Chapter 49: _ It Gets Worse

The doors of the Academy security building closed behind us. We stepped past the front checkpoint, muttered our business to a bored desk warden, and were promptly directed down a narrow corridor to Commander Clement’s office.

The inner sanctum smelled of books, black ink, and sandalwood. Clement was already hard at work behind a desk stacked high with parchment reports and a quill flying across a manifest.

Watching him work, a highly unprofessional thought hijacked my brain: Were all the men in this godforsaken academy sculpted by master artisans? Or was there some sort of mandatory jawline quota during admissions?

The man simply looked unfairly good. His hair fell slightly damp across his forehead, a faint sheen of sweat catching the torchlight from his exertion, and his forearms were corded and exposed where his shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows.

Beside me, Bren went dead silent. Her shoulders stiffened instantly, and a faint flush bloomed across the back of her neck as she stared at the commander.

Clement looked up and when his gaze settled on us, a smirk touched the corner of his lips.

"Right on time," he said, setting his quill down and leaning back in his chair. He gestured to the three empty chairs opposite his desk. "Sit. Can I get you good ladies any refreshments?"

Bren cleared her throat, crossing her arms. "Is that how you routinely treat witnesses, Commander? Or do you offer tea to everyone who walks into your interrogation room?"

"Not usually," Clement beamed, his eyes lingering on Bren just long enough to make her shift uncomfortably. "Only when there are three pretty ladies with an impressive penchant for high-society scandal."

Miriel immediately drove her elbow deep into my ribs, her eyes dancing with mischief as she subtly gestured between Bren and the commander.

They’re flirting, her expression screamed.

Even I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips, though Bren looked ready to combust right out of her trousers.

Clement cleared his throat, leaning forward to fold his hands on the desk, instantly shifting from charming to strictly business.

"Let’s talk about Tobin," he said. "We’ve been leaning on him since dawn, but the Sylven hasn’t given us anything useful. He insists he knows nothing about the incident, claims he doesn’t belong to any ground, and swears he never even laid eyes on you girls before the gala."

Miriel gasped, slamming her hands onto the armrests of her chair. "He’s lying! He literally lured us into the vaults, knocked Bren and me out cold, and promised he was going to kill us and harvest our cores! And according to Elira, he almost assaulted her down in the dark."

"I’m well aware, and I apologize again for what you endured," Clement sighed. "For now, I’m working with two working theories. First, the Sylven in our cells might just be a master liar—which is hardly rare for criminals of his tier. Second... and far more concerning—the true core-stealer might have stolen a shapeshifting ability, as I have once mentioned to you, ladies. He could have easily hijacked Tobin’s face and form to commit the crimes, leaving our prisoner entirely innocent of those specific attacks."

A cold wave of goosebumps broke out across my arms.

If the core-stealer could twist his form, that meant he had no face, no permanent identity, and no boundaries. He could be anyone. He could be standing right next to us. Between the lingering trauma of how close he’d come to violating me in the dark and this new revelation, my stomach dropped into freefall.

Miriel crossed her arms, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, shapeshifting is a rare ability but not non-existent, even if my own ability is taking its sweet time showing up. If he stole an ability like that, it changes everything."

"Precisely," Clement nodded, sliding a parchment slip across the desk. "I’m arranging for you three to have a supervised conversation with the captured Sylven down in holding. Study him. Look for any red flags, behavioral tics, or inconsistencies. See if he is truly the one at the Sunken Arch."

He tapped the desk. "He won’t face the Academy court until three days from now, where the judges will use the Realm’s Truth Mirror to force absolute honesty. Until then, you girls need to exercise extreme vigilance. Do not trust strangers. Do not walk alone... do not trust even your own faces."

"A code word," Bren chimed in immediately. "If we can’t trust anyone’s face, we need a secure verification phrase."

"Agreed," Clement nodded. "Don’t use the one I previously gave to you. Come up with something obscure known only amongst you three. If you suspect your roommate is a shapeshifting monster, ask for the phrase."

We exchanged a long, terrified look. The thought that the core-stealer could infiltrate our very dorm room... disguised as Miriel, Bren, or even me, made the air in the room feel suffocating.

"Why three days?" Bren suddenly demanded, narrowing her eyes. "Why wait until a court hearing in seventy-two hours? If he’s a threat, why not use the Truth Mirror today?"

"Administrative red tape and a docket full of noble disputes," Clement sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, though his eyes drifted toward Bren with a soft, appreciative spark. "The academy runs on bureaucracy, whether the world is ending or not. Just stay vigilant, and you’ll survive. This is Last Bastion, ladies."

Miriel raised a trembling hand. "Does this mean we still get armed security details? Surely the academy won’t leave us completely naked to danger."

Clement’s expression turned apologetic. "Afraid not. Now that we have a suspect in custody, the council has ruled that stationed bodyguards for the case are an unnecessary extravagance. Resources are stretched thin."

"What?!" Miriel and I gasped in unison.

Bren stared Clement dead in the eyes for the first time since we entered the room. "Surely you can bypass that, Commander. You’re the head of security. You pull the strings around here."

Clement paused, looking genuinely pained at the prospect of disappointing Bren.

He let out a slow breath. "I could try... but the spotlight is currently pointed directly at my department, and directly at you three. Especially after Elira decided to make history last night."

Miriel let out a theatrical groan, dropping her head back against the chair. "Oh, Elira is going to be the absolute death of us all."

Clement turned his undivided attention toward me. "Which brings me to the million-gold question, Initiate No-One. Why did you do that? Did you actually spot the Wolf Prince loitering near a crime scene, or was it just a desperate cry for attention?"

I swallowed hard.

Of all the things I wanted to revisit this morning—from my multi-tiered Heartstone explosion, interrupting the Dragon Prince’s walk and making an enemy of his stepsister, to being aggressively kissed and then called a leech by an unhinged Fae prince—being reminded of the time I marched up to the most dangerous royal in the academy and screamed at him like a market-stall fishwife was right at the bottom of the list.

My throat felt dry as bone. I had survived Stonewick winters, core-stealers, and physical assaults, but the blistering humiliation of my own monumental stupidity was about to finish me off.

I gulped, biting my bottom lip. "Commander... please tell me executions aren’t public here."