The Emperor sat in his private study, a grand room at the top of the Tarot Society's tower, overlooking the sprawling city of New Aldmoor. The windows were tall, stretching from floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the fog-choked streets below. The gas lamps glowed faintly, like distant stars flickering through the haze, and the clamor of the city's machinery was a muted hum beneath the thick stone walls.
He enjoyed the silence here. It was a far cry from the chaos outside, where industry ruled and steam-powered machines ground through the workday. But up here, in his sanctuary, the Emperor had control. His fingers traced the gold-inlaid armrests of his chair as he leaned back, his mind turning over recent events with a sense of calculated ease.
Bransfield's death had sent ripples through the city's upper circles, just as he had intended. It had been a precise operation—clean, efficient, with no loose ends. The man had outlived his usefulness, and more importantly, he had begun asking the wrong questions, threatening to expose things that were better left buried. The Tarot Society's secrets were not meant for the likes of Bransfield or the common folk of New Aldmoor. They were the foundation upon which the Emperor's power rested.
But now, there was an unexpected complication. Isaac.
The name alone was enough to make even the Emperor pause. Isaac, the so-called greatest detective in the city, had an uncanny ability to unearth truths that others couldn't. He wasn't like the bumbling fools of the police force or the greedy, short-sighted investigators who took bribes to look the other way. Isaac was different—driven by curiosity rather than money, by a need to solve puzzles that others couldn't even begin to comprehend.
And now Isaac had his sights set on Bransfield's death.
The Emperor wasn't surprised. He had anticipated this development the moment Bransfield's body had been discovered. The city's elite may have brushed the murder aside, content to believe the official narrative, but Isaac wouldn't be so easily fooled. He would dig. He would question. He would search for answers until he had unraveled the whole web of lies that the Tarot Society had spun.
But the Emperor was not afraid. He had faced opposition before, and each time, he had emerged victorious. Isaac might be clever, but he was still just one man—a man who could be dealt with, if necessary.
Still, the Emperor wasn't one to leave things to chance. He rose from his chair and walked to the window, his dark robes trailing behind him like liquid shadows. The lights of the city twinkled below, and for a moment, he allowed himself to admire the empire he had built. The Tarot Society controlled more than just the flow of industry and wealth in New Aldmoor; they controlled information, the very currency of power. And no one wielded that power better than he did.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Without turning, the Emperor spoke, his voice calm and measured. "Enter."
The door opened, and a figure slipped into the room—a man draped in dark, tailored clothing, with a face that was all sharp angles and cold calculation. He bowed slightly, though the gesture lacked any real warmth.
"The detective," the man said, his voice low. "He's looking into Bransfield's death."
The Emperor turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "As expected."
"And?" the man continued, his tone betraying a hint of uncertainty. "Do you wish for us to intervene?"
The Emperor allowed the silence to stretch for a few moments, considering the question. Isaac's involvement was troublesome, but there were advantages to letting the detective work. After all, Isaac's methods could flush out others who were hiding in the shadows—others who might be watching the Tarot Society too closely. Sometimes, it was better to allow an enemy to reveal himself before striking.
"No," the Emperor finally replied. "Not yet. Let him investigate. Let him come closer."
The man raised an eyebrow, but he knew better than to question the Emperor's decision. "And when he gets too close?"
The Emperor smiled, a slow, deliberate expression that sent a chill through the air. "When he gets too close, we will remind him of his place."
The man nodded and turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, the Emperor spoke again.
"One more thing," the Emperor said, his voice now sharper, more commanding. "Watch him. Closely. I want to know his every move."
The man hesitated for only a moment before responding, "Of course."
As the door closed behind him, the Emperor returned to his desk, his mind already turning to the next phase of his plan. Isaac was a problem, but problems could be solved. The detective would continue his investigation, following the trail that the Emperor had carefully allowed him to find. But the moment Isaac became a threat, the Emperor would deal with him as he had dealt with so many others before him.
He picked up a small, ornate figurine from his desk—a miniature clockwork device, one of Bransfield's earlier creations. The gears inside whirred softly as the Emperor turned it over in his hands, a symbol of the industrialist's genius and his downfall. Bransfield had been useful once, but usefulness was fleeting.
The Emperor placed the device back on the desk and sat down, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He could feel the threads of his vast network tugging at the corners of his mind, each one a connection to someone in the city—a spy, an informant, a servant loyal to the Society.
Isaac might think he was on the trail of the truth, but in reality, he was walking into a labyrinth of the Emperor's own design. The Tarot Society had been pulling the strings in New Aldmoor for decades, and they would continue to do so for decades more.
Isaac was smart, perhaps even the smartest detective the city had ever seen, but the Emperor was not just a man. He was an institution, a force of will that had shaped the very fabric of the city.
And he would not be undone by one man.
Isaac would discover the truth, but only the truth the Emperor allowed him to see. And when the time was right, when Isaac thought he was on the verge of uncovering everything, the Emperor would make his move. He had no need to rush. The game had only just begun.
For now, all he had to do was wait.