Time/Date: Late Evening, TC1853.01.07
Location: Metropolitan Police Station - 4th Ring
The color had drained from Selene's face so quickly it was almost comical. Almost. Lieutenant Veyne watched the elegant woman's fingers find that piece of silk sleeve again—rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. A nervous tell that she probably didn't even realize she was displaying.
"Mrs. Brenner," Veyne continued with professional calm, "the crystal flute currently in our evidence room contains three distinct sets of fingerprints. One set matches Mara Brenner, positioned where someone would hold the glass to drink. The other two sets are currently unidentified—one on the base and stem, suggesting preparation work, and another on the upper rim, consistent with adding final components to the contents."
Veyne paused, letting that sink in. The hum of the recording device filled the silence like a persistent insect. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. The institutional green walls seemed to press inward.
"Once we take your fingerprints for comparison, Mrs. Brenner, will one of those unidentified sets match yours?"
Selene's throat worked. Her aristocratic composure was cracking like fine porcelain under pressure—hairline fractures spreading across a surface meant to look perfect. "I... Lieutenant, you have to understand. Mara is a deeply troubled girl. She's been making up stories for years, trying to get attention, trying to hurt the family that's given her everything—"
"That's not an answer to my question, Mrs. Brenner."
"This is revenge!" Selene's voice rose, losing that measured control. The emerald silk that had looked so elegant an hour ago now seemed garish under the fluorescent lights. "She's cunning, Lieutenant. Far more cunning than anyone gives her credit for. She's been planning this for months—years, even—waiting for the perfect moment to destroy us. She must have taken that glass, planted evidence, fabricated this entire scheme to make us look guilty when we've done nothing but try to help her—"
"Help her." Veyne's tone was flat. "Mrs. Brenner, we need to discuss some additional allegations that have come to light during our investigation. Allegations of systematic abuse spanning nearly nine years."
Selene's face went still. Carefully, dangerously still. "Abuse? Lieutenant, I don't know what lies Mara has been telling you, but—"
"Why was Mara treated as a servant in your household?" Veyne interrupted, her voice taking on a harder edge. "Why wasn't she allowed to attend a decent school like your other daughter? Why the stark difference in treatment between the two girls?"
"Mara was difficult," Selene insisted, her voice taking on that wounded-mother tone again. Each word carefully chosen, even now. "She needed structure. Discipline. We tried to give her responsibilities to help her develop character, to teach her the value of hard work. Is that abuse? To try to mold a troubled child into something better?"
"Hard work." Veyne's expression remained neutral, but something cold flickered in her eyes. "Is that what you call making a child sleep in an unheated storage room? Denying her adequate food? Forcing her to work from dawn to dusk while your stepdaughter lives in luxury?"
"We were toughening her up!" Selene snapped, her composure finally shattering. The emerald silk wrinkled between her fingers—expensive fabric treated like a child's security blanket. "She was weak, Lieutenant. Constantly complaining, constantly trying to shirk her duties. Someone had to prepare her for the real world, for the hardships she'd face without family connections or breeding. We were trying to help her survive in a world that wouldn't be kind to someone like her. She needed to learn resilience, strength—"
"By starving her? By isolating her? By treating her like property rather than a child?"
"We gave her food! We gave her shelter! More than many children have." Selene's hands twisted together, emerald silk wrinkling between her fingers. "She was fed, she was clothed, she had a roof over her head. If we were harder on her than Amara, it was because Amara didn't need that kind of discipline. Mara did. She was always resentful, always difficult, never grateful for what we provided—"
"Mrs. Brenner," Veyne interrupted with deadly calm, "we have documentation. Nine years' worth of surveillance logs. Medical evidence. Witness testimonies. This isn't a case of 'he said, she said.' This is a case of overwhelming physical evidence that paints a very clear picture of what your household has been like for this child."
The room seemed to shrink. Selene's carefully constructed defenses were crumbling, her emerald silk suddenly looking less like status and more like a costume. Her fingers had gone white where they gripped her sleeve. The recording device hummed. A fluorescent light flickered overhead—once, twice—throwing shadows across Selene's face that made her look ten years older.
"I... I need to think. This is all happening so fast. You have to understand the context, the circumstances—" Her voice was losing that aristocratic polish, becoming something more desperate. Something raw. "Mara has always been difficult. She provoked us. She refused to follow even the simplest rules. What were we supposed to do? Just let her run wild?"
"The surveillance footage doesn't show a wild child, Mrs. Brenner. It shows a terrified one."
Selene's face went through several rapid changes—denial, calculation, and finally something approaching panic. "Surveillance? What surveillance? That's impossible. Mara couldn't have—she's a servant girl, how would she have access to—"
"That's not relevant to our current discussion," Veyne said smoothly. "What is relevant is that we have documented evidence of years of systematic mistreatment. Now, Mrs. Brenner, I need you to answer my question directly. Are you absolutely certain you saw Mara Brenner adding something to Lord Kael's drink at the banquet?"
"Yes!" Selene seized on the question like a lifeline. "Absolutely certain. I saw her with my own eyes. She was at the refreshment table, and she prepared that special drink, and she gave it to Kael herself. She drugged him. I witnessed it."
Veyne's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes sharpened. "That's interesting, Mrs. Brenner. Because we have surveillance footage from the Grand Imperial Hotel that tells a very different story. The footage shows Mara Brenner never approaching Lord Kael. Never going near the refreshment table where his drinks were prepared. In fact, she appears to have been deliberately avoiding that entire section of the ballroom."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Selene's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound emerged. Her perfectly arranged features seemed to age ten years in the span of a heartbeat, aristocratic composure collapsing into something raw and exposed. The woman who'd walked into this room with such confidence now looked like she might shatter at a touch.
"I... the lighting was poor. I must have been mistaken about the specifics—"
"You were quite specific in your earlier testimony, Mrs. Brenner. You said you saw her prepare the drink. That you watched her hand it to Lord Kael. Those are very detailed observations to make in poor lighting."
Selene's breathing had become shallow, rapid. Her hands twisted the silk sleeve so tightly that the fabric was beginning to tear. Small ripping sounds punctuated her panic. "I need to speak with Edmund. Now. I need my husband. You can't keep me here without—"
"You're free to leave at any time, Mrs. Brenner," Veyne said calmly. "Though I should mention that leaving now, before we've finished our investigation, might be seen as an admission of guilt. And given the severity of the charges—attempted poisoning of a minor, conspiracy to commit sexual assault, child abuse spanning nine years, possible witness tampering with those four missing hotel workers—I'd strongly suggest you cooperate fully with our investigation."
The walls were closing in. Selene could feel it—the careful edifice of lies she'd constructed over the years crumbling under the weight of evidence she hadn't known existed. Surveillance footage. Forensic analysis. Documentation.
Things a seventeen-year-old servant girl shouldn't have been able to gather.
Things that suggested Mara had been planning this for far longer than anyone had realized.
"I need Edmund," Selene whispered, and for the first time since the interview began, her voice held genuine fear rather than performed emotion. The aristocratic matron was gone. What remained was just a woman watching her world collapse. "Please. I need my husband."
***
Interview Room Two - Amara's Unraveling
Officer Chen had watched Amara's performance with professional interest. The tears were perfect. The wounded vulnerability was expertly crafted. But something about the girl's narrative was too polished, each detail positioned with theatrical precision rather than the messy confusion of genuine trauma.
"Miss Brenner," Chen said, her maternal warmth cooling into something more clinical, "let's discuss your allegations about the stolen artwork. You mentioned preparing pieces for the Centennial Art Festival?"
"Yes," Amara replied, dabbing at her eyes with calculated vulnerability. "I've been working on them for months. Landscapes, jewelry designs—pieces that were very personal to me. And Mara took them all."
"Can you describe these pieces in detail?"
Amara leaned forward, confidence returning as she drew upon memories that felt so vivid, so real. "There's a landscape series—three paintings of the Whispering Mountains during different seasons. The spring piece shows cherry blossoms reflecting in the mountain lake, with very specific brushwork techniques in the water. The summer piece features golden wheat fields in the foreground with storm clouds gathering over the peaks. And the autumn scene has maple trees with individual leaves painted in remarkable detail."
Chen made rapid notes, her expression remaining professionally neutral. "Very specific descriptions. You remember them quite clearly."
"They were my most precious creations," Amara replied, tears welling in her eyes again. "I spent months on each piece. Every brushstroke, every design element was carefully planned. That's why it hurt so much when Mara took them."
"There are also jewelry designs," Amara continued, warming to her subject. The words flowed like she was reading from a script she'd memorized. "Silver pieces incorporating phoenix motifs. One necklace has seven small phoenixes rising from stylized flames, with tiny rubies for eyes. Another piece is a bracelet with interconnected wing patterns that create an optical illusion of movement when worn. And there's a ring—oh, the ring took me weeks—with a phoenix wrapping around the band, wings spread so they frame the wearer's finger."
Host, came the System's urgent whisper across her consciousness, its mental voice tight with barely concealed fear. Stop. You're giving too much detail. Something is very wrong—
But Amara was caught up in the flow, the memories so vivid she couldn't stop herself.
"Impressive detail," Chen observed, and something in her tone should have warned Amara, but she pressed on, describing the way the phoenix feathers were individually etched, how the rubies caught light at specific angles—
Host! The System's voice grew more frantic. Powerful forces are watching. The trap has attracted attention from cosmic authorities. That girl—she's brought forces into play that threaten everything. I must pull back NOW—
"Now, Miss Brenner, let's discuss the logistics," Chen said. "You claim Mara stole these pieces—when did you first notice they were missing?"
"About three weeks ago," Amara said quickly. Too quickly. "I went to my studio to work on final touches, and several pieces were gone. I confronted Mara, but she denied everything. She's very good at lying, Officer Chen. She's had years of practice."
I must withdraw; the System's voice was growing distant, fading. There are cosmic authorities who would destroy your divine potential. They seek to keep you from claiming your rightful place. I must enter deep hibernation to avoid detection—
"I see." Chen consulted her notes with deliberate precision. "And where is this studio located?"
Do not despair, chosen daughter, came the entity's final communication before complete withdrawal. This is merely a temporary setback. Your mother will shield you from these accusations. Trust in your destiny. Be vague. Pull back from details—
The connection didn't sever completely, but dimmed to something barely detectable, like a candle flame protected deep within a cavern. Amara could still sense the System's presence, but its guidance and reassurance were no longer available.
"In the west wing of our estate," Amara said, suddenly feeling the absence like a physical cold. Like someone had opened a window in winter. "It's my private workspace where I—"
"The Brenner estate in the Fifth Ring?"
"Yes, of course," Amara replied, suddenly feeling very alone. Without the System's constant whispers, Officer Chen's questions seemed sharper, more dangerous. The room felt smaller. The air conditioning too cold.
Chen made a note, her expression giving nothing away. "Miss Brenner, our records show that you're registered for the Centennial Art Festival. That's correct?"
"Yes," Amara said, relief flooding her features. Finally, someone was taking her seriously. "I registered several months ago, as soon as submissions opened."
"And Mara Brenner? Is she also registered?"
"She registered," Amara said quickly, conviction in her voice. "I saw the notification myself. Her name was on the official registry—Mara Brenner, submitting works in the landscape and decorative arts categories. That's how I knew she'd stolen my pieces. When I saw her name registered with my work—"
"That's interesting," Chen interrupted quietly. "Because, according to the Centennial Art Festival's official records, which we've verified multiple times, Mara Brenner has never registered. Not this year, not any previous year. There is no notification with her name. No submission recorded under that name whatsoever."
Amara blinked rapidly, her mind racing. That was impossible. She'd seen it. She'd received the notification alert on her communicator, seen Mara's name listed with the spring landscape piece, the one with cherry blossoms—
But that was in another life.
In another timeline.
A notification that had never actually been sent in this reality.
"I... I must have misread the name," Amara stammered, grasping for solid ground that was crumbling beneath her. "Perhaps it was someone with a similar name, and I assumed it was her because I knew she'd been working on those pieces—"
"You knew she'd been working on landscape paintings and jewelry designs?" Chen's tone sharpened. "I thought you claimed she stole completed works from you. How would you know what she was working on?"
The trap was closing. Amara's amber eyes went wide as she realized her mistake.
"Furthermore," Chen continued with relentless precision, "we can find no documentation of you ever publicly displaying or exhibiting any artistic work before this festival registration. No previous exhibitions, no art school records, no authentication or provenance documentation for any pieces you claim were stolen."
The room seemed to tilt. Amara's confidence wavered as she grasped for solid ground that was no longer there.
"The works were personal projects," she managed. "I kept them private until I was ready to debut at the festival—"
"So you're claiming that someone stole artwork that had never been publicly displayed, never been documented, never been authenticated, and you have no proof of original ownership or creation?" Chen's maternal tone had been replaced by the sharp precision of someone who recognized elaborate deception. "Miss Brenner, making false accusations against another person is a serious offense. Do you have any evidence whatsoever—photographs, sketches, witness testimony, anything—to support your claims of theft?"
Amara's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Without the System's guidance, she felt like a child trying to navigate waters far deeper than her understanding. "I... the originals are stored safely at home. For security purposes, given Mara's history—"
"We'll certainly conduct a thorough search as part of our investigation," Chen interrupted. "However, Miss Brenner, I need to point out something. When we search Mara Brenner's room, if we find these exact pieces you've described in such detail, it will actually prove the opposite of what you're claiming."
"What do you mean?"
"You've just provided extremely specific descriptions of artwork you claim was stolen from you. Descriptions that include technical details about brushwork, composition, and design elements. If those pieces are found in Mara's possession with her fingerprints all over them, with evidence of her having worked on them for months, it won't prove theft. It will prove she created them."
The trap snapped shut with devastating precision.
Amara's amber eyes went wide with dawning horror. She'd just described artwork she'd seen in another lifetime—artwork that had never belonged to her, artwork that Mara had created with her own hands, artwork that existed nowhere except in her memories of a future that would never happen.
"Unless," Chen continued with surgical precision, "you can produce the originals you claim were stolen. Complete with your fingerprints, your documented creative process, and your authentic ownership. Can you do that, Miss Brenner?"
"I..." Amara's voice had become very small. "Mother keeps detailed records of household inventory. She'll have documentation—"
"Your mother is currently being questioned in another interview room," Chen said quietly. "And interestingly, her testimony is beginning to contradict several key elements of your story. So I'm going to ask you one more time, Miss Brenner—do you have any actual proof that Mara Brenner stole your artwork?"
The silence stretched.
Amara's carefully constructed narrative was unraveling thread by thread, and she had no System to whisper guidance, no cosmic patron to help her navigate the consequences of lies built on memories that shouldn't exist.
"I need to think," she whispered finally. "This is all happening so fast. I'm confused. I—"
"Take your time," Chen said, though her tone suggested time was something Amara didn't have. "Meanwhile, I have some other questions about the banquet itself. You claim you saw Mara preparing a drink for Lord Kael?"
"Yes," Amara seized on familiar ground, though without the System's guidance, everything felt uncertain. "I saw her at the refreshment table—"
"That's not what the surveillance footage shows," Chen interrupted quietly.
"What footage?" Amara's voice cracked, panic flooding her features. "What are you talking about?"
Chen's expression remained neutral, but something cold flickered in her eyes. "The Grand Imperial Hotel recently installed a comprehensive surveillance system throughout the building. State-of-the-art monitoring, discrete cameras in every public space. We have hours of footage from the banquet."
The blood drained from Amara's face. Surveillance. Cameras. Recording everything.
Recording proof that her entire story was a fabrication.
And the System was gone. Hidden. Unable to help her navigate this disaster.
"The footage shows several interesting things," Chen continued with surgical precision. "It shows Mara Brenner deliberately avoiding the refreshment area where drinks were being prepared. It shows her staying on the opposite side of the ballroom from Lord Kael for most of the evening. What it doesn't show is any interaction between them, any drink preparation, any of the events you've described."
Amara felt ice spreading through her chest, the System's absence making every word land with devastating clarity. "The footage must be wrong," she stammered desperately. "Or maybe the angles are misleading—"
"The Grand Imperial Hotel's surveillance system is state-of-the-art, Miss Brenner. Multiple angles, high resolution, time-stamped. It doesn't make mistakes." Chen leaned forward slightly. "So I need you to be very honest with me right now. Did you actually see Mara prepare that drink, or did someone tell you that's what happened?"
The question was a lifeline and a trap all at once.
If Amara admitted she didn't personally witness it, she'd be admitting her entire testimony was based on secondhand information—or worse, fabrication. If she insisted she saw it, she'd be contradicting evidence that would prove her a liar.
"I..." Amara's voice cracked. "I need to speak with my mother. Please. This is all so confusing, and I think I might have gotten some details mixed up. The evening was so traumatic, and everything happened so fast—"
"Of course," Chen said gently, though her eyes held no gentleness at all. "We'll make sure you and your mother have a chance to clarify the facts together."
The distinction was not lost on either of them.