The destruction spoke volumes.
Had it been a fight between ordinary humans, the damage wouldn't have been so catastrophic. The black and white checkered tiles on the floor had been shattered, some reduced to rubble. Cracks spiderwebbed along the walls, and portions of them were charred, scorched as though seared under an unforgiving sun.
Yet despite the devastation, there was surprisingly little blood. For a clash that had torn through the hallway with such force, the absence of gore was... unnatural.
Jeremiah surveyed the wreckage with a frown. "It's clear there was a confrontation between two individuals," he muttered. "The suspect is the woman named Alice, a witch. As for the second party... we haven't gathered enough evidence to identify them yet."
Arabella didn't answer at first. She was already moving, stepping carefully through the wreckage, eyes scanning every broken tile, every trace left behind.
