3. Keelan

Chapter 3

Keelan

T he sunlight rippling off the cobbles was more orange than yellow as we strode back toward the Guard Compound. The lingering evening chill nipped at my skin. Despite the hour, the city still stirred with life—Merchants hawking their wares, children racing through the alleys, couples with clasped hands heading toward the market square. The streets of Saltstone were always bustling, no matter the time of day.

But I wasn’t in the mood to revel in the warmth of the city’s energy.

My mind was fixed on the case, gnawing at it like a dog with a bone. Every time I blinked, Albrecht’s pinched nose and beady eyes hidden behind bottle-bottom spectacles came into view. I’d never lost a victim. Spirits, he was the first victim I’d ever worked with. As illogical as I knew it was, I felt as though I’d let him down, somehow failed to protect him.

Albrecht’s ledger—the one he said was stolen—had to be the key, but I knew he’d held something back. He wasn’t just holding back—he was lying.

But why?

Why would a man who’d called the Guard for help refuse to give us the information we needed to help him? What was in that logbook that frightened him so?

That was the expression I’d seen on his face, wasn’t it? Fear? At the time, I’d taken it as a reluctance to work too closely with a lawman. Many shied from our cloaks, even if they were upstanding folk who’d never broken a law in their lives.

Replaying our conversation, Albrecht’s reactions were more than the usual nerves Constables see every time we don our cloaks and leave the compound. The man worked with prominent people in the capital city. He knew their finances more intimately than anyone, likely even more so than his clients themselves.

A word pricked at the edges of my mind: secrets.

What secrets might’ve been in that journal? When Albrecht described the ledger as a simple log of finances, I hadn’t thought to dig deeper. He’d shut down that line of questioning. Could there have been something more sinister within those pages?

Something worth killing for?

I entered the Guard HQ, the smell of musty paper and worn leather filling my nose. Lieutenant Grieve was at his desk in the corner, his head bent over a stack of reports. As I approached, he looked up, his stern features softening just a fraction.

“Rea.” My name was more growl than greeting. “Take a seat.”

Grieve continued examining his paperwork while my fingers fidgeted and eyes roamed, desperate for something—anything—to fix on to. From his bearing, I couldn’t tell if I was in trouble or about to be promoted, though I knew the truth was likely far from either.

Grieve tossed his quill down, splattering ink all over whatever he’d been reading. He looked up and crossed his arms. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Your accountant got his throat cut.”

I schooled my expression and nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

“Was there anything in your initial interview that screamed murder? Anything that said his missing ledger was dangerous?”

“No, sir, nothing I saw or heard at the time made me think that.”

“But?” He cocked his head, exactly how many of the Mages did when receiving a half answer from a student.

I reached up and ran a hand over my head, as if a good scratch would help my scalp think of a brilliant answer.

“I don’t know, sir. I’ve replayed our conversation a hundred times. Albrecht wouldn’t say much, but he didn’t seem afraid, just a bit agitated.”

Grieve’s stare was a javelin spearing through my head and thudding into the wall behind me. “Still convinced he’s lying?”

“More than ever.” I nodded. “My Gift was almost painful, like it wanted me to get the point.”

Grieve leaned back in his chair, studying me with a critical eye. He wasn’t a man to dole out praise, and when he did, it was usually in the form of gruff, almost dismissive comments.

“Since his body was found, I’ve been digging into Albrecht’s background,” Grieve said. “He’s got a reputation for being careful. Some say too careful. He doesn’t make enemies, doesn’t take risks, but he’s made a name for himself in the Merchant circles. People trust him.”

I wanted to correct him, to say Albrecht had a reputation for being careful, but bit my cheek.

“Do they?” I asked, tapping my fingers on the armrest of the chair. “Let’s assume he was involved in something, and he was scared it would come to light. The question is what.”

“Have you spoken to his competitors? Rivals?”

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I wanted to get a better read on Albrecht before I started poking around.”

“Good.” Grieve grunted. “We have his shop sealed up tight with a Guard out front. The sign we put up says the place is closed and doesn’t mention the murder. Don’t tip your hand too early. But be careful—don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

This case was supposed to be routine. A stolen ledger, a Merchant’s grievance, nothing more; but the deeper I dug, the more I realized how wrong we had been.

“I need to go walk the scene, see if anything jumps out. I’ll head to the Merchants’ Guild after.”

Grieve’s gaze lingered for a moment, a rare flicker of concern in his eyes. “Keep your wits about you, Rea. Sometimes the people who seem the most innocent are the ones with the darkest secrets.”

I nodded. His words hung heavy in the air as I made my way out of the HQ.