The candle flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across Matteo's face.
Lillian stood frozen in the doorway of his quarters, her hand still on the doorknob, her mind struggling to process his words. Dragon scale. A ghost. The last person who possessed it started the war.
"That's impossible," she said finally. "Dragons are extinct. They've been extinct for centuries."
Matteo held up the silver-white strand between his thumb and forefinger. "Extinct means dead. This hair is from something very much alive. Or at least, something that was alive recently." He turned it in the candlelight, watching it shimmer. "The magic residue is old. Ancient. But the hair itself? Fresh. Cut within the last week."
Lillian stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "How can you tell?"
"Magic leaves traces. Like fingerprints, but older." He gestured at the table, which was covered in vials and instruments. "I ran three tests. Each one came back the same. This hair belongs to a creature that shouldn't exist. A silver dragon. The most powerful, most dangerous race to ever walk this world."
She moved closer, her eyes fixed on the hair. "And you're sure it's dragon?"
"I'm sure." He set the hair down carefully, as if it might bite him. "I've studied ancient texts. I've read about the Dragon Wars. The silver dragons were the generals. The strategists. The ones who orchestrated the genocide of half the known races."
"The war that almost destroyed us all."
"Exactly." He met her eyes, his usual grin completely absent. "Someone has access to a silver dragon. Or someone is a silver dragon. Either way, we're dealing with something that hasn't been seen in a hundred years."
Lillian sank into the nearest chair, her legs suddenly weak. "This changes everything. If the killer is a dragon—"
"Then we're in way over our heads." Matteo sat across from her, his elbows on his knees. "But here's the thing. If the killer is a dragon, they don't need to kill humans and vampires and werewolves one by one. They could destroy the entire city in a single night."
"So why the slow burn? Why the theatrical murders?"
Matteo leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Because it's not about destruction. It's about warning. The killer is sending a message. Three races, three deaths. A human, a vampire, a werewolf. The three races that ended the Dragon Wars."
Lillian's heart stopped. "They're targeting the descendants of the Dragon War victors."
"Exactly." Matteo stood and began pacing, his energy suddenly electric. "The humans, the vampires, the werewolves. They were the ones who banded together to defeat the dragons. The Fae stayed neutral. That's why Seraphine is still alive. The killer doesn't care about the Fae. They care about revenge."
"Revenge for a war that ended a hundred years ago?"
"Revenge for a war that was never truly ended." Matteo stopped pacing and looked at her. "The dragons didn't lose because they were weak. They lost because they were betrayed. Someone from within their ranks sold them out. Gave their secrets to the alliance."
Lillian stared at him. "You know this? From the texts?"
"I know this from a text that doesn't exist. A forbidden text. One that was burned by the Council a long time ago." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. "But I kept a copy."
She gaped at him. "You stole a forbidden text?"
"I borrowed it. For research." He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The point is, the silver dragons were betrayed. And now, someone is making sure the betrayers pay. The merchant, the diplomat, the warrior. Their ancestors were the ones who sold out the dragons."
"And the killer wants revenge for what happened a hundred years ago?"
"Not revenge. Justice." He tossed the book onto the table. "At least, that's how they see it. They're not killing randomly. They're killing with purpose. Each victim is a descendant of someone who betrayed the dragons."
Lillian felt her stomach turn. "How many victims are we talking about? How many descendants?"
Matteo pulled out the parchment with the three names. "These three were the first. But there are more. The original meeting was supposed to bring together all the descendants. To sign a peace accord and bury the past."
"Instead, someone is digging it up."
"Violently." He tapped the parchment. "We need to find the rest of the descendants. Protect them. Before the killer does."
Lillian stood, her mind racing. "We'll need a list. Names, addresses, everything. The Council has records. But if the Council is compromised—"
"We don't ask the Council." Matteo pocketed the book. "We ask the one person who knows the truth. Lady Seraphine. She organized the meeting. She knows everyone who was invited."
"She's in hiding. We don't even know where she went."
"I do." He grinned, and for the first time since the revelation, some of his old energy returned. "I put a tracking spell on her. Before the attack. Just in case."
"You tracked a Fae Emissary without her knowledge?"
"Partner, I track everyone." He headed for the door. "Now stop asking questions and come with me. We have a Fae to find and a list to steal."
The tracking spell led them to a small, forgotten temple on the outskirts of the city. It was dedicated to an old goddess, one whose name had been lost to time. The stone walls were covered in ivy, the windows shattered, the roof half-collapsed.
But inside, a single candle burned.
Lillian followed Matteo through the crumbling entrance, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. The air was thick with dust and incense, and somewhere in the shadows, she could hear soft weeping.
"Lady Seraphine?" she called out. "It's Lillian. Royal Investigator. I'm here with Matteo. We need to talk."
The weeping stopped. A moment later, Seraphine emerged from the shadows, her silver hair disheveled, her golden eyes red-rimmed. She was clutching a small, leather-bound journal to her chest.
"I knew you would come," she whispered. "The killer is getting closer. I can feel them."
Matteo stepped forward, his voice gentle for once. "We know about the dragons. The silver dragons. The betrayal. We need to know who else was at the meeting."
Seraphine's face went pale. "The dragons. You know about the dragons?"
"We know they're not extinct," Lillian said carefully. "And we know someone is using their legacy to kill descendants."
Seraphine sank onto a stone bench, her hands trembling. "I tried to warn them. The meeting three months ago. I tried to bring everyone together so we could face the truth. But someone sabotaged it. Someone wanted us divided."
"Who?" Matteo demanded. "Who wanted the peace to fail?"
Seraphine looked up, her golden eyes blazing. "Someone inside the Council. I don't know who. But they've been working against peace for years. They want the old hatreds to continue. They want war."
Lillian stepped forward, her heart pounding. "What about the descendants? The ones who were supposed to be at the meeting? How many survived?"
Seraphine opened her journal and flipped to a marked page. "There were twelve originally. Three are dead now. Three more are in hiding. The rest..." She swallowed hard. "The rest are missing. I don't know if they're alive or dead."
Matteo snatched the journal from her hands, scanning the list. "Names. We need names. And we need to find them before the killer does."
Seraphine pointed a trembling finger at the page. "There. The fifth name. That one. She's still alive. But she won't last long. The killer knows where she is."
Lillian leaned over Matteo's shoulder. "Who is it?"
"Lady Mira Vex. The merchant's wife." Seraphine's voice cracked. "She's been in hiding since her husband died. But I sent word to her this morning. I told her to wait for me at the old bridge."
Matteo slammed the journal shut. "Then we need to get to the old bridge. Now."
They ran through the dark streets, past the closed shops and the shuttered windows. The city was quiet, too quiet, as if everyone was holding their breath.
Lillian's lungs burned. "How far?"
"Five minutes. Maybe less." Matteo didn't slow down. "If she's still there—"
"She'll be there." Lillian pushed herself harder. "She's waiting for Seraphine. She won't leave until she sees her."
They reached the old bridge just as the moon broke through the clouds. It was a crumbling structure of ancient stone, spanning a narrow river that had long since dried up. In the center of the bridge, a lone figure stood, wrapped in a dark cloak.
"Lady Mira?" Lillian called out, slowing to a walk. "We're with Lady Seraphine. We're here to help."
The figure turned. It was a woman, middle-aged, her face lined with grief and fear. She was clutching a small bag to her chest, her eyes darting nervously.
"Seraphine sent you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Is she safe?"
"She's safe," Matteo said, approaching slowly. "But we need to get you out of here. The killer knows about you. They know you're a descendant."
Mira's face went white. "I knew it. I knew they would come for me. After what happened to Torin—" She broke off, her voice cracking.
"We're going to protect you," Lillian said gently. "But we need to move. Now."
Mira nodded, taking a step toward them.
And then the arrow hit her.
It came out of nowhere, a blur of silver and death. It struck Mira in the chest, piercing through her cloak and her heart in a single, clean motion. She gasped, her eyes widening in shock, and crumpled to the ground.
"No!" Lillian lunged forward, but it was too late. Mira was dead before she hit the cobblestones.
Matteo was already moving, his hands crackling with blue lightning. "Where did it come from? I didn't see anyone!"
Lillian scanned the rooftops, the shadows, the darkness. There was nothing. No movement, no sound, no trace of the killer.
"They're gone," she breathed. "They shot her and vanished."
Matteo lowered his hands, his face pale. "They knew. They knew she was coming here. They were waiting."
Lillian knelt beside Mira's body, her hands trembling. The arrow was beautiful—silver-tipped, with intricate carvings along the shaft. And wrapped around the base, a single strand of silver-white hair.
"The hair," she whispered. "They left it again."
Matteo knelt beside her, his jaw tight. "They're toying with us. They knew we'd come. They wanted us to see this."
Lillian looked up at him, her eyes burning with fury. "Then we stop playing their game. We find them. We stop them. Before anyone else dies."
Matteo met her gaze, and for once, there was no grin on his face. "We will. But we need help. Real help. Someone who knows the killer's mind."
"Who? Everyone we trust is compromised."
Matteo was quiet for a moment. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out the silver-white hair. "There's only one person who can tell us what this truly is. Who can track it back to its source."
"Who?"
He looked at her, his silver eyes dark. "The Keeper. The one who guarded the dragons' secrets. The one who knows everything about the Dragon Wars." He paused. "But she's been in hiding for decades. And she's not exactly... friendly."
Lillian stared at him. "You're talking about a ghost. She doesn't exist."
"She exists." He pocketed the hair. "And if we want to catch this killer, we're going to have to find her." He turned and started walking away from the bridge. "We're leaving at dawn. Get some rest."
"Wait. Where are we going?"
He glanced back at her, his grin finally returning, sharp and dangerous.
"To the Forbidden Mountains. Where the last dragon died."
She caught up to him, her heart pounding. "The Forbidden Mountains? That's weeks away! We'll never make it in time!"
Matteo didn't slow down.
"Then we'll have to move faster. Can you teleport both of us?"
He laughed, a sharp, wild sound. "Teleport? Partner, I'm a powerful mage. But even I can't teleport across the continent."
He stopped walking and turned to face her, his silver eyes gleaming. "But I know someone who can."
Her blood ran cold. "Who?"
Matteo's grin widened. "The Keeper. The one we're going to find. She's not just a historian. She's the last living Fae who can bend space itself."
Lillian stared at him. "You want to find a woman who can fold reality so she can teleport us to her own hiding place?"
Matteo winked. "Exactly. See? I have a plan."
She opened her mouth to argue.
But then she heard the whisper, soft, barely audible, carried on the wind. "Three down. Nine to go. The reckoning continues."
Lillian turned sharply, her hand on her dagger. "Did you hear that?"
Matteo's grin vanished. "I heard it." And for the first time since she'd met him, he looked genuinely afraid.