The morning rush at Marinakas cafe was usually a loud, chaotic affair, filled with the clatter of ceramic mugs and the loud overlapping conversations of Phrill students. Today, a heavy, suffocating blanket of whispers had entirely smothered the noise.
Everyone was talking about the same thing.
Shion Colstar was dead.
Devin stood behind the wooden counter, methodically grinding roasted coffee beans. He kept his head down, his dark eyes focused entirely on the repetitive motion of his hands. He listened to the rumors spreading across the tables like wildfire. Some students claimed she couldn't handle the pressure of the upcoming practical exams. Others whispered about a broken heart. Not a single person suspected murder.
"You sleep well, Zain?"
The gravelly voice came from the serving hatch. Devin didn't stop grinding the beans. He briefly met Dunkan's piercing, calculating gaze. The massive Cyprian handler was watching him closely, evaluating his operative's mental state after the 'successful' detonation two nights prior.
"Like the dead," Devin replied flatly.
Dunkan gave a single, satisfied grunt and disappeared back into the kitchen.
The brass bell above the front door chimed aggressively.
The sudden influx of cold air wasn't what silenced the entire cafe. It was the men who walked through the door.
Aiden Colstar stepped inside. The Prince of Colstar looked absolutely terrible. The pale yellow bruise from Devin's punch had darkened into a sickly, mottled purple that stretched across his cheekbone and jaw. But the aristocratic arrogance that usually defined him was entirely gone. He looked paranoid, sleep-deprived, and completely unhinged.
He wasn't alone.
Flanking him were two older men wearing sharp, impeccably tailored navy-blue overcoats. They lacked the ornate silver trim of royal guards, opting instead for a severely practical look. Their eyes were cold, scanning the room with terrifying, mechanical precision.
Colstar Inquisitors.
They were elite, private investigators imported directly from the ocean kingdom. In a world where the Holy Gene granted natural aptitudes, the Colstar royal family specifically bred and recruited individuals with an unnatural, terrifying aptitude for observation and interrogation. They were human lie detectors.
Aiden scanned the quiet cafe, his eyes immediately locking onto the barista behind the counter. He pointed a trembling, bruised finger directly at Devin.
"That's him," Aiden hissed, his wired jaw slurring the words slightly. "That's the bastard."
The lead Inquisitor stepped forward. He was a tall, lean man with sharp, hawkish features and prematurely graying hair. He didn't swagger. He moved with silent, deliberate economy, walking right up to the wooden counter.
The students sitting at the nearby tables quickly averted their eyes, shrinking back into their chairs.
"Zain Ricky," the Inquisitor said. His voice was incredibly smooth, lacking any intimidation or anger. It was purely conversational. "My name is Inspector Vance. I serve the Crown of Colstar."
Devin finished tamping the coffee grounds. He grabbed a clean rag and began wiping the already spotless counter, maintaining his sociopathic, apathetic mask.
"Congratulations," Devin said, not looking up. "What can I get you? The dark roast is fresh."
Inspector Vance didn't smile. He leaned slightly over the counter. Devin instantly felt the man's intense, analytical gaze mapping his face. Vance was watching the micro-expressions around Devin's eyes. He was watching the pulse beating in the barista's neck. He was measuring the exact rhythm of his breathing.
"I am investigating the tragic death of Lady Shion Colstar," Vance stated smoothly. "His Highness informs me that you engaged in an unprovoked, highly violent physical altercation with him. He also informs me that you were completely absent from the academy for a full rees prior."
"He grabbed me from behind," Devin replied, his tone chillingly bored. He finally looked up, meeting Vance's sharp gaze. "I grew up in the Reignn slums. I have reflexes. If His Highness doesn't want a broken jaw, he shouldn't touch people without asking."
Aiden stepped forward, slamming his hand onto the counter. "You lying slum rat! You didn't just flinch! You nearly took my head off!"
"Calm yourself, Your Highness," Vance said, raising a single, gloved hand. He didn't take his eyes off Devin. "Reflexes explain the assault, Mr. Ricky. They do not explain your whereabouts last night between the hours of midnight and three in the morning."
Devin held the gaze.
Internally, the prince prepared himself. He knew exactly what Vance was doing. The Inquisitor's Holy Gene aptitude allowed him to detect the microscopic physiological spikes caused by adrenaline, fear, and deception.
Devin didn't just rely on Zain's apathetic exterior. He reached deep inside and grasped the mental leash he had forged in Lotjed's cellar. He commanded the Cyprian venom to actively suppress his own nervous system. He forcefully slowed his heart rate to a sluggish, unnatural crawl. He deadened his tear ducts. He made his body mimic the biological state of deep sleep.
"I was in my bed," Devin answered. His voice was a flat, empty monotone. "In my apartment. I slept through the night."
Vance stared at him. The silence stretched for ten agonizing seconds.
The Inquisitor's brow furrowed slightly. He was looking for the tell-tale spike in the carotid artery. He was waiting for a microscopic bead of sweat to form on Devin's forehead. He was waiting for the pupils to dilate.
None of it happened. Devin's physiology was as cold and dead as a corpse.
"You did not hear any disturbances?" Vance pressed, leaning an inch closer. "You did not leave your room?"
"No," Devin said.
Vance slowly stood up straight, adjusting the lapels of his navy overcoat. He looked genuinely unsettled. It wasn't that he believed the alibi; it was that his infallible, genetic aptitude was receiving absolutely zero feedback. He was staring at a biological anomaly.
"He's lying!" Aiden practically screamed, his paranoia boiling over. "Look at him, Vance! He's a psychopath! Shion didn't kill herself. She was terrified of something. I know she was! This peasant did it to get back at me!"
"And how, exactly, would a barista bypass the six-story security wards of the female Stark dormitories, Aiden?"
The new voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the cafe like a physical blade.
Devin didn't need to look toward the door to know who it was.
Ferran Mortipia strolled casually into Marinakas. He wore his tailored Stark uniform, his hands resting easily in his pockets. He walked right past the second Inquisitor and stopped beside Aiden.
The Prince of Mortipia looked perfectly at ease, but Devin could see the rigid tension in Ferran's broad shoulders.
"Mortipia," Aiden sneered, taking a step back. "This is a private Colstar investigation. Stay out of it."
"You are standing in the middle of Reignn," Ferran replied casually, picking up an empty ceramic mug from the counter and inspecting it. "Last I checked, this city sits inside the Mortipia Federation. Are the Colstars officially policing our streets now? Because I must have missed that proclamation from my father."
Inspector Vance immediately offered a stiff, formal bow to Ferran. "Your Highness. We are merely asking questions. Lady Shion's death is highly suspicious."
"The city guard ruled it a suicide, Inspector," Ferran stated, setting the mug down with a sharp clack. He turned his dark eyes onto Aiden. "She slit her own wrists, Aiden. The blade was in her hand. The room was locked from the inside. Accept the tragedy and take your hounds back to the academy."
Aiden glared at Ferran, his chest heaving. "You're defending him? You're defending the rat who assaulted me?"
"I am defending Mortipian jurisdiction," Ferran countered, his voice dropping into the cold, authoritative tone of an heir. "If you have evidence, present it to Chancellor Thorne. If you don't, stop harassing the locals before I have the city guard arrest your private thugs for intimidation."
The threat was absolute. Aiden Colstar might be royalty, but he was hundreds of miles away from the ocean. Here, Ferran's word was law.
Inspector Vance recognized the political wall he had just hit. He placed a firm hand on Aiden's shoulder.
"We are leaving, Your Highness," Vance said quietly. He looked back at Devin one last time, his eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. "For now. But if we find a single discrepancy in your alibi, Mr. Ricky, no jurisdiction in the North will protect you."
Devin didn't respond. He simply picked up his damp rag and resumed wiping the counter.
Aiden glared at Devin with pure, unfiltered hatred, then turned and stormed out of the cafe, closely followed by his two Inquisitors. The brass bell chimed violently as the door slammed shut.
The collective breath of the entire cafe was slowly released in a low murmur.
Ferran stood at the counter, staring at the closed door for a long moment. Finally, he turned his head and looked at Devin.
The Mortipian prince didn't speak. He didn't have to. The heavy, unspoken truth hung in the space between them. Ferran knew Shion hadn't committed suicide. He knew she had the exacto-blade because she had tried to kill Karin. And he knew Devin was the only other person in the world who possessed that knowledge.
Ferran had just actively obstructed a murder investigation to protect a slum barista.
"Black roast," Ferran said quietly, his voice tight.
Devin nodded. He grabbed a mug, filled it with the dark, bitter brew, and slid it across the wood.
Ferran took the mug. He didn't drink. He leaned over the counter, closing the distance so his words wouldn't carry past the espresso machine.
"I burned the journal this morning," Ferran whispered, his dark eyes locked intensely onto Devin's face. "The only physical proof tying her to the sabotage is gone. Colstar has nothing."
Devin stopped wiping the counter. He looked at his former best friend, a profound sense of respect warring with the cold Cyprian logic. Ferran had destroyed the evidence to protect Karin's reputation, and in doing so, he had permanently tied himself to Devin's crime.
"Why did you step in?" Devin asked softly.
"Because Aiden is a parasite," Ferran replied, his jaw clenching. "And because if Vance kept digging, he would eventually find out about the sabotage in Bay 8. Karin would be dragged into the middle of a royal blood feud. I won't let that happen."
Ferran took a sip of the bitter coffee, grimacing slightly at the taste.
"Aiden won't stop, Zain," Ferran warned, setting the mug down. "Vance is a bloodhound. They know you're hiding something. You need to watch your back."
"Let them dig," Devin said, his voice flat and absolute. "They won't find anything but dirt."
Ferran gave him a long, searching look. "I hope you're right. For all our sakes."
The Mortipian prince turned and walked out of the cafe, leaving Devin alone behind the counter.
Devin picked up the empty mug. The game of cat and mouse had officially begun. Aiden was paranoid, and Vance was sharp. But they were looking for a panicked, guilty barista.
They didn't realize they were hunting a ghost who was entirely ready to hunt them back.