What Rod feared most was reaching the end of the investigation and discovering the killer… was him.
To avoid starring in a tragedy called I Killed Myself, he had to get to the truth first. Only then did he stand a chance of surviving this mess.
Which is why the Goldsworth Star (Tier I) medal was non-negotiable. He needed to get off campus—only then could he chase leads, verify clues, recruit stronger allies, and harvest more souls. The field practicum had an end date; once it was over, his soul supply would dry up. No souls, and his constellation would gutter out. His power would dip, his value would plummet, the dominoes would fall, and he'd either end up a scapegoat on an interrogation slab—or dead in the Dream from the next incursion.
So tonight he needed to kill more monsters, bank more souls, and—if possible—pry open the secrets of the obelisk and the Dream's rules.
He tucked the fifty rounds of true-silver he'd just had Green-Hair purchase into his coat, along with three fresh packets of Crimson Dust—the stimulant he'd found most useful in real fights.
"And I need to figure out what's up with that ex."
On the double-decker spirit bus, Rod made up his mind in silence.
Just like last night, the bus set them down at Iron Cross Square. The driver led him into the district Defense Office—a crush of bodies inside: students coming off the early shift and those queueing for the late one. You could spot the difference at a glance. The late-shift kids had that seasoned look. The early shift still wore their school faces—and their instructors.
The scarred defense chief and a few clerks were swamped. Rod spotted Raeslin's trio—they'd ridden in on another bus—locked in a heated debate:
"Honey or salt on ash-yam jam?"
Rod listened a bit. Ah. The age-old sweet vs. savory tofu war, local edition. Pointless. Tofu without sugar isn't tofu, is it?
He cleared his throat and waded in; a few jabs later, the day apart was forgotten and the easy rhythm came back.
When assignments rolled out, they drew the same patrol as last night: Whiteflower Street to Stone Street to Fifth Plaza. The chief shoved a spirit-whistle and a signal flare into Rod's hands again, but added, extra grave:
"Tonight's a Dim Moon. Be sharp. Any anomaly, you blow the whistle or pop the flare. Warden Viri will be on you fast."
Rod glanced over at the half-masked warden—same cold profile, same silence.
Thanks to Old One-Eye Mohr's lecture, Rod knew wardens were Level 7+ combatants. Raeslin's team had just made Level 9—baseline formal fighters. Rod himself wasn't even rated yet—still "reserve."
He flicked on Soul Sight and the Soul Eye. The warden's soul was a pale shadow, trembling like water, then thrumming like a low brass note—complex, human. Hard to gauge raw power at a glance.
The defense chief, by contrast, blazed like a pacing lion. He caught Rod looking, struck a flex-pose.
"Well? Impressed?"
Rod killed his Sight, pasted on a smile. "No one is more impressive than you."
The chief boomed a laugh."Right? The lady instructors must love this. You're a special student—lots of faculty contact. Set me up sometime."
He clapped Rod's shoulder. "Go on, then. Don't be late. And if it goes sideways, you use that flare."
Rod nodded his way onto the carriage with Raeslin's crew.
On the ride over, Calamon leaned in, low. "Rod… you don't, uh, swing the other way, do you? Because I don't."
Rod pulled out the crystal sphere. "Do I look like I swing the other way?"
All three burst out laughing. Raeslin thumped Calamon's shoulder. "Your ex really is a generous soul."
Calamon snorted. "Says the guy who never saw a frame. Besides Rod, you two only know what I told you."
Shorty Aeg clicked his heels against the bench. "Rod's descriptions are cinematic, man. It's like we were in the room. Your ex was… very accommodating."
Rod seized the opening. "Mind telling me more about her? I'm curious. Most women wouldn't—do that."
Raeslin hooked an arm around Rod's neck, grinning. "You into Dona now? Sure, she's pretty, but she's not your type."
"Damn right." Calamon ground his teeth. "That tramp belongs on Red Lantern Row—and not the paid kind."
Rod hurried to soften it. "No, no—just curious. If she wanted out, she could've dumped you. Why the sphere?"
Raeslin rubbed his chin. "Now that you put it that way… why did she? If she didn't want him, push him off and be done. Why the parting gift?"
Aeg smacked his fist into his palm. "Oh! Maybe she was mocking you—too small, too quick, can't keep up."
Calamon went beet red. "Say that again and I'll— And for the record, I never even held her hand!"
Aeg popped up and jabbed a knuckle into his navel. "Exactly! She was roasting you for being all talk. Not even a handhold? Boring."
"Shut up, you little stump!"
"I'm one-seven! That's not short!"
Rod slid between them and dragged the talk back on track. "Just tell us about her. Maybe we can figure out why. Even if it's over, you deserve to know."
Calamon sagged, drew a long breath, and stared into the middle distance."The day we met, mist like smoke drifted beneath the White-Saint tree. Ripples shivered on the lake. She stepped from a lotus skiff like a goddess…"
Raeslin jumped in with stage-voice: "Her soft white body trembled—"
And there went the mood. The carriage shook with Calamon's outraged bellow.
"You're all bullying me! I'm done talking!"