Isaac and Seraphine stood before the Bransfield estate, the once-grand property now a shadow of its former self. The wrought iron gates, flanked by overgrown hedges, loomed high above them, casting long, spindly shadows on the cobblestone road. The estate itself sat far in the distance, barely visible through the thick fog, like an aging titan hiding in the mist.
Isaac had learned enough from Tobin, the informant, to know they weren't stepping into an ordinary investigation. There were details about Bransfield's connections to the Tarot Society that Tobin had been reluctant to reveal, only letting slip the most pertinent facts. Bransfield, it seemed, wasn't just another industrialist. He had deeper ties—ties to The Emperor and others Isaac was just beginning to understand.
"We're being watched," Seraphine said quietly, her hand resting lightly on her side where a concealed blade lay. Her eyes darted to a figure in the distance, barely visible through the iron gates, standing as still as a statue.
Isaac didn't respond immediately, but his keen detective instincts told him she was right. Every corner of this property was likely under surveillance. But that didn't bother him; it was expected. What mattered now was the question that gnawed at the back of his mind
why had Bransfield been killed?
As they approached the gate, Isaac felt the weight of the atmosphere press against him. This place reeked of wealth, of power—power that had gone unchecked for far too long. He knew that men like Bransfield lived and died by the hand of that power, but his death hadn't followed the usual pattern. The clues didn't line up, and if The Emperor was involved, it meant there was more at stake than just a wealthy industrialist's life.
The gates creaked open before them, as if the house itself had been expecting their arrival. Two guards stood on either side, their eyes cold and devoid of any emotion. "You're expected," one of them said, his voice as rigid as the walls that surrounded the estate.
Isaac exchanged a glance with Seraphine, who gave a small nod. They were walking into a lion's den, but neither of them seemed fazed. In fact, Isaac welcomed it. He had a feeling that what they were about to find would confirm his suspicions about The Emperor's involvement.
The path leading to the mansion was long, bordered by ancient oak trees that had grown tall and twisted over the years, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Bransfield's wealth was undeniable, but even wealth couldn't hide the rot that had settled into this place. It was a facade, a mask that couldn't quite cover the decay beneath.
As they reached the front doors, another servant greeted them, this one slightly more presentable but no less mechanical in demeanor. "This way, please," she said, guiding them inside.
The interior of the mansion was even more imposing than Isaac had expected. Every inch of the walls was lined with polished wood, intricate carvings of machinery and progress. The decor was a testament to Bransfield's obsession with steam and industry, but beneath the surface, there was something else—something hidden. Isaac could feel it in the air.
They were led to a large study, where Bransfield had been found dead. The room was pristine, untouched since the murder, save for the slight outline of chalk where the body had once lain. Isaac walked in first, his eyes scanning every corner, every piece of furniture, every detail. There was no forced entry, no sign of a struggle. It was as if Bransfield had simply ceased to exist.
Seraphine stood by the door, keeping an eye on their surroundings. "They've done a good job cleaning up the scene," she muttered.
Isaac nodded but said nothing. He knelt beside the outline of Bransfield's body, running his fingers lightly over the surface of the floor. The crime had been too perfect, too sterile. No ordinary murderer could have pulled this off. And yet, there were no clues—no fingerprints, no murder weapon, no sign of entry or exit. It was as if the killer had simply vanished into thin air.
As Isaac rose to his feet, he noticed something that had escaped the authorities' notice: a faint scent of oil, barely perceptible, lingering in the air near the window. It wasn't out of place in an industrialist's home, but it felt wrong here. Too deliberate.
He walked over to the window, pushing it open slightly. The latch was secure, just as it had been when the police arrived. But that wasn't what caught his attention. Outside, just beneath the window ledge, was a thin strip of fabric caught in the frame—barely visible, as if someone had missed it in their hurry to clean the scene.
Isaac carefully pulled it free, holding it up to the light. It was nothing more than a scrap of cloth, but it told him what he needed to know. Whoever had been here wasn't just another thief or murderer. They were professionals, but even professionals made mistakes.
"What do you think?" Seraphine asked, her eyes fixed on Isaac.
"I think Bransfield was involved in something much bigger than anyone knew," Isaac said, folding the cloth and placing it into his coat pocket. "And I think someone very high up in the Tarot Society wanted him silenced before he could reveal too much."
Seraphine raised an eyebrow. "The Emperor?"
Isaac nodded, his expression unreadable. "The Emperor. But there's more to it. This wasn't just about eliminating a threat. This was a message. And now we're part of the game."
As they left the study, Isaac's mind raced with possibilities. The Emperor's hand was in this, of that he was certain. But the question remained: why kill Bransfield now? What had the industrialist uncovered that had warranted such a swift and efficient execution?
They exited the mansion, the thick fog rolling in once again as they stepped out into the cold evening air. Isaac pulled his coat tighter around him, the weight of the case settling on his shoulders. This was just the beginning, and The Emperor wasn't going to make things easy.
Isaac glanced at Seraphine, who was already scanning the surroundings for any signs of further trouble. "We need to move carefully from here," he said quietly. "The Emperor knows we're coming, and I'm willing to bet he's already made his next move."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed, her hand instinctively resting on her concealed blade. "Then let's not keep him waiting."
They walked down the long path back to the gates, the fog swallowing them up as they disappeared into the night. Isaac could feel the weight of the Tarot Society pressing down on him, but he wasn't afraid. He had faced powerful enemies before, and he would face them again. But this time, he wasn't just dealing with criminals.
He was dealing with an empire.