The Eleventh District sprawled beneath me in shadow and gaslight.

  I crouched on a rooftop three stories above street level, black cloak jacket wrapped around my shoulders, mask sealed tight over my face. The vox modulator reduced my breathing to mechanical whispers. Below, the city moved as usual, with carriages rattling over cobblestone, workers trudging home from factories, street vendors packing up their wares as darkness crept through the narrow streets.

  But one building stood out from the rest.

  A hotel with H?tel Majestueux written on a decorated wooden sign rose five stories tall, all ornate facades and brass fixtures that indicated wealth even from this distance. Normally, it would be bustling with guests and staff. Tonight it sat dark and silent, surrounded by two distinct groups of armed men.

  City guard in their standard dark blue uniforms formed a perimeter around the building's exterior - maybe a dozen of them in blue unforms, armed with batons and pistols holstered at their hips. Standard law enforcement for the capital.

  But they weren't being allowed inside.

  A second group blocked the doors. These men wore different uniforms - militaristic apparel, dyed in deep burgundy with silver trim, marked with an insignia I didn't recognise. Most likely a home guard belonging to the Viscount's family.

  And they were having an argument.

  I couldn't hear the words from this distance, but I could read the body language. Aggressive postures. Pointing fingers. The kind of territorial dispute that happened when authority clashed, and there wasn't a clear winner.

  "Seems they're not getting along."

  The voice came from beside me - masculine, distorted by a vox identical to mine.

  I didn't turn. Just kept watching the scene below.

  "The home guard have been keeping the site sealed. Probably under orders from the family. Can't blame them for not trusting city officials after their patriarch turned into a mummy overnight."

  Leonard settled into a crouch next to me, his own black cloak blending seamlessly with the shadows.

  "This is what our handler meant by keeping the site clean?"

  "Seems like it." I glanced behind us.

  Alice stood several meters back, pressed against a chimney stack, watching the scene unfold with the same mask as us. Her mask tilted slightly as she tracked the guards below, calculating something I couldn't guess at.

  I returned my attention to the hotel.

  "We better move before they sort out their jurisdictional issues and contaminate everything."

  "Agreed." Leonard shifted his weight. "How do you want to approach?"

  I stood slowly.

  "Meet me down there."

  Then I blinked.

  Reality folded. The world compressed into a single point of darkness, then expanded again.

  My boots hit cobblestone with a soft thud.

  The transformation in the guards' behavior was immediate and dramatic.

  Every head snapped toward me. Hands flew to holstered weapons - pistols half-drawn before training kicked in and they actually saw what I was wearing.

  Black cloak. Mask. The unmistakable silhouette of an Inquisitor.

  They dropped to their knees in quick succession.

  The sound of a dozen men hitting stone simultaneously echoed off the buildings around us. They created a path leading directly to the hotel entrance, heads bowed, not one of them meeting my gaze.

  "Milord," one of them said, voice tight with a mixture of fear and reverence. "You are expected."

  I felt the displacement of air behind me as Leonard and Alice materialized - Leonard's and Alice's elements assisting in bringing them down from the rooftop in their own ways.

  I started walking, boots clicking against stone with measured rhythm as I glanced at all the kneeling figures, notably with some doubt.

  To people like this, all Inquisitors are the same.

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  Nightmares told to children. Angels of the Empire that lurked in shadows, dispensing justice without mercy or hesitation. Enigmatic beings with power beyond mortal comprehension.

  The reputation was useful. Terrifying. And earned.

  But only by a very small percentage of us.

  My smile beneath the mask turned grim.

  On a scale of actual combat capability, we could be beaten by eighty percent of divine users in a straight fight. It's just lucky that ninety-nine percent of the population doesn't possess any divinity to begin with.

  The gap between reputation and reality was the only thing keeping us alive most days. Fear did more work than our actual abilities ever could.

  But I guess the mental game is half the battle. And once you've won half the battle, it makes winning the whole thing a whole lot easier.

  I reached the hotel entrance where two men stood mid-argument, their confrontation interrupted by my arrival.

  The first was clearly military - an officer of the home guard, judging by the medals pinned to his burgundy uniform. Mid-forties, with the rigid posture and prideful bearing of someone used to authority. His hand rested on the sword at his hip.

  The second wore civilian clothes - a dark brown jacket over a vest, felt homburg hat pulled low over his eyes. No visible weapons. He carried himself with the careful neutrality of someone who dealt with dangerous people professionally.

  Both turned as I approached.

  The civilian quickly dropped to one knee, head bowed.

  The officer performed a deep bow - respectful but not quite as submissive, maintaining some dignity befitting his station.

  "I've been sent to investigate the death of Viscount Devereux," I said, letting the vox distort my voice into something mechanical and cold. "I trust the scene has been preserved?"

  The home guard officer straightened, a grim smile touching his lips. "Yes, milord. The deceased has been kept in the bedroom, as unmolested as possible." His gaze slid to the kneeling civilian. "Despite some people's instigations to contaminate the site with their presence."

  The civilian's jaw tightened but he said nothing.

  I studied them both for a moment. "You had a disagreement."

  "This... investigator..." The officer practically spat the word out. "Has been attempting to gain access to my lord's chambers. I was merely following the family's explicit instructions to allow no one inside until the Inquisition had arrived."

  The civilian rose slowly, careful to keep his movements non-threatening as he kept his head bowed, eyes concealed beneath the hat.

  "Milord, I have investigated the other two cases of overnight mummification already. Both victims exhibited identical symptoms and circumstances. I assure you I have valuable information that could assist with your investigation, and experience with the other victims that could provide useful in this investigation." He paused, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Both of the bodies have now been taken away from their original sites. This is the last location that remains pristine."

  The officer's expression darkened. "The family's wishes-"

  "Are noted," I interrupted. My eyes flicked to Leonard and Alice behind me.

  Both nodded once.

  My call, then.

  Lucky me.

  With little hesitation, I turned back to the home guard officer. "The investigator comes inside. But no one else. Your men maintain the perimeter. No exceptions."

  The officer's face went through several expressions in rapid succession - surprise, reluctance, frustration. He was clearly weighing his orders against the direct command of an Inquisitor.

  Authority won.

  He stepped aside, bowing again. "As you command, milord."

  I walked past him toward the entrance.

  Leonard and Alice fell into step behind me. The civilian - the investigator - followed at a respectful distance.

  The hotel's reception area was frozen in time.

  Papers still lay scattered across the front desk where someone had abandoned them mid-task. A glass of water sat half-drunk on a side table, next to a folded newspaper dated form yesterday. A coat hung on a rack near the door. Everything perfectly preserved exactly as it had been when the hotel was evacuated.

  This place was decreed possibly heretical. Standard protocol - seal everything, remove all people, wait for proper investigation before allowing civilian access.

  They definitely did a good job quarantining it.

  I glanced back at the investigator.

  Now that I had a better look at him without the hat shadowing his face, I realised he was younger than I'd initially thought. Much younger.

  Maybe my age. Possibly even younger than that.

  Clean-shaven. Short brown hair, brown eyes and a normal yet somewhat handsome appearance. He had a kind yet intelligent face and beneath a professional veneer, nervousness was being barely contained.

  He seemed to be the the kind of honest youth that still believed competence and hard work mattered more than connections.

  "You look a bit young to be doing this kind of work."

  The boy jumped slightly at being addressed directly, then recovered with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

  "I'm an apprentice investigator with the Vermontis Bureau of Criminal Affairs, milord. The city guard contracted our services after the second death."

  "But why send someone so young?"

  The smile faltered. "Probably because I was quite cheap, you see. The Bureau took a loss bidding for this contract. My teacher felt it would be... educational for me to handle it."

  Translation: his master didn't want to waste time on a case that might turn out to be nothing, so he'd sent his cheapest resource.

  I sighed behind my mask. "Noted. What's your name?"

  The boy brightened slightly. "Dominic Ashford, milord." He extended his hand for a handshake, then seemed to remember who he was talking to.

  "Yours?"

  He froze.

  His hand retreated as realization crashed over him.

  "Ah. Apologies, milord. I-"

  I turned away, heading toward the stairs. Trying to suppress a smile threatening to form on my face.

  It's weirdly refreshing to see someone our age acting... well, our age.

  "Top floor. Room 12B, correct?"

  Dominic quickly nodded.

  "Yes, milord. That would be correct."

  I started climbing, my team falling into formation behind me. "You can explain how your other investigations went on the way there. Leave nothing out. Even details that seem irrelevant."

  I heard Dominic scramble to follow, boots clattering on the stairs as he hurried to catch up.

  "Of course, milord. The first victim was discovered four days ago - a factory worker named Thomas Ashford, no relation to myself, found dead in his boarding house room..."

  His voice filled the stairwell as we climbed toward the fifth floor.

  Toward a dead Viscount who'd aged fifty years in a single night.

  Toward answers I had a feeling would only lead to more questions.

  And my feelings were rarely ever wrong.