Ren and Lyra stood side by side in his office, the city stretching out beyond the tall window while the evidence lay scattered before them. Papers were pinned, photos overlapped, strings crossed in half-finished patterns. Lyra hesitated at the threshold longer than she should have, then stepped fully inside despite herself.
"If this place were filthy, I'd assume you were some paranoid junkie," she said, arms folded tight beneath her chest as one brow lifted. Her gaze flicked around the room, then back to his silvery blue eyes. "But no. Just creepy. And the lighting is awful. It's like you're trying to interrogate ghosts."
Ren rubbed the back of his head. "I never fixed it. That doesn't matter right now." He crossed to the desk and lifted a cutout photo from a folded article. The paper rasped softly as he raised it between them. "I need to know who Raven was. Look at this. That face. That's him. Notice anything?"
Lyra leaned closer, eyes narrowing. The man known only as Raven stood beside Samuel Foster, smiling easily. Too easily. "They look close," she said after a beat. "Like friends. That could explain the gala attack. Personal fallout. Someone snapping."
"Maybe." Ren shook his head and turned away, already reaching for another image. "I don't think it's that simple." He set the second photo beside the first. "Raven had a name. Malcolm Booker. And officially, he's been dead for seven years. Killed in action."
Lyra rested a finger against her chin, studying the face. "Then we dig into how he died. Motive always leaves fingerprints."
Ren flipped open a notebook swollen with loose pages, cramped notes, and rough sketches that barely resembled people. "Captured by enemy forces. According to records, an Astorian unit experimented on him. Tortured him. He didn't survive."
Lyra exhaled through her nose. "Charming." She took the photo from his hand, her thumb brushing the edge. "Happy-looking kid joins the military and ends up a corpse. Convenient. If Foster really is Dante, this would be a clean way to erase someone who knew too much."
"That's speculation." Ren pulled the photo back. "You know I don't agree with that theory. We can't build everything on it."
She turned toward the door, fingers curling loosely at her side. "And you know I'm not tossing it out either. If you think I will, you're delusional."
The knock came hard against the front door, sharp enough to carry through the house. Ren froze. He had not expected anyone. Not here. Not now. His thoughts scrambled for excuses, for silence, for distance.
Lyra reached the door before he finished deciding. She twisted the knob and pulled it open.
A man stood on the porch in a restrained uniform that tugged at Ren's memory. Dark red hair. A faint beard shadow. Stress carved lightly beneath his eyes. A vivid resemblance to his father.
"Ren Natsume." Arthur held up an ID and a badge that caught the light. SIS Captain. His voice was calm, guarded. "I have a warrant."
"From who? F-for what?" Ren stumbled back, disbelief locking his legs. His shoulder hit the wall and he stayed there, breath shallow. "Arthur. What are you doing."
"My job." Arthur stepped inside without producing any signed paper, his gaze sweeping the house until it landed on the office. The board of photos and notes reflected faintly in his eyes. "You continued an investigation that belongs to SIS. Illegally."
Lyra grabbed his wrist before he could step farther. "Arthur, stop." Her grip tightened, eyes sharp and blazing. "If you're not here to help, then leave."
"Don't make this harder," Arthur said quietly, trying to pull free.
"Lyra," Ren started, his voice fading.
Arthur in SIS. Of course. Gabriel must have buried it. A wildcard, kept close. Sosuke was sidelined, so Arthur filled the gap.
Ren looked at him fully now.
What are you thinking, Veiss? I thought you were changing. Was it your father's death, or was this always you?
"This qualifies as assault, Valcrest." Arthur's gaze darkened. "Let go."
"No."
He tore free in one clean motion. His forehead snapped forward, striking Lyra's face. She dropped against the wall, hand flying to her nose as blood slipped between her fingers.
Ren surged up, Crystalis forming instantly in his grip. Mana screamed along the blade. His eyes locked on Arthur's profile. "You're not the same."
Arthur backhanded the sword. It shattered mid-air. He seized Ren by the collar and drove a fist into his cheek. Ren hit the wall again, vision flashing white. Arthur stepped back, paused, then turned toward the office once more.
Ren pressed a hand to his face, breath ragged.
No restraint. After he hit Lyra, I reinforced myself like it was a real fight. He still hurt me. He felt the mana shift in my body. He's stronger.
Lyra sat against the wall, staring at the floor, shock hollowing her expression.
She knows too. Together, we wouldn't stand a chance.
Arthur emerged with a filled bag and moved for the door. He gestured once. Three masked SIS agents entered and began tearing through the house. Drawers emptied. Papers scattered. Ren and Lyra were forced outside, powerless as their home was stripped bare.
I'm standing here holding my face together, watching my house get torn apart. This is pathetic.
Ren clenched his fist.
But hitting back would be even worse.
———
Two days later
A newspaper landed on the coffee table with a dull thud. Ren, seated on the couch, lowered his gaze to it. Lyra stood on the other side of the table, feet planted, hands braced on her hips as if daring him to object.
"We're not stopping," she said.
Ren picked up the paper, the pages rustling as he flipped it once. "And what is this supposed to be?"
"Malcolm Booker's death was public record," Lyra replied, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "But the article also mentioned his sister. Tanya. She was orphaned when he died."
"So." Ren glanced up. "How does that help us find her?"
Lyra dropped onto the couch beside him, the cushions sinking under her weight. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "A reporter mentioned the house they grew up in. Old family property. It was sold after Malcolm died." She tilted her head toward him. "Guess who bought it back a few months ago."
Ren already knew the answer. He sighed. "Tanya Booker."
"Exactly. Sentimental, but logical." Lyra tapped the edge of the table with her fingers. "The real question is how an eighteen year old suddenly has enough money to buy a house like that."
Ren folded the paper and set it aside. "And that's why we ask her."
⸻
Booker Residence, Western Westoria
The door opened only a few inches. A young woman peered out, fingers tight around the knob. Lyra stepped forward first and softened her expression.
"Hello, Ms. Booker. We were hoping to ask you a few questions."
"We're with the police," Ren added from behind her.
Lyra let out a small, awkward laugh and glanced back at him, then returned her attention to Tanya. "You're not in trouble. We just need to clear a few things up."
Tanya hesitated, eyes darting between them, but Lyra's practiced warmth did its work. After a moment, she nodded and stepped aside.
"I guess… come in."
Inside, Tanya tugged at the sleeve of her robe, fingers worrying the fabric. "W what kind of questions?"
"We'd like to talk about your brother," Lyra said gently.
Tanya's shoulders stiffened. "He's dead. That's all there is."
Ren watched her closely. The reaction was defensive, but not shocked. "Ms. Booker, what do you do for work?"
She paused, the silence stretching thin. "Accounting. Clearwater Foundation."
Lyra hummed softly, resting a hand against her chin. "That's a big organization. I want to ask something personal, if that's alright."
Tanya nodded again, slower this time.
"What was it like after Malcolm passed. Being on your own."
Tanya scratched at her arm and turned her face away. "It wasn't that bad. I made friends. We had fun every day."
Ren leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure?"
Her lips pressed together. When she spoke again, the words came out in a rush. "There was a man. He wasn't official. He visited at night. I used to sneak onto the roof to talk to him." She swallowed. "He gave me advice. Made me feel less alone. He wasn't bad."
Her eyes lifted to Ren. "Should I be worried?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No."
Lyra stepped in smoothly. "One last thing. How did you afford this house?"
Tanya took a step back, gaze flicking around the room as if searching for an exit. "I'm not really supposed to say."
"We're not here to hurt anyone," Lyra said, her smile thin but steady. "I know this is uncomfortable."
Tanya's shoulders sagged. "When I aged out of the orphanage, the man came one last time. He told me to apply at Clearwater. When I got in, they paid me. A lot." She looked panicked now. "Am I in trouble? Was it illegal money?"
"It's yours," Ren said, already turning away. His hands slipped into his pockets. "We're done here. Thank you for your time."
Tanya nodded quickly. "Anything you need, officers."
⸻
"You barely said a word on the way back," Lyra said as she unlocked the door to Ren's house. "You're not dodging this conversation."
Ren shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack. He stayed there for a moment, staring at the wall. "Clearwater and the Nulls are connected. Malcolm was Raven. He stayed close to his sister, funneled money through the foundation, disappeared once she was stable." He exhaled. "That gave him freedom to operate."
Lyra exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through her hair. She turned away from him, facing the kitchen as if putting distance between them might soften the words. "Face it, Ren. There's information we can release. But that's it. We should stop here before we end up in prison."
Ren froze.
"What?" He turned fully toward her. "No. No, that's not what you said before."
She crossed her arms, shoulders tense. "It's what I'm saying now."
His hands curled into fists at his sides. He felt it creeping up his spine, that familiar heat in his chest.
"You're backing out," he said. "Now? After all of that?"
"Ren—"
"No." He cut her off, taking a step closer. "We finally have answers. Real answers. Tanya talked with hardly any pressure. This was practically fate. And you want to just—what—dropit?"
"There are limits," Lyra said sharply. "Ones we crossed."
He laughed once, sharp and hollow. "Limits. You didn't care about limits when you pushed for leads."
"That was before SIS put a boot on our throats," she shot back. "Before Arthur walked into your house and beat the shit out of us."
Ren's jaw tightened. "So this is fear. Where's the confidence?"
Her eyes narrowed. "This is survival."
He shook his head, pacing now, fingers digging into his palms. "You used to stand by what you said. You used to mean it. Now suddenly you're tired? Suddenly it's inconvenient?"
"You don't get it," Lyra said, voice rising. "There are consequences you don't understand."
"I see the corpses," Ren snapped. He stopped in front of her. "I see names that never make it to the papers. I see people who didn't get a choice. And you're telling me to stop because it's dangerous?"
"There are laws, Ren," she said, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
He slammed his hand against the wall beside her, the sound cracking through the room.
"Fuck the laws! What's the point of rules meant to protect people if the ones breaking them never pay for it?"
"Lower your voice," she said, flinching despite herself. "You're not thinking clearly."
"I am thinking clearly." His voice wavered, anger bleeding into something rawer. "You're just thinking differently. You're thinking about your clan."
Her head snapped up. "Don't you dare."
"You're burdened by politics," he continued, words tumbling out faster now. "I'm burdened by the dead. By people I couldn't save. Dante and his cult didn't just disrupt clan business. They killed people. And you downplayed it."
"That's not fair!" she shouted. "There's more to it than you understand!"
"Oh, I understand plenty now." He laughed again, bitter. "You're not on their side, but you're not against them either. You sit right in the middle and think you're above them."
Her hands trembled. "I am not a criminal like them. Don't lump me in with monsters."
"Then stop acting like one!" he snapped. "You think they value you? They tolerate you because you're useful. That's it. You're a tool to them."
She shoved him. Hard. "Shut up."
"They know you'll never turn on them," he went on, relentless. "No matter how rotten they are. You act rebellious, but when it's time to actually fight back—"
"Enough!" Her voice cracked. "I've fought this clan's corruption my entire life!"
"Then where's the proof?" Ren demanded. "Where's the action?"
"I don't have power the power too!" she yelled back. "I never did!"
He stared at her, chest heaving. Then his voice dropped, cold and cutting. "Oh, you have plenty, heir of Valcrest. Or is the title just decoration?"
Her breath hitched.
"To me," he continued, quieter but no less sharp, "it looks like you're scared to use it. Scared to stand alone."
"I won't be lectured by you," she said, shaking. "You think you're some righteous savior now?"
"I don't think I'm righteous," Ren shot back. "I think it's my responsibility. People are dying. If I can stop it and don't, then I'm complicit."
She laughed bitterly. "Two people died that you could've saved, and now you want to play god? Be an executioner? You're still one person."
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy.
Ren turned away first, his shoulders tight.
"Get out."
Lyra stood there for a moment, lips parted like she wanted to say something else. Then she grabbed her coat and left. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing through the house long after she was gone.
Ren's hands were clenched into fists. His nails dug into his palms as he stared at the door, unmoving. The choice lingered longer than it should have. Act now, while the heat was still there, or stop and think, risk hesitation dulling the edge. He breathed in once. Then again.
One thing was certain—
"Criminals will be brought before their judge," Ren said aloud.