Accord’s POV

  Tiran’s Office, Hall of Accordance, Brandholt City

  “That concludes our report.”

  Zyra’s voice landed crisp and professional. The recorder ended its playback with a muted click, leaving only the faint hiss of static between them.

  Drenna exhaled once and turned her head. First to Tiran, expression tight, eyes locked like thrown knives. Then to Caedern, jaw loose, lounging in his chair as if the entire report had been a mildly interesting lecture. He met Tiran’s stare with a politely puzzled tilt of his head.

  “Any questions, gentlemen?” Drenna asked.

  Tiran didn’t look away from Caedern. “No.”

  “None,” Caedern echoed, smooth.

  Drenna nodded, as if closing a matter already decided. “Return to your positions, Zyra, Pious.”

  “Yes,” Pious said.

  “Understood,” Zyra replied, already moving.

  Pious stepped neatly back into position behind Drenna. Zyra crossed to the chair by the door, gathering files from her bag with brisk, overly precise movements.

  Drenna didn’t waste a breath. “Caustic. Use Tiran’s relay. Clear all appointments until lunch.”

  Caustic nodded and moved to the relay node. His low murmur threaded through the room, blending with the soft buzz of the recorder powering down.

  Writ’s scheduled task hadn’t even been mentioned. The day was already slipping off its rails.

  For a moment, the only sounds were Caustic’s whisper, the fading static and Zyra’s paper shuffle. The room held still around them. Only Tiran and Caedern remained in motionless collision, eyes locked, tension razor-tight. Waiting.

  Then—

  “Any reason you lashed her, Caedern?” Tiran’s voice cut through the quiet. Low, hot, fury held by a thread.

  Caedern blinked once, leaned forward, and asked, almost pleasantly, “you believe I did this?”

  “I’ve warned you,” Tiran said, “she’s not yours to play with.”

  “I didn’t touch her.” Caedern’s voice stayed dry, unhurried. “Those injuries did not occur in my presence.”

  “We have a witness who saw her yesterday afternoon,” Tiran said, each word clipped. “The marks were not there. You were the only one who contacted her last night. No one else entered her room. There’s no other explanation.”

  Caustic finished the relay call, muted the node, and stepped back into position. Still behind Caedern, but shifted to the right, standing squarely between him and Tiran.

  Caedern folded his hands loosely on the table. “Are you certain the timeline is correct? Did you even confirm her movements yesterday?”

  Tiran’s glare sharpened. “After it was agreed that you would conduct the room inspection, I verified she was inside the inn. The timestamps align.”

  “No visual confirmation, then,” Caedern mused. “So how can you be sure the marks weren’t already present before I met her?”

  Drenna’s tone slid in, quiet but cutting. “Are you implying my Ink lied on behalf of a subject?”

  “I’m stating a fact,” Caedern said. “No one can confirm when exactly the marks appeared.”

  Tiran’s jaw flexed. “It wasn’t there the night after her last report. Knell saw her sleeping on her back on the grass.”

  Caedern’s brows lifted faintly. “Why did you send Knell on her?”

  “Not your problem,” Tiran said flatly. “They’re mine. I have the right to check on both.”

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  Drenna frowned slightly. “Silent Writ, on the grass in Brandholt? Knell reported that?”

  “She was outside and hadn’t moved since dusk,” Tiran said. “So I sent Knell. She reported grass strands all over Writ.”

  Caedern spread his hands. “Then Knell didn’t see the wounds herself. Same case, no witness. And who knows? Perhaps Knell’s the one who left them.”

  Tiran didn’t blink. “Pious. Repeat the condition of the welts.”

  Pious’s voice was steady, precise. “Erythema darkening toward red-purple. Swelling plateauing. Several superficial splits."

  "Time."

  "Likely inflicted within the past day.”

  “Zyra.”

  Zyra’s head snapped up. “Confirmed.”

  Too fast.

  She dropped her gaze at once, papers whispering under her fingers.

  Drenna’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “How certain are you of that confirmation?”

  Zyra went still, the shuffle of paper dying mid-motion. She stared down for several long seconds before lifting her head. “I’m one hundred percent sure about the appearance. The reading of it, I trusted Black Quill’s judgement. We have a unit for similar cases, but this isn’t my specialization.”

  Silence spread like cold water.

  Caedern’s tone remained neutral. “You knew that and still suggested her as my witness.”

  Drenna didn’t look away. “None of your inner circle is familiar in that aspect, Caedern. So I suggested the one you trust most.”

  He tilted his head, slow, calm. “So you’re implying my own forensic unit would be... too impartial to support my standing.”

  “I’m saying,” Drenna replied, “that I know you wouldn’t trust anyone outside your circle to handle this. Whether you call your forensic unit is your choice.”

  The room went still. Zyra’s eyes flicked between the three of them. Fast, sharp, anxious.

  Drenna continued. “The injury happened last night. You were the only one she met. That much is undeniable.”

  Caedern’s expression didn’t change. “If she was harmed, then it happened outside my supervision. Which means someone else had access.”

  Tiran’s voice was ice. “The inn’s wards register every person who passes through. ID for anyone recognized, ‘guest’ for anyone the system can’t name. Last night’s log shows no entry of any kind near her room. Not a registered user, not a guest. Nothing."

  He let that hang.

  “For your theory to work, someone would’ve had to move through the corridor completely unnoticed by the warding system.”

  A small shift occurred behind the men. Caustic blinking, head turning the faintest fraction toward Pious. She mirrored the motion.

  A tiny nod between them.

  And nothing more.

  Drenna asked, “Should we assume a breach of the warding system?”

  Caedern replied, mild and precise. “Then we have two possibilities: an impossible intruder... or a compromised log. I assume you’ve verified the logs themselves haven’t been tampered with?”

  Tiran’s voice cracked like a blade. “I know exactly what you're trying to do. Don’t.”

  Caedern paused mid-breath, then leaned back, giving Tiran the floor.

  A measured surrender. But the seed was already buried. Though not for the reason Caedern expected.

  Drenna’s finger touched her chin. then her attention flicked sideways. Caustic had been glancing at her in those tiny, deliberate intervals. Waiting for permission. She caught the next glance. Pious returned it with the faintest nod. A second later, Pious stepped closer, tapped Drenna’s shoulder, and whispered something low.

  Tiran narrowed his eyes. “Entertaining the thought, Drenna?”

  Her arms crossed. “Every possibility must be checked.”

  Then, pointedly, “Writ said she didn’t remember what caused the marks, but she also said Caedern didn’t give her the memory-loss draught. That discrepancy is... suspicious.”

  Tiran’s reply was flat. “She’s clearly threatened not to talk.”

  Caedern continued, measured. “Zyra, you reported Writ didn’t mention me doing anything.”

  Zyra didn’t look up. “Correct. No mention of you beyond the inspection and informing her of the summon.”

  “Pious.”

  Pious’s reply was crisp. “Confirmed. As Zyra said.”

  Tiran asked, “Did she show distress during your inspection?”

  Pious answered, “Mild. Similar to her presentation during the previous report session.”

  “Zyra.”

  Zyra’s voice was thin. “Confirmed. Though I’ve never met her before. I have no comparison.”

  Caedern’s gaze sharpened. “Writ is smart. Bold. If I were responsible, she’d have pointed to me. She didn’t. That matters.”

  Zyra’s lips twitched. Something small, pained. Unseen by all.

  Tiran’s voice cut low. “She’s not as opportunistic as you think.”

  Caedern smiled faintly. “Or maybe you simply don’t know her that well.”

  The silence that followed was pointed.

  Drenna leaned back slightly. “Regardless of intent, Caedern, the harm exists. The concern is real. And the situation points to you.”

  Caedern breathed out slowly. “Then I welcome the investigation.”

  The shift was immediate and total.

  Air stilled.

  Tiran’s jaw locked.

  Drenna’s gaze slid between the two men. Calculating, measuring the weight of what Caedern had just opened the door to.

  Escalation. Formal inquiry. A shift of power from Tiran’s domain to Caedern’s courtroom. Everyone knew exactly how dangerous that path was.

  Caedern reclined, posture loose, an amused curl at his mouth.

  Tiran didn’t move, didn’t blink. Thinking, tension coiled through every line of him.

  The room was so quiet a falling pin would have echoed.

  Finally, Tiran pushed to his feet. “Before anything proceeds, I need five minutes alone with Writ.”

  He turned to Drenna. “That’s allowed, right?”

  “She’s under your authority, and her examination is concluded,” Drenna said. “You’re permitted. Have Noetic leave for privacy.”

  “All right.”

  Behind them, Caedern offered a mild smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want her pressured in public.”

  Tiran didn’t acknowledge him. He stood and took the path past Drenna and Pious, deliberately avoiding Caedern’s side. Zyra shifted her chair out of his way, head bowed.

  The door clicked open.

  But the tension stayed exactly where it was.

  Thick, unmoving, alive.

  The kind that didn’t leave a room simply because one man did.

  a man doing his absolute best not to throw a punch,

  another calmly playing four-dimensional chess with everyone's time and patience,

  and a woman who sincerely wishes she had taken the day off.