Poisson gave us names, but it did not give them kindly.
That was how old wounds worked, apparently. They did not bleed answers immediately. They gave names first, then waited to see whether you had the patience, courage, and catastrophic survival instincts necessary to follow them into places where respectable people smiled too cleanly. In our case, we had Lumine, who could turn almost any tragedy into an investigation route; Navia, who carried her father's stained name like a blade wrapped in silk; Nilou, whose gentleness somehow made painful truths easier to hold; Paimon, who treated fear and hunger as alternating weather conditions; Melus and Silver, who were loyal enough to make canon look at them hungrily; Greg, who remained a secure lizard archive with teeth; and me, a handsome idiot with too many spoilers and not enough legally approved opportunities to throw bricks at respectable men.
The three names stayed with us as we left Jacques's family behind.
Florent.
Thierry.
Marcel.
They sounded ordinary when spoken aloud. That was the worst part. Villains, witnesses, cowards, grieving friends, useful liars, and men who had looked away too long rarely came with proper labels. Teyvat, despite its love for dramatic gods and elemental nonsense, still had the audacity to hide rot inside people who could shake your hand properly.
Paimon floated backward in front of Lumine, counting the names on her fingers for the fifth time. "So Florent, Thierry, and Marcel. Three persons of investigative interest."
I nodded with great pride. "Look at you using the legally survivable phrasing."
"Paimon wanted to say suspicious people."
"Natural. Honest. Dangerous."
Lumine glanced at me. "You called them socially polished murder candidates less than ten minutes ago."
"I have grown since then."
"You have not."
"Emotionally, perhaps not. Legally, yes."
Silver, walking near Navia with his usual expression of controlled suspicion, said, "The first phrasing was clearer."
Paimon threw both hands toward him. "See? Locked treasure chest man supports direct language."
Silver's face remained still, but there was now the faintest trace of suffering whenever Paimon used the nickname. This meant the nickname was working. A good nickname had to leave marks without causing visible injury.
Navia walked ahead with a focus that made the damp air around her feel sharper. Poisson's people still greeted her as we passed, but she answered more briefly now. Jacques's family had reopened something in her. Not broken her. Navia did not break easily. But each time someone remembered Callas kindly, the official stain on his name seemed to hurt her in a new place, because love did not erase injustice. Sometimes it simply kept the injury warm.
Nilou walked close to her, not speaking too much. That was one of Nilou's quiet strengths. She knew when comfort needed words and when it needed company with gentle steps. In Sumeru, she had danced grief into beauty. Here in Fontaine, she seemed to understand that Navia did not need someone to decorate her pain. She needed someone to stand beside it without flinching.
"We should speak to Florent first," Navia said at last. "He knew my father's work closely. If there were things the official records ignored, he may remember how those threads began."
Paimon tilted her head. "Was Florent part of the Spina di Rosula?"
"He worked with my father often," Navia said. "Not every ally wore our name openly. In those days, the wrong association could make doors close."
I looked at the worn railings, the exposed pipes, the people pretending not to listen while absolutely listening because Poisson was a community and communities were professional overhearers. "Doors closing around inconvenient people. Very Fontaine."
Lumine gave me a sideways look. "You are going to say respectable bastards again."
"I was thinking it."
Greg's tail pressed against my cheek.
I slowly turned my eyes toward him. "You are not allowed to enforce thought crimes."
Greg flicked his tail with the maddening confidence of a creature who had already successfully bitten my ear and received group validation for it.
Paimon hovered closer. "Paimon thinks Greg should enforce some of your thought crimes."
"Dangerous precedent."
Nilou smiled softly. "Perhaps only the loud ones."
"My loud thoughts are part of my charm."
Lumine said, "That is debatable."
"Everything about me is debatable. That is why I thrive in court-adjacent nations."
Nobody dignified that with agreement, which was probably wise because agreeing with me in Fontaine had already been linked to legal complications, evidence-booklet violence, and near-Meropide consequences.
Florent met us near one of Poisson's lower work areas, where the sound of machinery hummed through damp stone and metal like the settlement had a tired mechanical heart. He was older than I expected, with weathered hands, a strong back beginning to surrender to age, and tired eyes that sharpened the moment he saw Navia. His posture changed from ordinary caution to something almost protective, but then grief crossed his face as if Callas's name had walked in behind her.
"Demoiselle Navia," he said quietly. "I heard about the trial."
"Then you know why I came," Navia replied.
Florent looked at the rest of us. His gaze paused on Lumine, then moved across Nilou, Paimon, Melus, Silver, me, and finally Greg, whose napkin cloak had been removed but whose aura remained undeniably official. Florent's brows rose for one second before he looked away with the discipline of a man who had survived Fontaine by not asking unnecessary questions.
Smart.
"We need to talk about my father," Navia said.
Florent's expression tightened. "People always talk about Callas too late."
The sentence landed hard enough that even Paimon stayed quiet.
Navia absorbed it without flinching, though I saw Melus's face shift behind her. He did not like hearing Callas spoken of with regret sharpened into accusation. Silver's eyes narrowed slightly, not at Florent, but at the old helplessness in the words.
"Then help me talk about him now," Navia said.
Florent looked at her for a long moment before nodding. He led us to a quieter corner away from the main path, though not so secluded that it felt secret enough to become unsafe. Silver positioned himself where he could watch the approach. Melus stood near Navia but not between her and Florent. Lumine listened with her arms folded loosely, and Nilou's gaze stayed soft without losing focus.
Florent began with Callas as a man, not a case.
That mattered.
He spoke of Callas visiting families who had no leverage, no title, no beautiful language to make their suffering fashionable. He spoke of repairs paid for quietly, debts negotiated without spectacle, missing workers searched for when officials decided they had probably left on their own. Callas, according to Florent, had been difficult, stubborn, and capable of making powerful people uncomfortable without ever raising his voice.
"Your father had enemies," Florent told Navia. "Not because he was cruel. Because he paid attention."
Navia's lips pressed together.
Lumine asked, "Paid attention to what?"
Florent looked toward the nearest passage, making sure no one was close enough to hear casually. "Shipments that moved without proper questions. Money that passed through charity before becoming influence. A drink called Sinthe moving through places it should not have reached. And women disappearing in ways that were too clean for ordinary crime."
Paimon hugged herself. "Sinthe again…"
The word itself seemed to dampen the air. Fontaine's vices always tried to dress well. Sinthe was not just a drink. It was access, addiction, leverage, social poison moving from glass to hand to debt to disappearance. In another story, in another nation, it might have been only a crime problem. Here, it smelled like the edge of the Primordial Sea.
I kept my face calm.
Inside, several cursed puzzle pieces clicked together with sounds I hated.
Florent continued, "Callas believed the disappearances, Sinthe, and certain respectable sponsors were connected. He did not have enough proof. That was always the problem. He could feel the shape of the thing, but every time he reached for it, someone had already polished the surface clean."
Respectable bastards with clean gloves.
I did not say it.
The evidence booklet was not currently visible, but Lumine's hand still existed.
Navia's voice lowered. "Was he close?"
Florent's eyes softened painfully. "Close enough that people became afraid of him."
That was an answer and a wound at the same time.
Silver's gaze sharpened. "Names?"
Florent hesitated.
I did not blame him. In Fontaine, names had weight. Say the wrong one without proof, and the law might call you slanderous while the guilty called you inconvenient. Poisson remembered Callas kindly, but memory did not make people bulletproof. Or Mek-proof. Or Primordial-Seawater-proof. Teyvat had many exciting ways to punish witnesses, and Fontaine had added paperwork to the list.
"Florent," Navia said, voice steady but not gentle. "Please."
He looked at her, then sighed. "Thierry knew more from the official side. He was not powerful, but he saw reports and schedules. Marcel had influence, money, and a smile people trusted too easily. There were others, but those two stood near enough to the old case that I never liked how clean they remained."
There it was again.
Marcel's name, dropped softly but landing like a coin in a deep well.
Greg's tail touched my wrist.
Not a warning.
Recognition.
Lumine's eyes flicked to me.
I looked away before my face could become evidence.
Navia noticed anyway, because apparently everyone in this party had begun developing Shigeru-expression literacy against my consent. "You reacted again."
"I am reactive."
"To Marcel."
"I dislike respectable smiles in murder-water-adjacent investigations."
Paimon squinted. "That sounds very specific again."
"It is a genre."
Florent looked from Navia to me. "Do you know something?"
"I know that people with clean public hands often own very dirty gloves."
Florent exhaled slowly. "Then you understand the danger."
"No," I said. "I understand just enough to be annoying. Lumine understands enough to make it useful."
Lumine looked at me with surprise for half a second, then softened. "We'll follow the evidence."
Navia nodded, but her eyes remained on Florent. "Did my father ever speak of Marcel directly?"
Florent rubbed one hand over his jaw. "Not with proof. He disliked the circles Marcel moved through. Too many donations in the right places. Too many favors owed by people who then forgot what they had seen. But Callas did not accuse without evidence. That was one of his strengths. And maybe one of the reasons he died with the truth unfinished."
Navia's gaze lowered.
Melus took one half-step closer, not enough to crowd her, just enough to remind the world that she was not standing alone. Silver said nothing, but the stillness of his posture made the air around him feel like a locked gate.
Florent's face grew heavier. "Do not thank me yet. If Callas was right, then whoever ruined him has had years to become harder to touch."
Navia's smile returned, sharp and proud. "Then we will need sharper hands."
Paimon raised a fist. "And Paimon!"
Florent looked at her.
Paimon added, "For… moral support and emergency food assessment."
"Essential role," I said.
Lumine sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."
We left Florent with more shape and less comfort. That seemed to be the pattern. Each answer made Callas more alive, which made his death less bearable. Navia walked more quietly afterward, her steps measured, her gloved hands curled near her sides.
Nilou spoke after a while. "He loved your father."
Navia looked toward her.
"Not romantically," Nilou added quickly, and then her cheeks colored faintly when Paimon looked at her. "I mean… he spoke like someone remembering the warmth of a fire after years in the cold."
Navia's face softened. "My father had that effect on people."
"That makes the lie heavier," Nilou said.
"Yes." Navia looked ahead. "But it also makes the truth harder to kill."
That was Navia at her best. Grief did not make her smaller. It made her sharper. She could laugh with cake crumbs nearby, threaten bad people with a smile, and still carry her father's name like a promise she refused to let the world rewrite.
The next person was Thierry.
Unlike Florent, Thierry belonged closer to Fontaine's official machinery. We found him in a records-adjacent office area that smelled of paper, ink, damp coats, and nervous compliance. Everything about the place made my skin itch in a bureaucratic way. Shelves stood too neatly. Drawers shut with the smug certainty of institutions that believed anything filed properly became morally clean. A clock ticked with unnecessary confidence. Several clerks looked at us, looked at Navia, recognized danger in polite form, and immediately became fascinated by their paperwork.
Thierry was not as old as Florent, but he looked more worn in the specific way of men who had spent years telling themselves that following procedure was the same as being innocent. His hair had begun to thin at the temples. His fingers carried ink stains. His eyes had the restless quality of someone accustomed to checking whether doors were closed before speaking.
The moment he saw Navia, his posture stiffened.
"Demoiselle Navia," he said. "I was told you might come."
Paimon immediately leaned toward me. "Who told him?"
I whispered back, "Either Neuvillette's office, responsible procedure, or suspicious rich people with murder hobbies."
Lumine stepped on my foot.
I smiled through pain.
Thierry invited us inside, though his eyes kept darting toward the hallway. Silver noticed. Melus noticed. Lumine noticed. Even Paimon noticed, which meant Thierry's anxiety had become publicly available information.
Navia did not waste time. "We need old records. Not summaries. Not verdict language. Details."
Thierry swallowed. "Some files are restricted."
Lumine placed Neuvillette's authorization on the desk.
Thierry looked at it, then looked like a man whose favorite excuse had been stabbed politely.
"Of course," he said.
Paimon whispered, "That paper was super effective."
"Paperwork damage," I whispered. "Very powerful against bureaucracy types."
Nilou gave me a small warning look that was far too gentle to count as a threat.
Thierry brought out records with careful, almost fearful hands. Lumine began reviewing them with the kind of focus that made every page feel like it had better behave. Navia stood beside her, eyes moving quickly, searching not only for facts but for the shape of the lie that had lived inside them. Melus and Silver remained silent. I watched Thierry.
He sweated when Callas's name appeared.
Not guilt-sweat, exactly.
Fear-sweat.
There was a difference. Guilt looked inward. Fear looked at doors.
"You saw something back then," I said.
Thierry flinched.
Everyone turned.
I smiled apologetically. "Sorry. My mouth found the shortcut."
Lumine's eyes narrowed, but she did not stop me.
Thierry adjusted his collar. "I saw many things. It was an investigation."
"No. You saw something that made you decide silence was safer than precision."
The room went very still.
Navia's voice was quiet. "Thierry."
He looked at her and seemed to age in front of us. "Your father was not careless. That is what I remember most. The records make him sound desperate near the end, cornered by accusation, unstable in judgment. He was not. He was angry, yes, and afraid for you, I think. But not careless."
Navia's fingers tightened on the edge of the desk.
Thierry continued, "He asked questions about Sinthe. About missing women. About certain donations and shipments that appeared unrelated in official reports but kept touching the same people. He believed the case had been arranged so that each piece looked separate."
Lumine looked up. "Same weave."
I nodded.
Thierry's eyes flicked toward me, unsettled by the phrase. "Perhaps. He lacked proof strong enough to accuse anyone publicly. Then everything moved too quickly. Accusations against him gathered. Witnesses changed their statements. Some became unavailable. Some suddenly remembered details they had forgotten before."
Paimon clenched her fists. "That sounds suspicious!"
"It was," Thierry said, voice almost breaking. "But suspicion is not proof. I told myself that. Everyone told themselves that."
Navia's face had gone pale beneath her composure. "And my father?"
Thierry looked down. "He stopped trying to convince the system. He began trying to protect what he could."
Clorinde's earlier words returned like rain hitting glass.
Your father did not fight like a man trying to escape justice.
My jaw tightened.
Navia's voice thinned. "Protect what?"
Thierry did not answer immediately.
Silver took one slow step forward.
Thierry's courage improved dramatically.
"You," he said.
The silence after that felt cruel.
Navia did not move.
Melus closed his eyes.
Lumine's hand hovered near Navia's arm but did not touch her. Nilou's expression twisted with quiet pain, and Paimon's mouth opened without words. For once, even I could not find a joke to put between the sentence and the person it had struck.
Thierry whispered, "I do not know the full truth. I swear it. But Callas made choices near the end that seemed less like a man saving himself and more like a man drawing danger away from someone else. Some reports were delayed. Some witnesses were redirected. Some of us thought he had lost faith in the process. Looking back… perhaps he had realized the process was already compromised."
Navia turned away.
Not far. Just enough that no one could see all of her face.
I wanted to throw Marcel through a window.
This was not a useful investigative action yet.
I hated that.
So I asked the safer question. "Who were the recurring names?"
Thierry looked at the records, then at Navia. "Florent, because he worked near Callas. Myself, because I handled reports. Marcel, because his businesses and charity efforts touched several social circles connected to the victims, though nothing official tied him to the crimes. There were others, but those three remained in the margins most often."
Marcel again.
Three times was not proof.
But it was rhythm.
Greg shifted on my shoulder. Beneath his scales, the hidden Geo chip warmed faintly.
The same weave.
Lumine saw my hand tighten.
"We question Marcel last," she said.
Navia looked at her. "Why?"
"Because if he is innocent, he can answer after we understand enough to ask fairly. If he is not, then we should not give him the easiest version of our ignorance."
I looked at her with deep admiration. "Trial protagonist evolves into interrogation protagonist."
Paimon nodded. "Lumine is very good at making suspicious people uncomfortable."
Lumine's eyes flicked to me. "I practice daily."
"Against enemies?"
"Against you."
Fair.
Thierry gave us copies of what he could and pointed us toward additional sealed records Neuvillette's authorization might open later. He apologized to Navia before we left, but the apology came out thin, like a man offering a cup of water to someone whose house had burned years ago.
Navia accepted it without absolution.
"Help us now," she said. "That will matter more."
Thierry bowed his head. "I will."
Outside, Paimon released a long breath. "Paimon doesn't like this case. Every answer makes Paimon feel worse."
Nilou looked at her softly. "That means the answers are touching the wound."
"Can the wound be less terrible?"
"In Fontaine?" I asked.
Lumine raised one hand slightly.
I held up both palms. "Stopping."
Navia looked toward the upper city route. "Marcel next."
Silver's gaze sharpened. "We should be careful."
Melus nodded. "If he is as connected as the others imply, he will not be easy to read."
"Oh, he will be easy to read," I said before thinking.
Everyone looked at me.
I coughed. "For Lumine."
Lumine's eyes narrowed.
"For Lumine and Navia."
Navia's stare joined Lumine's.
"And Paimon, spiritually."
Paimon blinked. "Paimon feels included but confused."
Nilou leaned close to me. "You know more than you can say."
"Yes."
"Is this one of the dangerous ones?"
I looked at the city above us, toward the invisible thread stopped somewhere respectable, toward the name that kept returning with polished shoes and clean hands.
"Yes."
She did not ask more.
That was one of the reasons Nilou's kindness was dangerous. She trusted my silence when it hurt her too. Lumine trusted it too, but hers came with sharp edges and evidence booklets. Nilou's trust arrived like a hand at my sleeve, gentle enough to make restraint feel like a promise instead of a prison.
The route to Marcel's place felt longer than it was.
Fontaine's upper spaces reclaimed their polish step by step. Poisson's worn survival fell behind us, replaced by smoother stone, cleaner windows, quieter corridors, and the subtle rearrangement of society that happened when people had enough money to make hardship happen somewhere else. Navia's posture became more formal the closer we came. Melus's warmth tightened into professionalism. Silver looked exactly the same, which meant he had probably become more alert by at least three levels.
Marcel received us in a place that looked exactly as respectable as I hated.
It was not ostentatious. That would have been easier. No, Marcel's chosen setting carried the softer power of tasteful wealth: polished furniture, warm lighting, fine paper, and a few signs of charitable work displayed just visibly enough to seem humble if you did not know how staged humility could be. There were flowers on a side table, not too many. A framed certificate, not too central. A donation ledger visible enough to imply transparency but not open enough to invite inspection. The whole room had been arranged to say, I am generous, tasteful, and far too civilized for suspicion.
Disgusting.
Effective.
Marcel welcomed Navia with concern shaped perfectly for public use. His face lit with recognition, sorrow, and warmth in all the right proportions.
"Demoiselle Navia," Marcel said, coming forward. "I heard about the attack. Are you unharmed?"
Navia's smile was polite. "We are fine."
"Thank goodness." His hand moved to his chest. "After everything that has happened, I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you. Your father would be proud of your courage."
There it was.
A respectable smile.
A gentle voice.
Clean gloves.
My skin crawled.
Greg went utterly still on my shoulder.
Lumine noticed.
Navia did not miss it either, though she kept her gaze on Marcel. "Then perhaps you can help us understand what happened to him."
Marcel's expression dimmed with appropriate sorrow. "If I can, I will. Callas was a complicated man, but a great one. Fontaine has too few people willing to stand between the powerful and the forgotten."
He said it beautifully.
That was the worst part.
Paimon whispered near my ear, "He sounds nice."
I whispered back, "That is a survival trait among dangerous people."
Lumine's eyes cut briefly toward me.
Marcel gestured for us to sit. "Please. Ask what you need."
Lumine led at first, which was the right choice. She asked about Callas, old donations, Sinthe rumors, the missing women, and Cowell. Marcel answered smoothly, never too quickly, never too slowly. He expressed shock where shock belonged. Sorrow where sorrow should sit. Concern for Navia without overstepping. Regret over Callas without claiming false intimacy. If I had not known, I would have hated how much I might have believed him.
Navia listened with painful focus.
Melus looked uneasy but not certain why.
Silver watched Marcel like a locked treasure chest watching another locked treasure chest made of expensive wood.
Nilou sat with her hands folded, her expression soft but her eyes careful. People often underestimated Nilou because she was gentle. That was their mistake. Dancers knew masks. Dancers knew performance. Dancers knew when a smile arrived a heartbeat too early.
Marcel spoke of Callas with admiration so polished it reflected nothing. "He was stubborn, yes, but his stubbornness helped many. I only wish he had trusted more people near the end. Perhaps things would have turned out differently."
Navia's fingers tightened in her lap. "Trusted whom?"
"Those who wished to help him."
"Did you?"
Marcel's gaze lowered with modest sorrow. "As much as he allowed."
Smooth.
Very smooth.
I wanted to bite the furniture.
Greg's claws pressed into my shoulder, which I interpreted as either solidarity or a reminder that he was the designated biting party.
Lumine asked, "Did Callas ever speak to you about Water from the Primordial Sea?"
Marcel's face changed.
Only slightly.
A lesser room would have missed it. A lesser group might have too.
But Lumine had spent too long around gods, liars, and me.
Navia saw it because her father's name had sharpened every sense she had.
Greg's claws pressed a little harder.
Marcel lowered his gaze. "Only as rumor. Fear has many names in Fontaine. The Primordial Sea is one of them."
I smiled.
Not happily.
"Convenient answer," I said.
Lumine's eyes widened a fraction.
Paimon inhaled sharply.
Navia turned toward me.
Marcel looked at me properly for the first time.
His eyes were kind.
I hated them.
"I beg your pardon?" he said.
I leaned back, folding my hands with the relaxed posture of an idiot preparing to juggle knives. "Sorry. My mouth sometimes reacts to well-polished sentences. Allergic condition."
Paimon whispered, "That is not a real condition."
"It is in Fontaine."
Marcel's smile remained. "You are an unusual companion to the Traveler."
"Correct."
"May I ask what you found convenient?"
"You answered the question without touching it." My tone stayed light, almost friendly. "That is impressive. Most people either deny too hard or explain too much. You found the middle path. Very respectable."
The word sat there.
Respectable.
Marcel's smile did not move.
But the air did.
Just a little.
Navia's gaze sharpened.
Lumine did not interrupt.
Marcel gave a soft chuckle. "I have spent many years speaking carefully. In business and charity alike, careless words can create needless harm."
"True," I said. "Careful words can hide necessary harm too."
Silver's eyes flicked toward me.
Melus's expression tightened.
Nilou watched Marcel quietly now, her earlier openness dimming into something more guarded.
Marcel looked at Navia instead of me, which was another elegant move. "Demoiselle, I hope your companion is not suggesting I would hide anything from you."
Navia did not answer immediately.
Good girl.
Do not let the respectable bastard move the conversation into personal trust.
Finally, she said, "I am suggesting that everyone connected to my father's final days should expect difficult questions."
Marcel bowed his head. "Of course. You deserve answers."
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my anger wanted somewhere to go, and laughter was the only exit that would not burn the room down.
Lumine asked more questions. Marcel gave more answers. He admitted knowing of Sinthe as a social problem, nothing more. He admitted donating to relief efforts, supporting families, and attending gatherings where Callas had raised concerns. He denied direct knowledge of Cowell beyond the trial's public facts. He spoke of missing women like tragedies he had witnessed from a respectful distance.
Every answer was plausible.
Every answer was clean.
Too clean.
Then Greg's tail tapped my neck twice.
The hidden thread—the one that had stopped somewhere respectable—shivered.
Here.
Not proof. Not identity. Not enough to point and shout. But the thread that had followed the false waiter pulsed with proximity. The stopped door, the polished silence, the weave from the Meks and the listener and the old shipments—all of it tightened around this place like a noose not yet pulled.
Lumine saw my eyes change.
Marcel did too.
He was good enough to pretend he had not.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back.
Two liars in a room, except one of us was lying to protect the route and the other was lying because dead women had become ingredients in his obsession.
Navia asked one final question, and her voice carried none of the earlier softness. "Do you know why my father accepted the duel?"
Marcel's expression became sad in a way that made me want to introduce his face to Geo at high speed. "Callas was proud. Perhaps he believed refusing would make him appear guilty. Perhaps he thought honor would protect what the law could not."
Navia stared at him.
Melus looked down.
Silver's jaw tightened.
Lumine's eyes narrowed.
That answer was not wrong enough to attack. That was the cruelty of it. Marcel understood how to place the truth's shadow beside a lie so the room could not easily separate them.
I tilted my head. "You speak very poetically about other people's tragedies."
Marcel looked at me again. "I find tragedy deserves dignity."
"No," I said lightly. "People deserve dignity. Tragedy usually deserves investigation."
Paimon whispered, "That was actually good."
"I have moments."
Lumine's foot pressed lightly against mine under the table.
Warning, not punishment.
Enough.
She was right. If I pushed harder, Marcel would adapt. He would learn which direction the danger came from, and we still did not have enough. Cowell was breathing but not awake. The traces connected to his place but did not convict him. The old records placed him in margins, not center. The current route needed patience, and patience was an awful vegetable I was being forced to eat.
Lumine stood. "Thank you for your cooperation."
Marcel stood with us. "Anything for the truth."
I looked at him.
My mouth nearly said several things that would have detonated the chapter, the case, and possibly my relationship with proper investigative procedure.
Lumine's foot pressed harder.
Nilou's hand brushed my sleeve.
Greg's tail rested against my cheek.
Threat.
I swallowed the spoiler brick.
"For the truth," I said lightly. "May it become extremely inconvenient for everyone who deserves it."
Marcel's smile remained warm. "A noble sentiment."
"Not noble," I said. "Personal hobby."
We left before my restraint developed fractures large enough for the Abyss to crawl through.
The moment the door closed behind us, Paimon exploded. "He was suspicious! Paimon doesn't know why, but he was suspicious!"
Lumine looked at me. "The thread?"
I nodded. "Stopped there."
Navia went still.
Melus's eyes widened slightly.
Silver's face hardened.
Nilou's fingers tightened around mine.
"Not enough," I said before anyone could run with it. "Not yet. It means his place touches the route. It means the listener, the Meks, and the old network all brush against him. It does not prove he is the hand."
Navia's voice was low. "But he is no longer just a name."
"No," I said. "Now he is a door."
Paimon frowned. "A respectable door?"
I looked back at the polished building.
"Yes."
The three who remembered too much had given us different pieces. Florent gave us Callas's suspicions. Thierry gave us the shape of the official lie. Marcel gave us the cleanest smile in the room and the strongest reason to distrust it. Poisson had remembered Callas. The records had remembered fear. The thread had remembered the way back.
And somewhere behind a respectable door, the old wound finally had a pulse.
_______
End of Chapter 198
Quests Completed:
Began questioning the three persons of investigative interest without immediately calling them socially polished murder candidates in public.
Spoke with Florent and confirmed Callas had been paying attention to Sinthe, missing women, suspicious shipments, and respectable sponsors.
Learned that Callas became dangerous because he noticed patterns powerful people preferred to keep separate.
Confirmed Callas was close enough to the truth that people became afraid of him.
Asked again who became safer when Callas became too disgraced to be trusted.
Identified Thierry as a frightened official witness carrying old procedural guilt.
Confirmed Thierry's records show Callas was not careless, but cornered while trying to protect someone.
Heard the first strong implication that Callas's final choices were made to protect Navia.
Preserved the full Callas truth for later instead of breaking Navia in an office full of paper and regret.
Identified Marcel as a repeated name in old margins, polite donations, social influence, Sinthe-adjacent circles, and public respectability.
Met Marcel and endured his clean smile, careful answers, charity-polished concern, and poetically suspicious tragedy commentary.
Watched Shigeru nearly detonate the entire investigation through allergic reaction to well-polished sentences.
Confirmed Marcel's place is connected to the Hotel Debord listener thread without proving his direct guilt yet.
Prevented Shigeru from throwing the spoiler brick through the respectable window.
Established Marcel as no longer merely a name, but a door.
Rewards:
+1 Florent Testimony
+1 Thierry Record Access
+1 Marcel Suspicion Stack
+1 Callas Pattern Recognition
+1 Navia Painful Context
+1 Lumine Interrogation Control
+1 Nilou Anchor Touch
+1 Paimon Suspicion Instinct
+1 Greg Thread Proximity Alert
+1 Shigeru Spoiler Restraint
+1 Respectable Door Located
New Passive Unlocked: Clean Answers Are Not Always Honest Answers.
New Hidden Quest: Open the Respectable Door.
New Debuff Acquired: Allergic to Well-Polished Sentences.
New Investigation Status: Marcel Is No Longer Just A Name.
Warning Added: Respectable Smiles Can Hide Necessary Harm.
Next Quest: The Door With Clean Gloves.