How long had it been exactly? How much of the evidence was removed? How much had the crime scene been altered? How much could she glean and resist the temptation to pursue anything beyond this room?
"You're back," Hotaru turned—her voice sombre. "Are you two okay?"
"Yeah, just lost him," Fumeko let the smell of blood envelope her without care as she walked in. She observed the wrists and avoided the face, "We're supposed to be inconspicuous about investigating wolfy."
"I'm not a coroner, I have to try at least," the redhead gave a sigh. "It's not like much of a trace is left behind."
Fumeko glanced back to see an elf who stood by the door. Asobi simply pouted and looked past the body, towards the window—her wand gripped in both hands.
The fresher-looking circles and squares on the carpet, cleared vanity and missing bedsheets—most of the clutter had been cleaned out. The circular wooden frame took up most of the room.
