Greg's ear-bite notification system had three flaws.
First, it hurt.
Second, it was humiliating.
Third, it was effective enough that I could not reasonably complain without admitting that my own emergency protocol worked exactly as designed. This was the worst kind of personal defeat: the kind where the idiot responsible was me. I walked away from Palais Mermonia rubbing my ear while Greg sat on my shoulder in his tiny napkin cloak, radiating the calm satisfaction of a secure lizard archive that had successfully delivered a critical alert through violence.
Paimon hovered beside me, still staring at Greg like he had personally changed the laws of communication. "Paimon still doesn't understand why biting your ear was necessary."
"It was not necessary," Lumine said, walking ahead with Navia. "He told Greg to do it."
"I expected professionalism," I muttered. "Not enthusiasm."
Greg flicked his tail against my cheek with enough pride to qualify as a written confession.
Nilou moved closer, her eyes soft with concern and amusement. "Let me see."
"My dignity or my ear?"
"Your ear."
"The dignity is less recoverable anyway," Paimon said.
Nilou gently took my chin between her fingers and tilted my head enough to check the damage. The touch was so soft it immediately made the entire betrayal feel worth it, which was dangerous because I could not let Greg learn that biting me indirectly produced goddess attention. His political power was already spiraling out of control. Nilou's brows eased after a moment, and she brushed her thumb lightly below my ear.
"It is not bleeding," she said. "Only red."
"My secure archive has teeth."
"He is sorry," she said, looking at Greg.
Greg did not look sorry.
"He is operationally satisfied," I corrected.
Silver, who had been listening from behind Navia, said flatly, "The signal reached you quickly."
I turned toward him with wounded dignity. "Do not validate the system. It encourages him."
"It worked."
"Locked treasure chest man, betrayal from you wounds me."
Silver's expression did not change. "That is also efficient."
Paimon pointed at him. "Paimon thinks Silver likes the bite alarm."
"I respect practical measures," Silver said.
Greg lifted his chin like a prince receiving military endorsement.
Navia glanced back at us, and the tension from Palais Mermonia softened around her mouth for a moment. She still carried the weight of Neuvillette's words, Clorinde's half-answer, and the reopened wound of Callas's duel, but watching a lizard in a napkin cloak receive operational approval from her most serious attendant was apparently enough to create a crack in her grief.
"Should I prepare an official Spina position for Greg?" she asked.
"Yes," I said immediately.
"No," Lumine said at the same time.
Navia's smile grew. "A divided delegation."
"Greg is already overpromoted," Lumine said.
I placed one hand over my heart. "This is discrimination against reptilian public service."
Greg tail-flicked solemnly.
Paimon crossed her arms. "Paimon is more qualified for public service than Greg!"
Greg slowly looked at her.
Paimon drifted backward. "Paimon withdraws the statement."
We reached the lower transit route leading out toward Poisson, and my humor began to develop hairline fractures. Fontaine was beautiful in the damp evening, but every road in this nation eventually threatened to become water-adjacent. The city seemed incapable of simply letting people walk somewhere like reasonable land-based lifeforms. There had to be lifts, canals, aquabus lines, platforms above deep blue channels, and machinery that looked smugly confident about keeping you suspended over liquid betrayal.
Navia gestured ahead. "We will take the route down toward Poisson. It is faster."
My eyes narrowed. "Define down."
"Lower elevation," Navia said carefully.
"Does lower elevation involve boats?"
Paimon made a tiny sound.
Lumine's shoulders shifted like she was already preparing to restrain me physically if needed.
Navia hesitated one second too long.
I pointed at her. "That pause was wet."
Nilou pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "Shigeru."
"No, Goddess, I know the signs. The nation is attempting maritime warfare again."
"It is not warfare," Lumine said. "It is transportation."
"That is what maritime warfare wants you to think."
Melus, bless his compassionate heart, looked genuinely apologetic. "There are platforms and water routes, but the ride is not long."
I closed my eyes.
The phrase not long had betrayed mankind throughout history.
Paimon floated beside my face and patted the air near my shoulder. "Don't worry. Paimon will describe the scenery so you can focus on not dying."
"That is not comforting."
"It's better than describing your face while you turn pale."
"My face remains handsome even in maritime crisis."
Lumine glanced back. "You looked like a ghost wearing regret."
"Handsome ghost. Handsome regret."
Nilou slipped her hand into mine with quiet warmth. "I will stay beside you."
And just like that, the transport system survived my wrath.
Barely.
The journey down to Poisson was not long in objective terms, but objective terms were written by people with normal relationships to water. For me, every smooth shift of the platform, every gleam of canal below, every gentle sway of Fontaine's suspicious engineering became part of a psychological boss fight. I survived through Nilou's hand, Lumine's occasional warning look, Paimon's unhelpful commentary, and Greg's tail pressed against my neck like a small reminder that if I fainted, he would probably bite me awake and call it communication.
By the time we reached Poisson, I had not vomited, screamed, or declared war on civil infrastructure.
This was growth.
Poisson did not shine like the Court of Fontaine.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The Court wore beauty like perfume, expensive and deliberate, sprayed over stone and law until even grief had to walk elegantly. Poisson wore survival like work gloves. Its structures seemed carved into the earth and metal of Fontaine's underlayers, practical and stubborn, marked by labor, salt, damp air, and the kind of community that did not need marble to remember who belonged. Pipes ran along walls. Lamps glowed warmer here, less theatrical, more necessary. Voices echoed differently, not like spectators waiting for spectacle, but like neighbors calling across lived-in spaces.
Navia changed when she stepped into Poisson.
Not completely. She was still Navia, still sharp, still elegant, still carrying a storm in the line of her shoulders. But some hidden brace in her eased. People looked up as we passed and greeted her with real familiarity. Some called her Demoiselle with respect that sounded less like title and more like affection. Others nodded to Melus and Silver as if their presence meant safety had arrived with human faces.
An older man near a workbench lifted one hand. "Demoiselle Navia. You're back sooner than expected."
Navia smiled. "Trouble enjoys moving quickly."
"Then trouble has poor manners," the man said.
I pointed at him immediately. "Correct. Excellent civic philosophy."
The man blinked at me, glanced at Greg in his napkin cloak, then chose not to ask questions. Sensible citizen.
Paimon leaned close to Lumine. "People really trust Navia here."
Navia heard her and slowed. Her expression softened as her gaze moved across the settlement. "They trusted my father first."
That one sentence changed Poisson around us.
The greetings, the lamps, the worn railings, the people watching from doorways, the children being pulled gently back from machinery by tired adults—all of it became part of Callas's shadow. Not the criminal from records. Not the accused man from verdicts. The man remembered here. The man whose name still lived in small practical ways because he had helped people survive.
Melus stepped away briefly to speak with a woman carrying a basket. He asked about her son by name, reminded her that a repair team would check a leak near her home, and somehow managed to make the exchange feel less like duty and more like family. Silver, meanwhile, noticed a child leaning too close to a loose metal panel and crossed the distance without raising his voice.
"Back," Silver said.
The child froze, then obeyed instantly.
Silver crouched, inspected the panel, and tightened the latch with a small tool from his pocket. No speech. No lecture. Just action. The child watched him with wide eyes, then whispered a thank-you before running back toward his mother.
Wholesome civic loyalty.
Canon bait.
Disgusting.
Protected.
Navia caught me watching them again. "Still counting cliffs?"
"This place has stairs," I said. "I distrust stairs."
Silver looked over his shoulder. "That is not what you meant."
I placed one hand dramatically over my chest. "Locked treasure chest man is learning my avoidance patterns."
"I am learning that you avoid direct answers."
"That too."
Melus returned in time to hear that and smiled. "It means he worries."
I gasped. "Melus, do not translate my mysterious aura."
Paimon floated above my shoulder. "Your mysterious aura is mostly panic and bad nicknames."
"Powerful panic. Legendary nicknames."
Lumine's mouth twitched, but her attention stayed on Navia. "Who are we meeting first?"
Navia's expression settled back into seriousness. "Jacques's family. They were among those my father helped. They also remember details about the old case that official reports tend to smooth over."
She led us through Poisson's interior passages to a modest home set slightly away from the busier walkways. The woman who greeted us was not young, but she stood with the straight-backed dignity of someone who had spent years refusing to be crushed by circumstances. Her eyes softened when she saw Navia, and for a moment, no words were needed.
"Demoiselle," the woman said, taking Navia's hands.
"Madame," Navia answered, warmer than before. "I am sorry to trouble you."
"You are never trouble here." The woman's gaze moved to the rest of us, lingering on Lumine, then Nilou, then Paimon, then me, then Greg. Like the older man outside, she paused at the sight of the cloaked lizard and chose wisdom over inquiry. "These are your friends?"
Navia glanced at Lumine first. "Allies. Friends, perhaps, if they survive my questions."
Paimon puffed up. "Paimon is very good at surviving questions!"
Lumine looked at her.
Paimon lowered slightly. "Depending on the questions."
The woman allowed us inside. The space was simple but cared for, with repaired furniture, old photographs, clean cups, and the unmistakable feeling of a home that remembered scarcity without letting it become ugliness. A faded image of a man I assumed was Jacques rested on a shelf near a small vase of fresh flowers. Navia noticed my glance.
"Jacques was taken in by my father," she said quietly. "His family stayed in Poisson afterward."
The woman's eyes warmed with old gratitude. "Callas did not ask whether someone looked useful before helping them. That was his trouble, according to some. His blessing, according to others."
We sat where we could. Melus remained near the doorway until the woman scolded him into taking a chair. Silver stayed standing for three seconds longer before Navia looked at him, and he obeyed without a word. Greg settled on the edge of the table with his napkin cloak still in place, and the woman, without ceremony, placed a tiny crumb of bread near him.
I nearly cried.
Poisson understood diplomacy.
Once tea was poured, Navia explained why we had come. She did not dramatize the trial. She did not inflate her role. She spoke of Cowell, Liliane, the Water from the Primordial Sea, the attack near the Fountain, and the need to reopen old questions around Callas's case. The woman listened without interrupting, but her fingers tightened around her cup when the Primordial Sea was mentioned.
"So it has come back," she said.
Lumine leaned forward. "You know about it?"
"Only rumors. Fear. Things people whispered when someone vanished and no body was found." The woman looked toward Jacques's photograph. "People in the Court spoke of Callas like a problem. Down here, he was the reason some of us survived. When the official story turned against him, many repeated it because the Court sounded certain. Certainty is persuasive when you are tired."
Navia's face stayed composed, but I saw how the words hit her.
Nilou spoke softly. "A person's name can be stained in one place and still be kept clean in another."
The woman looked at Nilou for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. That is well said."
Navia lowered her eyes. "Sometimes that makes it harder."
"Because grief becomes proof?" Nilou asked.
Navia's smile was faint and pained. "Because proof can still hurt."
The room fell quiet.
Paimon, for once, did not rush to fill it. Lumine's expression was focused, but not cold; she was listening as both investigator and friend. Melus looked at Navia with gentle sorrow, while Silver watched the woman with the attention of someone storing every useful detail in a locked place.
I kept my mouth shut.
Some testimonies did not need seasoning.
After a moment, I asked the question that mattered most. "Who benefited when Callas became too disgraced to be trusted?"
The woman looked at me.
Navia did too.
I kept my voice low, careful. "Not who disliked him. Not who argued with him. Plenty of people dislike strong people who help the inconvenient. I mean who became safer when his name became poison?"
The woman set her cup down slowly.
"That," she said, "is a different question."
"Yes."
Navia's eyes sharpened. "And?"
The woman hesitated, then looked toward the door as if old fear still knew where to stand. "There were people who did not like how much influence the Spina had. Some wanted Poisson quiet. Some wanted certain shipments unexamined. Some wanted donations accepted without questions. There were names spoken back then, but never loudly."
Paimon leaned forward. "Names?"
"Florent knew much of the old business around the Spina. Thierry had access to official details and records. And Marcel…" The woman paused, brows drawing together. "Marcel was always respectable. Always polite. Always generous in the ways people praised in public."
My thoughts stopped.
There you are.
Respectable bastard with clean gloves.
Greg's tail pressed against my wrist beneath the edge of the table.
Lumine's gaze shifted to me immediately.
I did not move.
I did not speak.
Navia noticed anyway. "Shigeru."
I looked at the tea.
"Respectable men are dangerous in cases like this," I said. "Not because respectability proves guilt. It doesn't. But because people stop searching them first."
The woman nodded slowly. "That is true."
Navia studied me longer than I liked. "You reacted to Marcel's name."
"I react to many things."
Paimon crossed her arms. "Mostly water, evidence booklets, and attractive dangerous women."
"Paimon, not now."
Her eyes widened. "Wait. You're serious serious."
"I am," I said.
That settled the room again.
Navia's face hardened—not with certainty, not yet, but with the recognition that a name had gained weight. "Then we question all three. Florent, Thierry, and Marcel."
"Carefully," Lumine said.
Silver nodded. "Separately."
Melus added, "And without letting one know what the others have said."
I pointed at him. "Melus is cooking."
The woman blinked. "Cooking?"
"Investigative cooking. Different from food cooking. Similar emotional heat."
Lumine sighed. "He means that is a good idea."
"Thank you, translation fiancé."
She lifted one eyebrow.
"Beloved translation fiancé."
The eyebrow lowered by a single degree.
Success.
The conversation continued with smaller details: times, old rumors, names of missing women, hints of Sinthe moving through places it should not have touched, stories about men who smiled at fundraisers and vanished when grief needed witnesses. None of it was enough to convict anyone. Not yet. But it gave shape to the emptiness around Callas's case.
And the more the woman spoke, the more my hidden threads inside my jacket warmed.
The Mek trace.
The Hotel Debord listener.
The little signature copied into Greg's secret archive.
At first, they felt separate: a tampered machine, a nervous spy, a crime beneath a stage. But as the woman described old shipments and respectable donors, the textures began to rhyme. Not identical. Not one person's fingerprint. A weave. Same habits. Same caution. Same kind of money moving through different gloves.
Greg turned his head sharply.
I flinched. "Do not bite."
Paimon immediately pointed. "Is the alarm happening?"
"Negotiating alternate communication."
Greg flicked his tail toward the tiny Geo chip hidden beneath his cloak.
Lumine leaned closer. "The traces?"
I nodded slowly. "The attack and the listener are not separate threads."
Navia straightened. "Same person?"
"Same weave," I said. "Person comes later."
Silver's eyes narrowed. "Network."
"Exactly."
Paimon hugged herself. "Paimon hates networks. One suspicious person is already too many."
"Unfortunately, organized evil discovered teamwork," I said. "Very inconsiderate of them."
The woman looked frightened now, and I regretted the joke almost immediately. Nilou noticed and reached across the table to touch the woman's hand gently.
"We will be careful," Nilou said. "But we will not ignore what you told us."
The woman nodded, though her eyes stayed on Navia. "Your father helped people who had nowhere else to go. That is why some of us stayed. That is why some of us remember. But memory can be dangerous, Demoiselle."
Navia's smile was small, controlled, and bright with pain. "So can forgetting."
The woman's fingers tightened around hers. "Then do not forget. But do not stand alone."
Navia looked at Melus and Silver.
Then at Lumine.
Then, unexpectedly, at me.
I raised both hands. "I am emotionally unstable backup, but backup nonetheless."
Paimon groaned. "Why are you like this?"
"Because Truck-kun hit me so hard my survival instincts respawned with comedy damage."
The woman looked bewildered.
Lumine patted her own forehead. "Ignore that."
Navia laughed softly, and the sound eased some of the fear in the room. "Unstable or not, I accept."
"Terrible decision," I said.
"Perhaps," she replied. "But I have made several."
We eventually stood to leave. Navia thanked the woman properly, with both hands and no theatrical shield between them. Melus promised to send someone to check the family's outer railing. Silver quietly inspected the doorframe before we departed and adjusted the latch without mentioning it. The woman watched us go with worry in her eyes, but also something that looked like relief. Not because the case was solved, but because it had finally begun moving again.
Outside, Poisson's air felt heavier.
Not darker. Heavier. As if every wall had absorbed old conversations and was waiting to see whether this group of strangers, locals, a flying emergency appetite, and one politically important lizard could carry them properly.
Children ran across a nearby walkway until Melus gently warned them away from a slick patch. Silver walked near Navia without crowding her. Lumine reviewed the names under her breath: Florent, Thierry, Marcel. Nilou stayed beside Navia, quiet and present. Paimon floated backward in front of us, face scrunched in thought.
"So now we question three suspicious people?" she asked.
"Three socially polished murder candidates," I said.
Lumine's hand moved toward the evidence booklet.
I coughed. "Three persons of investigative interest."
Silver said, "The first phrasing was clearer."
Paimon pointed at him triumphantly. "See? Locked treasure chest man gets it!"
Silver's eyes closed for one slow second.
Navia looked like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. That, unfortunately, was progress.
The Dendro thread tied to the respectable door remained still somewhere far above us in the city. I could feel it faintly, like a fishing line caught beneath polished stone. It had not snapped. It had not moved. Whoever stood at the other end felt safe enough not to run.
Good.
Let them feel safe.
Poisson did not give us the answer. It gave us something older and harder to bury: the shape of the man Callas had been, the people who still remembered him cleanly, and the names of those who had survived long enough to lie about him.
Florent.
Thierry.
Marcel.
The old wound had names now.
And one of them smelled like a respectable door.
_________
End of Chapter 197
Quests Completed:
Survived Greg's ear-bite alarm aftermath with only minor dignity loss.
Confirmed the thread stopped somewhere protected, respectable, and suspiciously polished.
Endured another Fontaine water-adjacent travel route through Nilou support, Lumine judgment, and emergency handsome ghost resilience.
Reached Poisson without declaring formal war on Aquabus-adjacent infrastructure.
Discovered that Poisson wears survival like work gloves instead of beauty like perfume.
Showed Navia's home ground and the trust Poisson still gives to the Spina di Rosula.
Watched Melus perform wholesome community care and immediately raised his protection priority.
Watched Silver silently fix a latch and terrify a child away from danger with one word.
Visited Jacques's family and heard how Callas helped people the official systems ignored.
Confirmed Callas's name remains clean in Poisson even if the Court stained it.
Asked the correct question: who became safer when Callas became too disgraced to be trusted?
Received the next investigative names: Florent, Thierry, and Marcel.
Detected Shigeru's reaction to Marcel's name while successfully avoiding a premature spoiler explosion.
Confirmed the Mek attack, Hotel Debord listener, and Cowell stage incident are part of the same weave, not separate threads.
Established the next route: question the three persons of investigative interest separately and carefully.
Rewards:
+1 Poisson Trust
+1 Callas Memory Restored
+1 Jacques Family Testimony
+1 Melus Wholesome Civic Loyalty
+1 Silver Practical Guardian Point
+1 Navia Emotional Resolve
+1 Nilou Gentle Witness Support
+1 Lumine Evidence Discipline
+1 Greg Alternate Communication Negotiation
+1 Marcel Name Reaction Suppressed
+1 Same-Weave Confirmation
New Passive Unlocked: Ask Who Became Safer.
New Hidden Quest: Three Persons of Investigative Interest.
New Debuff Acquired: Water-Adjacent Travel Suspicion.
New Party Rule: Do Not Let Greg Learn Bite Alerts Earn Goddess Attention.
New Investigation Status: The Old Wound Has Names.
Warning Added: Respectable Men Are Searched Last.
Next Quest: The Three Who Remembered Too Much.