“Don’t touch anything unless you want me slapping cuffs on you,” Blackwood snapped, her voice cutting through the sterile hum of the institute’s main lab.


    Isabella glanced up from her algae samples, her fingers frozen mid-air. “I wasn’t planning on it,” she said softly, her tone measured, though her pulse betrayed her with a jittery rhythm.


    The lab felt like a different place this morning, the comforting din of bubbling flasks and murmured conversations replaced by the scuff of boots and the clipped tones of investigators. The faint tang of cleaning solution lingered in the air, a futile attempt to mask the scent of spilled blood from the night before.


    Detective Blackwood stood near the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a battered notepad. Her coat hung open, revealing a holster slung low at her side. She looked like she belonged here as much as a shark belonged in a fishbowl—dangerous, out of place, and completely at home in the chaos.


    “I’d ask if this kind of thing happens often,” Blackwood said, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at a blinking mage-light overhead, “but somehow, I don’t think murder’s part of the holiday routine.”


    Isabella managed a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Not exactly what we had in mind when we put up the garlands.”


    Blackwood’s gaze darted to the half-strung Christmas lights sagging along the lab’s far wall. “Festive,” she muttered, scribbling something in her notebook.


    Across the room, a pair of security guards murmured to one another, their bulky frames casting long shadows in the flickering light. Isabella could feel their eyes on her. Everyone’s eyes. She was the witness, after all—the one who’d found Alan sprawled on the floor, his blood pooling on the tiles.


    “You’re sure you didn’t hear anything?” Blackwood’s question jolted Isabella back to the present.


    “I already told you—no,” she said, her voice firmer now. “The lab was quiet! And I was working late on the experiments. Everyone else that I knew was there had already gone home."


    Blackwood leaned against a counter, her pen tapping against her notepad. “Quiet enough for someone to kill a man without you noticing. That doesn’t bother you?”


    “It terrifies me,” Isabella shot back, her tone sharp. “But maybe you’ve spent so much time around dead bodies you’ve forgotten how to feel anything.”


    Blackwood blinked, surprised. Then, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Not bad, Doctor Hartley. Got a little bite under all that science talk.”


    Isabella flushed, her gaze dropping to the table where her algae samples waited, glowing faintly green under the mage-lights. “I just want to figure out who did this,” she murmured. “Alan didn’t deserve to die like that.”


    “No one does,” Blackwood said, her voice softening for just a moment before hardening again. “But figuring it out? That’s my job. Your job is to keep your head down and let me do it.”


    “Easy for you to say,” Isabella said, her eyes meeting Blackwood’s. “You didn’t have to clean his blood off your shoes.”


    The detective’s smirk vanished, replaced by something colder, sharper.


    “If you want to help, Doctor Hartley, think. Did Alan say or do anything unusual lately? Anyone hanging around the lab who didn’t belong?”


    Isabella hesitated, her mind racing through the past few weeks. The late nights, the tension in Alan’s voice when he mentioned funding issues.


    “He… he was nervous,” she said slowly. “But only because he was worried that funding would be cut before we could make a meaningful breakthrough.”


    “Look,” she said, her voice softer now but no less direct. “I know this isn’t easy. Murder never is. But if there’s anything you remember—something Alan said, something you saw—now’s the time to share it.”


    Isabella closed her eyes, before taking a deep breath whilst carefully placing her hands on the table to center herself. She replayed the fragmented memory of the previous night. The flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, just beyond the corridor’s reach, tugged at her thoughts. Blackwood’s retreating figure was nearly gone, her coat blending into the gloom of the institute’s dimly lit hallway.


    “Detective,” Isabella said finally, her voice firmer than she felt.


    “Something else on your mind, Doctor Hartley?”


    “There was…” Isabella stepped away from her station and towards the detective, her voice lowering as though afraid the shadows themselves might overhear. “There was someone last night. Moving in the shadows near where I found...Alan. Before I found him.”


    Blackwood turned fully now, her expression sharpening like a blade.


    “Someone? You mean another staff member?”


    “No, it wasn’t like that,” Isabella said quickly. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her lab coat as she struggled to explain. “I didn’t see them clearly, but the way they moved—it was fast, fluid, almost like…” She hesitated, glancing at the mage-lights as if they might steady her thoughts.


    “Almost like how I saw you move last night.”


    Blackwood’s eyes narrowed, her composed exterior cracked. A flicker of unease crossed her features, though she quickly masked it with a dry scoff.


    “Me?” she said, her tone half-incredulous, half-amused. “Sorry to disappoint, but I wasn’t until after you found Dr Alan remember?”


    Isabella nodded, but the knot in her chest tightened. “I know. That’s what doesn’t make sense. Shadow magic like yours… it’s rare, isn’t it?”


    Blackwood’s gaze grew colder, more calculating. “Rare?” she said slowly, her voice carrying a new edge. “ It''s damn near extinct! And I’m the only one in this city who uses it. So if you’re sure about what you saw—”


    “No...Not entirely,” Isabella interrupted, surprising herself with her conviction. “At least… as sure as I can be. I thought it might’ve been a trick of the light at first, but now…” She swallowed hard, her eyes locking onto Blackwood’s. “What if it wasn’t?”


    Blackwood stepped closer, the shadows around her seeming to deepen. She studied Isabella in silence for a long moment, her sharp green eyes probing for any hint of doubt or exaggeration.


    “You’re saying that you saw someone lurking in the shadows. Before you found Dr Alan. And they moved in a way that is similar to my magic?” she said finally, the words weighted with something between disbelief and concern.


    “Or someone who can do something like it,” Isabella offered.


    “If there’s someone else out there moving in the shadows,” Blackwood said, more to herself than to Isabella, “they’re either real bad news or… no, just bad news.”


    Isabella frowned, her pulse quickening. “You think they were involved in Alan’s death?”


    “I think,” Blackwood said, her tone unreadable, “that whoever it was doesn’t want us digging too deep. And now that you’ve seen them…” She let the sentence hang, her meaning clear.


    The silence between them grew heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the algae tanks and the faint buzz of the mage-lights.


    “I’ll look into it,” Blackwood said at last, her voice steady again, though her eyes remained shadowed with thought. “But you keep your eyes open, Doctor Hartley. If you see anything—or anyone—out of place, you contact me—Immediately!” the detective finished, pointing a finger right at Isabella''s nose.


    “Do I?” Isabella asked, her brows lifting.


    Blackwood gave her a look, one that said don’t push your luck. “City precinct,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. With that, she turned on her heel and strode out, her coat flaring behind her. Isabella watched her go, a mix of relief and irritation bubbling under her skin. Blackwood Blackwood was infuriating—blunt, cold, and entirely too confident. But there was something else, too, something she couldn’t quite name.


    As the door clicked shut, the lab felt oppressively quiet again. The garlands sagged a little lower. The mage-lights flickered. And somewhere, deep in the foggy streets of Eldermist, a killer was still at large.


    ***


    The clink of glass on metal echoed through the lab as Isabella adjusted the pipette in her hand, her movements methodical but distracted. The algae cultures needed precision, but her mind was as fogged as the streets outside. She stole a glance at the sagging garlands overhead, their cheerful reds and greens mocking the grim undercurrent that had taken hold of the institute. The mage-lights flickered, throwing jagged shadows across the workbench.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.“Doctor Hartley,” a voice cut through the stillness like a knife. Detective Blackwood, leaning against the doorway, her hands tucked casually into her coat pockets. The detective’s sharp eyes scanned the lab, lingering for a moment too long on the table where Alan had been found. “You’re here late.”


    Isabella placed the pipette down with a steadiness she didn’t feel.


    “Work doesn’t stop just because…” Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. Because Alan’s body had been removed not just three days ago. Because the institute felt haunted now. Because there was a murderer still out there.


    Blackwood stepped inside, her boots soft against the tiled floor.


    “Dedicated. Admirable.” Her tone was clipped, but there was a thread of something else there—interest, maybe.


    “Tell me, Doctor Hartley, how well did you know him?”


    “Alan?” Isabella’s brow furrowed. “Not well. He was more focused on his own section of the project. We spoke occasionally—shared theories, data. Nothing personal.”


    Blackwood nodded, her gaze sliding to the camera she pulled from her left coat pocket and giving it a little shake. It was old, the kind a hobbyist might use, not the sleek security models mounted around the institute.


    “This was near his body. Doesn’t belong to the lab. Ring any bells?”


    Isabella frowned, standing up and stepping closer. The camera looked harmless enough, but the sight of it sent a chill through her.


    “No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”


    “Hmm.” Blackwood’s thumb brushed over the empty slot where a recording crystal should have been. “Curious. Someone went to the trouble of leaving this behind but didn’t want the footage to stick around. Any idea why?”


    Isabella crossed her arms, her thoughts racing.


    “If they were recording something, it could be anything. Lab procedures, experiments, people. Maybe they thought it could incriminate them.”


    The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Isabella met Blackwood’s gaze, her heart thudding uncomfortably.


    “You think someone in the institute did this?”


    Blackwood shrugged, the movement almost imperceptible. “Always easier to kill someone you know. Less messy. But I’m not here to speculate. That’s your job, isn’t it? Theorizing?”


    The air between them tightened, the hum of the lab equipment filling the silence. Isabella glanced up, meeting the detective’s gaze. Blackwood’s expression was unreadable, her eyes steady and unyielding.


    “What is it you really want, Blackwood?” Isabella asked, exhaling slowly. “You already turned this place inside out earlier. I’m not sure what else you think you’ll find.”


    “Maybe I’m not looking for something. Maybe I’m looking for someone,” Blackwood said, her words precise.


    Isabella’s breath caught, but she covered it with a quick shake of her head. “If you’re suggesting…”


    “I’m not suggesting anything,” Blackwood cut in. “Not yet. But people under pressure have a way of slipping up. Saying things they didn’t mean to. Doing things they wouldn’t normally do.”


    Isabella’s jaw tightened. “I’m not your suspect.”


    “Did I say you were?” Blackwood countered smoothly, one brow arching. She straightened, her coat shifting with the movement, and stepped closer. The flickering mage-light cast her face in uneven shadows, accentuating the sharp angles of her cheekbones.


    “But I do have to ask—why were you the one to find Alan?”


    “Because I was working late,” Isabella replied, her voice firm despite the sting of the accusation. “And because Alan never should have been in the lab after hours. He’s… he was careless. Always left things half-done, like the rules didn’t apply to him.”


    “That bother you?”


    “Of course it bothered me,” Isabella snapped, then caught herself. She softened her tone, her shoulders slumping. “But I wouldn’t hurt him. He wasn’t a bad person, just… frustrating.”


    Blackwood nodded slowly, her expression giving nothing away.


    “Frustrating enough to kill?”


    “No,” Isabella said, her voice resolute.


    Another silence settled between them, heavier this time. Blackwood’s gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment longer before she stepped back, turning toward the door.


    “For what it’s worth, Doctor Hartley,” she said, her voice softer now, “you don’t strike me as the type. But I’ve been wrong before.”


    “Glad to hear that, Detective Blackwood.” Isabella said dryly.


    Blackwood’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. The lab felt colder without her presence, the mage-lights casting long, flickering shadows. Isabella exhaled shakily, pressing her palms against the edge of the bench. She could still feel the weight of Blackwood’s eyes on her, even though the detective was no longer there.


    ***


    “Environmental activist,” Blackwood had said three nights ago, her tone clipped but laced with an edge of dry amusement. “Made the papers last year for chaining yourself to that oil rig off Blackwater Reef.”


    Isabella could still hear the rasp in her voice, the way the edges of her mouth started to form a smile. She’d been holding a cigarette then, one hand pointing towards Alan, looking every bit like someone who’d seen too much and made peace with the weight of it. At the time, Isabella had been too rattled to do much. Now, sitting at her lab bench with Blackwood’s voice echoing in her mind, she couldn’t help but replay the exchange. The way she’d known so much—not just the surface-level stuff, like the oil rig protest, but the way she looked at her almost felt like she almost understood why she had done it. And not just what the newspaper headlines had said about her and her team. But the look she gave was almost like she might have been there standing next to her on that oil rig.


    “Get it together, Hartley,” Isabella muttered under her breath, forcing herself to pick up her pen. She needed to focus. Somewhere out there, the killer Blackwood was chasing was still roaming the streets, and here she was, daydreaming about...what, exactly? The way Blackwood’s voice lingered in her head? The almost imperceptible twitch of her lips before she’d turned to leave, like she knew something Isabella didn’t?


    The algae tanks burbled softly, a rhythmic hum that usually brought her calm. Tonight, it only made the silence feel heavier. The institute’s holiday decorations—the garlands strung haphazardly above the door, the small enchanted snow globe perched on a shelf—felt out of place against the cold, sterile reality of the lab. She should be working. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to Blackwood.


    Isabella leaned back, letting the pen clatter to the desk. She traced the faint scar on her left eyebrow absently, a habit when she was thinking too hard.


    She thought of the protest, of the freezing wind on her face as she’d stood on that oil rig, chains cutting into her wrists. She’d been so certain then, so sure of the rightness of her actions, even as security dragged her off in handcuffs. Blackwood had seen that part of her, the part that refused to let go, and instead of dismissing it, she’d...what? Admired it? Isabella shook her head, trying to banish the thought.


    But then there was the way Blackwood looked at her, like she could see right through the layers of optimism and principled determination to something deeper. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t even sympathy. Then what!


    “Darn it,” Isabella whispered, pressing her hands against her face. The lab wasn’t colder; she was just losing her mind. Maybe she’d been spending too many nights here, the mage-lights flickering against the fogged-up windows, her only company the algae she was trying to train. Trying to coax the little life forms into eating the specs of micro plastic floating inside their food.


    Still, the way Blackwood had lingered in the doorway before she’d left wasn’t something Isabella could shake. For someone who moved so decisively, so quietly, Blackwood’s presence was anything but forgettable.


    The mage-lights flickered again, shadows stretching across the lab like long fingers. Isabella straightened in her chair, grabbing her pen again. She had work to do. But as she stared at the glow of the algae, her mind kept circling back to Blackwood. She’d always believed in finding a way to make a difference. Maybe Blackwood did, too, in her own hard-edged, shadowy kind of way.