"What's your name?"
"Annabeth."
"Who was Lord Flinn to you?"
"He was my father."
"Are you a male or a female?"
"Female."
"Do you live in this house?"
"Yes."
With the basics out of the way, Captain Yansen prepared to dive into the real questions—the ones that could make or break his investigation. Establishing a baseline for truth-telling was vital, and Annabeth's answers were steady, calm, and consistent.
Truth-telling wasn't just a matter of words; it showed in the subtle rhythms of a person's body. A steady heart rate and calm aura meant honesty, while lies stirred turbulence—a ripple in the aura's surface. Captain Yansen's Truth Seeker spell made these subtle reactions visible, wrapping his subject in a reddish glow that pulsed gently when the truth was spoken and quivered violently at falsehoods.
Today, his subject was a six-year-old girl.
Please don't judge him. He wasn't thrilled about it either. Nor did he particularly enjoy the stink-eyes from the crowd as he led Annabeth to a quieter space. The mansion's servants' lounge was far from grand, but it was private, and privacy was a luxury in the chaos of an ongoing investigation at a funeral.
Annabeth sat in a high-backed chair that dwarfed her tiny frame, her feet dangling far from the ground. Yansen took the chair across from her, his men stationed by the door and scattered throughout the house to question the staff. He cast Truth Seeker without hesitation, the glow enveloping Annabeth like a second skin.
Her calmness unnerved him. Most kids would be wailing or clamming up after losing their father, especially under the scrutiny of a spell designed to pick apart their truths and lies. But Annabeth sat there like she was discussing the weather, and while Yansen was impressed, it also raised his suspicions.
"No six-year-old should be this composed," he mused.
"Annabeth, did you kill your father, Lord Flinn?"
The question landed like a thunderclap in the quiet room. Yansen didn't mince words. Time wasn't on his side, and his superiors were no doubt pacing their offices bald over this case.
"No, I did not," Annabeth replied without a flicker of hesitation.
The aura around her stayed still, serene as a summer lake.
"Do you know who did?" Yansen pressed.
"W…" Annabeth hesitated, her small hands clenching her dress.
"No," she said, but the red aura reacted sharply, its surface trembling like a water surface struck by a stone.
A lie.
Yansen's eyes narrowed. Annabeth, however, seemed less rattled than he expected. It was as if she'd anticipated the aura's reaction and was already planning her next move.
Unbeknownst to him, Annabeth was experimenting. She suspected the aura's purpose and wanted to test its limits. Thinking the word "witch," she deliberately lied aloud.
Her guess was spot-on: the spell didn't read thoughts, only the truth or falsehood of spoken words. A slight smirk tugged at her lips—though not enough to draw attention.
Yansen observed her closely, mistaking her demeanor for ignorance or fear. "Maybe she's scared of the killer," he thought, "but the lie's there, plain as day."
"Little Miss, you can tell us. I'll make sure to protect you from whoever it is. You have my word." His tone softened, though his sharp gaze stayed fixed on her.
"Lady Elsie," Annabeth replied, again thinking of "witch."
This time, the aura remained perfectly still. Yansen noted the calmness and assumed she was relieved—believing the murderer to be dead.
Annabeth, on the other hand, relaxed for a different reason entirely. She now fully understood the spell's mechanics. Truth was the key to serenity.
But Yansen's mind churned with possibilities. Lady Elsie? Well, that complicated things.
"Do you know how she did it?" he asked.
"I think she poisoned him."
"Did you see her do it?"
"No."
"Then how do you know she did it?"
"I… I just know."
The aura remained steady, even as Yansen's mind reeled. "Nobody just knows," he thought. Yet the spell confirmed she was truthful—or at least believed herself to be.
"Annabeth, did you kill Lady Elsie?" His voice grew sterner.
Though Annabeth had been cleared of involvement in Lord Flinn's death, the matter of Lady Elsie's demise remained unresolved. Annabeth was a key suspect for two compelling reasons.
First, if Annabeth truly believed that Lady Elsie had murdered her father, she had a powerful motive for revenge. Yansen reasoned that, even if Annabeth felt justified in such an act, it wasn't her place to take justice into her own hands—especially against a noble.
Second, one of Yansen's men claimed he had seen the young girl flash a brief grin after Lady Elsie's death. While it could have been a trick of the light or an innocent expression, the possibility of it being a genuine reaction was enough to raise suspicion.
Despite his growing doubts, Yansen was prepared to arrest Annabeth for Lady Elsie's murder. It was a decision he didn't take lightly—and one that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Annabeth tilted her head, her red hair glinting in the faint light. "No, I did not."
The aura stayed still once again.
For Yansen, this was both a relief and a frustration. He felt the weight of the investigation growing heavier. However, being professional about his work was something he was good at. He sat quietly for a minute while thinking of what could possibly have happened.
"If Lady Elsie had poisoned Lord Flinn, maybe… just maybe… she had planned to kill herself too," Yansen thought. Marriage drove people crazy after all. But newlyweds? Really? Had marriages gotten that crazy these days?
One thing, however, that came to mind was Lady Elsie's last words. A new possibility came to mind immediately.
Could she have poisoned him and while the poison was still in the mouth kissed him? Well, that's dumb.
There was also the possibility that someone else had poisoned the couple, a servant or guard perhaps. That was a very likely scenario too.
He remembered 6 years ago hearing about a colleague who dealt with Lord Flinn's wife's death. This was before Yansen had become captain so he did not pay much attention to it. However, he heard it was a very complicated case and it remained unsolved. Even questioning the servants and guards of that time provided nothing substantial.
Could he have also stumbled upon a case that would ruin his 100% record?
Yansen realized that he had been lost in his thoughts and the room had been quiet for a while.
He cleared his throat and quickly thought of something to ask Annabeth, hoping to get some clues about how Lady Elsie's death occurred.
"Do you by any chance know who killed Lady Elsie?" He asked, having mentally resolved to question the other personnel of the mansion. He was disappointed and at the same time very relieved that his prime suspect, a 6-year-old girl, was innocent.
"I think she killed herself," Annabeth replied.
"She could have ended up poisoning herself by kissing him after poisoning him," Annabeth further explained before Yansen could ask.
"I see," Captain Yansen replied.
He could not understand how a 6-year-old could have such an in-depth analysis of the situation and think of such a possibility. Everything about her was too confusing and left him with too many questions. This kid was seriously weird.
He wanted to ask her about the grin one of his men said he had seen, but he figured it was probably a no-love family thing, he wasn't paid enough to do family counseling too. Besides, he had a bunch of guards and servants who might be possible murderers; he had no time to offer even free counseling services.
With that, Yansen concluded the interrogation and instructed one of his men to escort Annabeth back to the living room. He also ordered the guard to gather all the mansion's servants and guards, directing them to enter the interrogation room one by one for questioning.
Annabeth returned to the living room, where she was met with a flood of concerned hugs and a barrage of questions from well-wishers. These were the same individuals who had tried to protest her being taken away by the Investigative Unit.
It seemed a few more people had arrived at the funeral in her absence. Among them were two wealthy-looking individuals locked in a heated argument, while a third stood off to the side, watching with mild amusement.
This man stood out. His chiseled physique, strikingly handsome features, and long red hair framed a face marked by bushy eyebrows and sharp brown eyes—he seemed like a character plucked straight from a storybook. His attire matched his elegance: richly hued robes in the same deep red as his hair, adorned with golden patterns that resembled an animal, a clear symbol of his affluence.
Annabeth froze. She recognized him. He had been present at her real mother's funeral—and at both of her father's other funerals.
Though they had never exchanged words, she felt a chill run down her spine when his gaze met hers, and he smiled.