The carriage wobbled to a halt, gravel crunching beneath iron wheels.
Perry stepped down, surveying the manor before him. A sprawling estate with a pointed roof, ornamental hedges, and walls that whispered too much money, not enough sense. The air was thick with dew and faintly perfumed—lavender or something pretending to be.
A girl leaned lazily against the gate, clipboard under one arm, boots muddy, expression unimpressed.
"You Perry?"
He paused before nodding.
"You don't look like much," she added, then smirked. "Guess that's why they sent you."
He raised a brow.
"They, uh… didn't say it directly, but this case's been sitting for hours. Nobody wanted it. Apparently one Tier-1 peeked in, sniffed something 'magic' in the air, and left. Called it a 'civil kitchen dispute.'"
She fell in beside him as he walked toward the estate.
"Family pulled some strings and flashed some silver, so the Bureau had to send someone. You were… available."
"Because I filed a joke case?"
"Oh, they definitely laughed at that," she said cheerfully. "But rules are rules. You filed, you're active. And technically... you're close."
"How lucky."
"Look on the bright side," she said. "If it's just soup and a misunderstanding, you get easy silver. If it's murder... well—"
Perry gave her a sideways glance.
"Let me guess. I die, and the Bureau gets plausible deniability."
She grinned. "Exactly. Welcome to Clenworth."
The kitchen was twice the size of Perry's old apartment. Marble counters gleamed under floating orbs of light. Rows of spice jars lined the shelves, not one out of place. A crystal chandelier above the dining nook dangled with charms that jingled with the breeze.
At the center of the room sat a hulking black cauldron, fire still faintly glowing beneath it.
Three Bureau guards stood nearby. None of them moved as Perry approached.
Steam no longer rose. The pot's iron lid was set crookedly atop. Inside, slumped unnaturally, was a pale, stiff man in full noble regalia. His head tilted slightly, one eye open, as if halfway through a complaint.
Perry crouched and placed a hand on the edge of the cauldron.
Warm.
He reached in, brushed the man's sleeve with two fingers.
Cold.
No steam. No redness. No blistering. Body's been here for a while. But not recently boiled.
He glanced underneath. The ashes beneath the cauldron had barely blackened the stone.
"You said the body was boiled?" he asked over his shoulder.
Evi nodded. "Well. That's what the butler said. Said he found it bubbling."
Perry dipped his fingers into the ashes with a folded handkerchief. They were warm, yes. But not recent. No heavy smoke scent. He brushed aside some char.
Something clicked beneath.
He pulled out a small, melted blue crystal, cracked diagonally through its center. Runes etched along its rim glimmered faintly.
"Spell crystal," Evi muttered. "Cooling-type, looks like. But why under a fire?"
"That's what I'm here to find out."
They entered the sitting room.
It smelled of incense and aged politics. Velvet chairs arranged in a semi-circle, as if for a play no one wanted to watch. Crystal goblets half-filled. Windows shut, curtains drawn despite the hour.
A woman in emerald green sat regally, her fingers poised around a delicate cup. Eyes dry. Mourning attire nowhere to be found.
A younger man sat beside her, arms crossed, eyes sharp—anger without direction.
Another stood by the window pretending to read, holding a book upside down.
And near the door, a butler hovered with practiced stillness.
No one spoke as Perry stepped in.
He said nothing either.
After a pause, the woman finally gestured to a chair. "Detective."
He remained standing.
"How long since he was last seen alive?"
"The cook said she heard him shouting at the staff late last night," the woman answered calmly.
"No witness?"
"No."
He turned to the butler. "You?"
"I… I heard bubbling. I assumed the master was making stew again. He liked to experiment with late-night broths."
Perry walked past him without reply, trailing a finger along the bookshelf.
He stopped, picked up a novel titled Duskfire Embrace. The edges were singed, faintly curled as though too close to flame.
"You read this last night?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You mentioned you were reading when it happened."
"I enjoy historical fiction, yes."
"In the lounge?"
"Indeed."
"Odd," Perry murmured, setting the book down. "The lounge fireplace is cold. Firewood untouched."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You read in the dark?"
"I must've used the chandelier or…" Her voice thinned.
"Firelight singes pages," Perry said. "You read it here. Recently. Possibly after the body was placed."
The young man across the room stood up.
"That proves nothing."
Perry turned. "Did I say it did?"
The boy stiffened. "You're trying to make it sound like we're hiding something."
"You are."
A small cough behind him. The man with the upside-down book finally set it right.
"Let's not jump to accusations," he offered smoothly. "We're all quite shaken."
"You arrived today?" Perry asked.
"Yesterday. Midday. I—wasn't told I needed to sign in."
"The log says you weren't expected. Why the visit?"
"Family matters."
"Specific?"
"Private."
Perry didn't reply. Instead, he gestured at the man's boots.
A faint sheen clung to the soles. Mud at the edges. But the tips were damp, and a faint frost smell lingered in the air.
"You were in the basement."
The cousin blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Ice cellar's open. Condensation on the door handle. Someone accessed the chamber but didn't relock it."
"I was… thirsty. I went looking for something cold."
"You brought back no bottle."
"I changed my mind."
"You didn't change your boots."
The cousin licked his lips. "Detective, surely—"
Perry looked away.
The butler cleared his throat.
"I was instructed not to enter the kitchen during the morning hours. The master said he'd be working on something."
"Working on what?"
"He didn't say. But it's not the first time."
"You heard bubbling?"
"Yes."
"Smell anything?"
"I—no, not particularly."
"No meat, no spices?"
"I assumed it was broth—"
"You didn't check?"
"The master doesn't like interruptions."
Perry's eyes narrowed. "But you called the Bureau?"
The butler hesitated. "When I saw the body, yes. It… surprised me."
A low chuckle escaped from the son.
"'Surprised,' he says."
Perry turned.
"You find something funny?"
"Just that my father hated stew. Always said 'only peasants boil meat.'"
He stepped forward.
"If you want someone to pin this on, try Ardell. He's always sniffing around the cellar."
The cousin looked affronted. "I was visiting! I didn't even see the man—"
"No one ever sees Father," the son snapped. "He spends all day barking orders and pretending he's important."
Perry lifted a hand.
"You left for training yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Which wand did you check out?"
The son faltered. "My own."
"Where is it?"
"In my room."
"I checked your room. Dust covers the case."
"I—must've forgotten—"
"You trained without a wand?"
"I was practicing stance."
"In town?"
"I never said that."
"You did earlier."
"I meant I planned to. I stayed behind."
Perry nodded, expression unreadable.
"You're bad at lying."
Evi followed him out to the kitchen again. The tension clung to her like smoke.
"That was... something."
He crouched once more by the cauldron. The ashes hadn't moved. No one had touched the fire.
He held out the cracked crystal.
"This was under the ashes."
"Still active?"
"Dead now. But this was a cooling crystal. Used to preserve bodies."
"Why put it under a fire?"
"To buy time."
Evi frowned. "But that would crack the crystal."
"Exactly. The body was frozen first, then placed in the pot. A real fire was lit later to make it look recent."
"That's… twisted."
"The scene was staged. But not well."
He gestured at the soot—barely present, fresh logs.
"If someone cooked this long enough to boil a man, we'd smell it in the curtains."
She grimaced.
"Whoever did this didn't expect me."
System Message:
Suspects Confirmed: 4.
Barrier Active. No one may leave.
Final Deduction Unlocked. Present your conclusion at will.
Perry stood, brushing off his coat.
"It's time."
"Time for what?" Evi asked.
He straightened his collar.
"To flip the pot."