Annabeth sat quietly among the mourners, her mind a swirling storm of emotions—grief, confusion, and a tinge of bitter vindication. Her heart ached, but not in the way one might expect. Months of careful planning, of painstaking effort to rewrite her father's fate, had crumbled in less than a quarter of an hour. She had failed, again.
This was the third time she had witnessed Lord Flinn die, the second time she had tried to intervene, and the second time she had failed to make a difference. She couldn't comprehend how, despite her efforts, everything always seemed to spiral back to this moment. At the same time. In the same way. Was it fate? Did it operate under some unyielding set of rules, like a cruel game she was forced to play but could never win? The thought of it gnawed at her.
She barely registered the soothing words of comfort from neighbors and family friends surrounding her. Their presence felt like background noise, an inconsequential hum in the overwhelming roar of her own thoughts. Her mind flitted to darker places. She knew what came next—Lady Elsie would turn her life into a living nightmare, just as she had in the past. If Elsie hadn't already decided to mistreat her, Annabeth's attempt to expose her plot to poison Lord Flinn certainly would push her over the edge. This time, Annabeth was sure Elsie wouldn't stop at cruelty. She would kill her.
The sudden sound of a scream yanked her out of her brooding. Her head snapped up, searching for the source. She saw the doctor, likely summoned by Drienel, rush toward a woman who had collapsed nearby. Annabeth shifted, craning her neck for a better view. Her eyes widened when she realized who it was.
Lady Elsie.
"This witch-b*tch is actually putting on a show," Annabeth sneered internally, her lips curling slightly into an angry grin.
Given her past, Annabeth calling someone else a witch—or worse, a b*tch—was laughably hypocritical. But honestly, what's a little hypocrisy from someone who once killed children just to avoid the inconvenience of them growing up and seeking revenge for their dead parents?
To her, Lady Elsie's collapse was nothing but a performance, a calculated ploy to paint herself as an innocent, grieving widow. Annabeth knew the game well—Elsie had played it before. In past cycles, she had convinced everyone of her innocence, redirecting suspicion onto servants or others who could not defend themselves. Now, Annabeth feared she might become the prime suspect. Her mind churned with bitterness and plans for survival.
As Lady Elsie writhed on the floor, her bloodshot eyes and faintly bulging veins caught Annabeth's attention. The scene was hauntingly familiar. Annabeth had seen this exact thing five times before—twice with her mother and three times with Lord Flinn. She knew, with chilling certainty, that Elsie was succumbing to the same poison.
When Ms. Luwi began casting healing spells, panic clawed at Annabeth's chest. For a fleeting moment, she fantasized about ending the healer's efforts permanentlyby freeing the healers neck off the shoulders. It was a fleeting thought, but one that brought a twisted grin to her lips.
But the grin quickly faded as Annabeth schooled her expression, ensuring no one had caught her moment of dark amusement. She hated that she even had to try. She needed to master a better poker face if she was going to survive this cycle.
Then, Lady Elsie's voice, weak and broken, cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
"Kissed... hi..m..."
The words struck Annabeth like a bolt of lightning. For a moment, she was silent, processing the revelation. Her lips twitched as she fought back a laugh. "Dumb witch got killed by her own poison," she thought, her grin returning, though she quickly buried it beneath a mask of seriousness.
Annabeth's mind raced. If Elsie had indeed poisoned Lord Flinn and accidentally ingested the poison herself, it was the ultimate irony. Her laughter wanted to bubble to the surface, but Annabeth stifled it. Instead, she focused on her breathing, suppressing her urge to revel in Elsie's downfall.
The moment passed. Elsie's writhing stopped. Her body went still. Death, unyielding as always, had claimed her.
Annabeth exhaled, her expression stoic. Despite the chaos and pain surrounding her, a small, grim sense of victory blossomed in her chest. The competition between her and Lady Elsie was finally over, and though Annabeth hadn't struck the final blow, it hardly mattered. Fate, cruel and merciless, had done it for her.
Annabeth had won.
****
"Step away from that body right now!" barked a gruff voice that carried the weight of authority—or maybe just the kind of exhaustion that could scare people into compliance.
The command came from a tall, moderately muscular man who looked like he'd spent the last decade in a perpetual state of "just five more minutes of sleep please." His scruffy beard seemed to grow unevenly out of sheer spite, and had noticeable bags under his eyes. If it weren't for his neat blue uniform, you'd easily mistake him for someone's homeless uncle on a cloudy day.
The silver scarf around his shoulders gleamed faintly, catching the light as he stepped forward. The two medals pinned to his chest glinted as if they were trying to remind everyone that, despite his disheveled appearance, this man meant business. The rest of the investigative team parted to let him through, and the gathered crowd instinctively shuffled back, not wanting to draw his gaze.
This was Yansen, the squad captain of Jorgen City's investigative unit, and he was here to solve a murder. Or two. Or however many deaths this bizarre day decided to throw at him. Having a Lord die mysteriously was enough to ruin his week, but two nobles in one day? At this rate, death was working overtime, and Yansen was clocking in to play catch-up.
Ms. Luwi, who recognized him from previous cases, immediately stood and stepped aside, her respect for the captain outweighing any hesitation. She had seen him work before—his analytical skills were unparalleled, and his track record of solving cases was as spotless as his appearance was not.
Yansen approached Lady Elsie's body, his boots thudding against the floor with the deliberate cadence of someone too tired to rush but too experienced to hesitate. Stopping two steps away, he squatted with a groan that betrayed his age and the abuse his knees had suffered over the years. "Alright, Truth Seeker" he muttered, casting his Tier 5 unique spell.
The spell illuminated the inside of Lady Elsie's body in intricate detail. To Yansen, it was like someone had left a gruesome instruction manual on how not to use a pocket knife. Her organs and veins bore signs of internal trauma, as if they'd been stabbed repeatedly from the inside out, yet her skin remained unbroken.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "Because what this day needed was a medical mystery straight out of a horror novel."
He straightened up slowly, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Alright, folks," he said, addressing his team, "this one's going to be fun. And by fun, I mean the kind of fun where you cry into your whiskey later."
His sense of humor and timing were as bad as he looked.
As the crowd murmured uneasily, Yansen rubbed his temples, wondering if it was too late to go back to pushing papers. Then again, he thought, glancing at the bizarre injuries, weird days like this make life interesting.
4o