The noble estate smelled like burned incense and secrets.
Perry stood in the center of the Tharven family hall, arms crossed, a half-eaten chicken leg in one hand. Around him, the suspects had gathered—drawn by courtesy, suspicion, or the inability to say no to a Bureau seal.
The room itself was trying to remain formal: tall ceilings, polished floors, a faint fire that burned like it had been ordered to—not because anyone wanted the warmth. Oil paintings watched in silence, and the chandelier above trembled faintly as if even the light didn't want to be caught too closely in this room.
The gravekeeper slouched near a bookshelf, picking at his gloves with half-bitten nails.
Magus Corlan, the family's surgeon, stood so stiffly upright he might snap at the spine.
Lord Tharven himself occupied the central armchair like a sculpture of authority.
And Rena—daughter of the house—stood closest to the fire, her arms tense, her fingers twisted into the hem of her sleeve as if unraveling her composure thread by thread.
Then it happened.
A faint thrum passed through the room. Not loud. Barely audible. But unmistakable.
Corlan twitched, glancing around. "Did anyone hear that—?"
"The barrier," Perry said casually. "Standard Bureau protocol. Means the investigation's begun."
The gravekeeper flinched. "That noise... it's like the air just pressed in."
"You'll get used to it," Perry replied, raising the chicken leg for another bite. "Now. Let's begin."
He stepped forward—not dramatically, but just enough to draw the room's attention inward. Tension tightened. Breaths shortened. Even the chandelier stopped swaying.
"I've reviewed the grave," Perry said, voice smooth, neutral, "the burial records, and your statements. Separately, each of your stories is plausible. But together…"
He let the silence hang, just long enough.
"They hum like off-key strings."
His gaze landed first on the gravekeeper.
"You claimed the gardener saw Liran move inside the coffin. Then said he wasn't working that day. Then admitted to reburying the plot within hours of death. For a noble family, that's fast. Suspiciously fast."
The gravekeeper straightened, the loose stitching in his coat straining at the shoulder. "I dig where I'm told," he said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Family orders."
"You sealed it, too. A Blood-Sign barrier." Perry's voice remained calm. "Which means, unless someone in the family undid it, it hadn't been touched since."
Lord Tharven's jaw tensed. The mention of a barrier wasn't new to him—but its implications were settling like a stone in his gut.
Perry turned slowly to Rena.
"You said Liran left a will. But no one's seen it. No magical copy. No ledger trace. Odd, considering all his belongings were… cremated."
She opened her mouth, but no words came.
Magus Corlan intervened instead. "That was under the family's direction. I performed the rite and incinerated the belongings myself."
Perry didn't blink. "There was no formal request. No ledger entry. No burn order filed with the steward. Just a verbal instruction?"
Corlan hesitated. "She showed me the family crest. Said it was Lord Tharven's wish. I obeyed."
Across the room, Lord Tharven narrowed his eyes at his daughter, but still said nothing.
Perry turned back to Rena, finishing the last bite of chicken and setting the bone onto a silver tray like it was the case itself—picked clean.
"You cried that night."
Her eyes snapped to him, startled.
"You told the steward you were mourning. But the gravekeeper saw you the next morning as well. Alone at the site. Crying again."
She blinked. Twice.
"That's not a crime," she said.
"No. But lying is. You told me you hadn't visited the grave after the burial."
"I—" Her breath caught. "I forgot. It was... I was—"
Perry didn't speak.
The silence filled her up until she cracked.
"I didn't think he was really dead."
The sentence hit the room like a cracked bell.
Her voice, tight and strained, came in short bursts.
"He asked me to help him. He said… he'd fallen for someone—a commoner. Said Father would never approve. Faking his death was the only way to leave without shame."
"And you agreed," Perry said, not accusing—just verifying.
Rena flinched. "He had a potion. Said it would slow his pulse. He'd wake up once the seal weakened. He promised he had a plan."
"And when he didn't return?"
"I—I waited. I thought maybe he escaped. That he was free." She stared down at her shoes. "He was always so dramatic. I thought he was just... disappearing into poetry, or something."
"But you didn't tell anyone?"
She shook her head.
Perry tilted his head. "Then why burn everything? Why the effects? His blood-signed ledger?"
Rena paled. "I didn't tell Corlan to do that."
Corlan looked offended. "You absolutely did."
"I thought you'd keep them. I didn't know you'd destroy everything."
He stepped forward. "I told you I needed to archive anything with magical imprint. You said there was no will. No items of importance."
Rena's voice rose in desperation. "I thought he'd come back! He always had a plan!"
Her knees gave out, and she fell into the nearest chair, clutching the arms like they were the only solid thing left.
"I didn't want to lie. But I couldn't tell Father. He'd stop it. He'd stop everything."
Perry's voice didn't change. "And yet you helped your brother vanish. And when he didn't return, you still stayed silent?"
"I went to the grave every morning," she said. "I waited. The lock was sealed. It hadn't been touched. I thought… maybe he really escaped."
A cough interrupted her.
The gravekeeper stared at the floor. "I saw her," he muttered. "Next day after the burial. Sitting by the grave. Crying so hard she didn't even notice me."
Perry turned toward him. "And you didn't think to mention that earlier?"
"I didn't want to get involved," he mumbled. "Figured she just missed him. But now... now it makes sense."
The weight of the room shifted.
Even the chandelier creaked.
Perry's voice, when it returned, was low and final.
"The seal was never broken. Liran never got out."
Rena let out a breath like she'd been stabbed with it.
Her hands trembled. "I didn't mean to kill him."
Lord Tharven stood, slowly. For a moment, it looked like he might strike her.
But then he just stared.
"You will not speak another word," he said, his voice brittle. The command carried force, but not rage. Just disbelief.
Rena buried her face in her hands.
She didn't protest.
Perry turned toward the door. He didn't say anything further. The case had spoken enough.
System: Suspect confession confirmed. Investigation complete. Barrier lifted. Reward available.
He didn't respond.
The butler had returned, silent as ever, holding the door open.
Perry stepped past without comment.
Outside, the estate gardens stirred in the breeze. The gravel path beneath his boots crunched in deliberate rhythm. Across the gate, a pair of guards stood in idle conversation.
"Alveth's arriving next week," one of them muttered, not realizing Perry could hear. "High Rank. Coming in person. You think it's about the Marrow case?"
"Could be. Could be about the new one. Bureau's been… twitchy."
Perry didn't glance at them. He walked to the main road, adjusted the ribbon on his detective badge, and continued into the late-afternoon sun.
The case was closed.
But the silence didn't leave him.
Not yet.