder, "If that was my intention, I would have done so already. No, I have much to accomplish within the Sanctum."

  "Where do your loyalties lie?" He pressed.

  "With my family and friends. I have many friends in the Hallows; I have even more in the Sanctum. Though you can not count yourself among them." Isolde chuckled darkly before she opened a door and walked into a new section of the Tower. Isolde sighed, "You really need to focus on our real enemies, Grand Master. I don't like you, but I'm not your enemy."

  The Grand Master scoffed.

  Darius remained silent as he followed closely behind Isolde. The rest of his company trailed behind him in a loose formation.

  At the very back of the group strode Grand Master Varin—hands clasped behind him, chin lifted, eyes sharp. He walked beside Aelun, who was silent but observant.

  Darius finally looked over his shoulder at Grand Master Varin and turned around, an exaggerated groan escaping his mouth. He gathered his thoughts and then spoke.

  "Did any of you notice anything from the Archbishops?"

  His voice carried cleanly through the corridor.

  Tomas was the first to answer. The man looked like he had been kicked repeatedly since leaving the Accords chamber.

  He sighed. Then sighed again.

  "I…apologize, Sir. I'm not adept in the art of deception." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I couldn't glean anything of worth from their actions. Only that Archbishop Venn is truly a wonderful woman."

  Grand Master Varin scoffed under his breath, the sound sharp as a blade drawn in contempt.

  Tomas, unfazed, lifted his hand and made the Sign of Thorns before continuing forward as if the Grand Master were nothing but a bothersome breeze.

  Calden spoke next, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I noticed some things, but I don't know if any of it matters. Most of it just looked like nerves. Not like I could blame them, really. Few get dragged into those kinds of situations, and usually it's them who do the dragging."

  Darius nodded, his expression unreadable.

  Kaelen groaned. "I didn't see anything."

  Jareth shook his head, equally unhelpful.

  Darius accepted each answer without irritation—simply processing.

  Then a quiet scoff came from behind them.

  Eryndor.

  The young noble-borne Saint walked with his hands clasped behind him, his posture perfect, his expression sharp with thought. His tone, however, was dripping with dry disdain:

  "All four of them seemed guilty. Just of different things."

  The entire group stopped mid-stride.

  Even Isolde paused, glancing over her shoulder.

  Darius turned his head slightly.

  The Grand Master's gaze narrowed. "And what does a young noble like yourself know?"

  Before Eryndor could respond, Aelun let out a soft chuckle. "The fact that he is a young noble leads me to believe he's seen quite a bit."

  Eryndor didn't bother hiding the small, smug smirk tugging at his mouth.

  "I grew up in courts and ballrooms, Grand Master. Places where every word is a half-truth and every smile is a dagger in the dark. I may not be much use in forming battlefield strategy, but I can spot a liar blindfolded and dizzy."

  He paused deliberately.

  "And the only one who didn't strike me as a liar…was Archbishop Venn. The only problem now... is figuring out the lie, and what it's hiding."

  Several Inquisitors exchanged uneasy glances.

  Before the silence could settle too thickly, Myrren stepped forward, already pulling out her notebook.

  "Grand Master Varin," she said, adjusting her glasses. "I assume you're familiar with all the Archbishops attending the Accords?"

  Varin answered curtly, "I am."

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  "Good. Then you can confirm or deny the information I gathered before arriving here." Myrren flipped through her notes. "Let's start with Tiber Kaswyn. He's a known hardliner. A staunch human-first nationalist. He is even on record for belittling and dismissing Elves multiple times in public settings."

  Several members of the group shifted uncomfortably. Kaelen winced outright. Grand Master Varin nodded his head, "Yes, he has been... a problem for some time, but there is a large contingency of human-first followers."

  Myrren continued unfazed. "From my point of view, it seems like human only. Regardless, this makes his eagerness to join this delegation, which is traveling to make peace with a city of monsters… unusual. Someone like him should hate being here. Unless it was for a crusade."

  Darius's voice was calm but sharp. "Meaning either he faked the degree of his hatred to act as a shield…or he thinks he can cause damage by being here."

  He paused.

  "Either way, his presence is a threat to The Accords."

  Eryndor shrugged. "He didn't seem to show any distaste toward the Elven representative, though. But maybe he's just trying not to dig his hole deeper."

  Myrren flipped another page. "Next—Jonah Crestwell. He is the one I find most suspicious."

  Kaelen immediately snorted. "Obviously. He's a witch sympathizer."

  "Yes," Myrren said, "but that's not what makes him suspicious."

  Darius slowed his pace slightly.

  "Go on."

  "Someone who sympathizes with and seems to respect witches," Myrren said, "should have taken Morgan LeFaye's words to heart. She offered him safety. Assurance. A personal guarantee that no harm would come to him by giving his blood to the Demon. And still—he refused to be checked."

  Darius's eyes narrowed.

  "That is…concerning."

  Eryndor added, "His reputation is already ruined for being a witch sympathizer. After the Pontifex refused to cooperate with the Demons. Allowing one to take his blood would have put him in a worse situation politically. He wouldn't dare risk it."

  Tomas murmured, "But Archbishop Venn is in the same situation…and she complied."

  Darius nodded once. "Yes. Because she did it first. It showed resolve. Piety. Conviction."

  "She also let her doubts about the other four be known from the beginning. It was masterfully done. If she wasn't fully cleared already, she'd be my primary focus." Eryndor added.

  Darius nodded. "If Crestwell followed after her, it would look like a weak imitation."

  He turned his eyes forward again.

  "To maintain his position, avoiding that was the correct choice."

  Kaelen frowned. "So he isn't the spy?"

  Darius replied, "He may be, or may not be. These are simply considerations. Keep them in mind moving forward. Blind accusations are just spite. Make sure to consider everything before you condemn someone."

  Grand Master Varin's eyebrow raised, "Did you learn that from Garran? It doesn't sound like him."

  "Then you simply didn't know him. At least not towards the end." Darius smiled.

  Myrren flipped another page. She began her report on Meridan Holt. "There is very little on her. She always seems to be on the right side of everything. Too careful. Too cautious. My notes don't show any significant leads or exploitable flaws."

  Eryndor groaned. "Yes. She was the hardest to read."

  Darius's conclusion came cold and clean.

  "Then she—and Archbishop Malrek—will be our top suspects."

  A heavy silence fell.

  Every Inquisitor instinctively looked at the back of Darius's neck as if expecting him to turn around, to second-guess himself, to hesitate.

  He didn't. He kept walking.

  "Keep moving," he ordered.

  They quickened their pace to match his steps as Isolde led them deeper through the spiraling maze of doors.

  Behind them, Grand Master Varin finally spoke, tone edged with warning.

  "This is exactly why I wanted to speak to you before you began your work. Archbishop Malrek has—"

  "With all due respect, sir," Darius cut in sharply, not looking back, "whatever you're about to say is irrelevant. Anything you tell me now could bias this investigation."

  Varin bristled, voice rising with old fury. "Do you not know his story? Do you truly wish to interrogate him, on suspicions of working with an Apostate? The man retired in shame, Darius. And now you intend to drag his name further into the mud? It's disgraceful."

  Darius stopped walking.

  The group halted behind him.

  Only Isolde continued ahead a few steps before noticing and turning back with a raised brow. Darius didn't turn around.

  "I understand his story well. Everyone knows those. But we are all too caught in the romance of duty to see that story for what it is. Odd."

  "Odd? He was the strongest of us, and had to suffer the loss of his entire company at the hands of a witch too powerful for any of them to deal with. You..."

  Darius raised an eyebrow at the sudden stop in the Grand Master's words. Darius chuckled, "Please, sir... by all means continue."

  "You of all people should know how that feels. You lost Garran and the rest of your old company to the woman whose skirt you now chase." A death glare flared across Darius's face for just a moment, and it melted away into a calming breath. But his jaw was still clenched tight. He smiled at his superior. It was awkward and unpracticed, but one could appreciate the effort.

  "Would you have me run her through, Grand Master?" Darius asked.

  "What?"

  "Run her through. Would you have me kill Selene Althyeron LeFaye? Future Crown Princess of the Valenforian Empire. Would you have me run her through?" Darius asked coldly.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Young Commander. We aren't in a position to even speak of such things." Grand Master Varin groaned.

  "You're right, she was too powerful to kill then, and let me go. And she'll soon be our Empress; we'll be working for her. A powerful witch... who let me go, that I'm all but forced to work with... odd." Darius let his words sink in and then turned.

  "Myrren," he said.

  Myrren stepped forward immediately.

  "Tell us exactly what happened to Malrek."

  She opened her notebook again, flipping swiftly to the relevant page.

  "Malrek's entire company was killed by Pale Seer, an extraordinarily powerful demonkin witch. His men died to the last. Only he survived. He was not able to kill the Pale Seer, yet there are no recorded reasons as to why he lived or why he was spared. Being the Grand Master at the time, the Pontifex had no reason to question him, as he accepted his resignation immediately after."

  Her eyes flicked up.

  "A self-imposed shameful discharge."

  Darius's voice was low, almost inaudible.

  "Odd."

  The word carried all the weight of a sentence.

  A shiver passed through the group. Kaelen swallowed hard. Aelun's eyes glinted with interest. Even Tomas looked unsettled.

  Grand Master Varin's jaw tightened until a vein throbbed in his temple.

  But he said nothing.

  They resumed walking, the sound of their boots echoing in the ancient stone halls, the air around them thick with tension as they made their way towards The Abyss.

  The hunt had begun.