Annoyance rippled through Lucimia like cold water; she really ought to give Rexi a proper lesson.

She’d only been out for a few minutes, and she came back drunk like a kite cut loose.

Did she not realize that after the Duel, Lucimia had already withdrawn the effect of Devouring, like drawing back a tide?

Her tolerance was a paper lantern in rain; thank goodness Fuzzy Orb helped during the Duel, or two cups would’ve felled her like a sapling.

Lucimia remembered how, right before the end, Rexi packed the leftover wine into her Storage Ring, like scooping stars into a jar; was she hooked already?

Was it really that good, like spring water on a parched tongue?

Unease pricked like sand; she asked, “She didn’t do anything, right?”

“No, just fell asleep,” the server said, calm as a pond.

Relief eased her like shade at noon; at least Rexi hadn’t broken anything in the tavern.

If she had, they’d owe money like stones tied to their ankles.

Of course, Reversion could scrub it clean like wind erasing tracks.

She followed the server downstairs; Rexi lay at the bar, breathing softly like a kitten in a sunbeam.

The server added, “I called you so you can carry her up, and because she hasn’t paid.”

A sigh cooled her chest like dusk; “...Fine.”

She paid, then gathered mana in her palm like dew in a cup, and pressed it to Rexi’s back to sober her.

She didn’t use Devouring; she wanted to save energy like banking embers for the night.

After a spell, Rexi’s eyes fluttered open like petals after rain.

“Ugh… my head’s spinning,” she said, clutching her temples as if holding a rocking boat.

“You said you were buying food; why’d you drink yourself silly?” Lucimia’s voice was a breeze with ice.

“And didn’t you stash plenty of wine in your ring? Why come down and pay to drink more?”

Rexi saw Lucimia beside her and flinched like a startled bird, then gave a sheepish laugh. “Hehe, that wine tasted good, like honey on the tongue, so I wanted to try another kind.”

Lucimia followed her gaze to the small cup before her, red wine pooling like a half-set sunset.

“Oh, fruit wine. How many did you have?”

“This is the second.”

“Then you’re not made for drinking,” Lucimia said, pulling her off the chair like lifting a drowsy fox. “We’re heading back. I’ll buy the food.”

“Okay!”

“Ah.”

Lucimia sighed again, a third leaf falling in slow spirals.

After they ate and rested, resolve settled in her like a blade in its sheath; she told Rexi they’d handle the first task: find Kalan Village and the trafficking case.

It felt like a low ridge before the mountains; Rexi could tweak the Constabulary’s memories, then ask for case files like borrowing scrolls, to see if any couple had reported a girl named Yuna missing.

The Constabulary should know place names like hunters know trails; they could ask where Kalan Village lay, or Rexi could read memories directly like skimming a river’s surface.

“How about it? I need your help,” Lucimia asked, while Rexi was still stuffing meat like a squirrel with nuts.

“Mmmff… *”@!@x%#…” Rexi mumbled, words tripping like pebbles.

“Swallow first, then talk…”

After a gulp of water, confidence gleamed in Rexi like sun on steel. “Totally doable. Leave it to me!”

“Good. Once you’re done eating, we’ll go. You can read a passerby’s memory first and find where the Constabulary is. There’s always some office.”

“Got it!”

Once they’d finished, they took the stairs down, each step light as drifting ash.

Lucimia nudged Rexi with an elbow like a secret knock; Rexi understood and read the server’s memory about enforcement, her gaze skimming like a swallow.

“I know the way,” she said, excitement buzzing like summer cicadas. “It’s a bit far. It’s called the Constabulary Post. There’s also roving enforcers, the kind that hunt people like wolves on a trail. Should we fly? There are carriages too. They’re a bit pricey, but if we ride, we just tell the driver the destination.”

Lucimia weighed options like stones in a palm. “Let’s take a carriage.”

“Nice, I’ve never ridden one,” Rexi said, then paused, eyes tilting like a question. “At least not in my memories.”

“Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the tavern; sunlight poured down like a white sheet, a little blinding.

They waited a moment; a well-made carriage rolled up like a lacquered beetle, and Lucimia raised her hand, a flag to the wind.

The driver smiled, reins whispering like reeds, and halted beside them.

“Where to, ladies?” he asked, a middle-aged man with the warmth of a hearth.

“The Constabulary Post,” Lucimia said, voice steady as a plumb line.

“Well, that’s right on my way,” he said with a sweep of his arm, welcome opening like a gate. “Hop in.”

Lucimia hesitated, doubt pebbling the stream; “On your way” meant someone else might already be inside.

But that wasn’t what snagged her; another thought tugged like a hook.

“Quick question,” she said. “Do you charge per head, or just one fare for companions together?”

The driver blinked, then laughed like rolling thunder. “You’re not locals, huh? Locals don’t ask that. Don’t worry. Companions pay one fare, we charge by the road, not by heads. Oh, and this trip’s three silver.”

“Oh, I see.”

She nodded; three silver was a bite of frost—affordable to an ordinary household, but it stung.

Still, carriages were riding a wave in these times; the price rose like tide.

For Lucimia, it was nothing but a leaf on water.

She paid and climbed aboard with Rexi.

Inside sat a third passenger, a woman in plain clothes, likely past thirty, like a willow bowed by wind.

Chestnut curls framed a worried face; she shifted on the seat like she sat on pins.

She glanced at them and then away, before calling to the driver, “Please hurry! Don’t take any more passengers. I’ll pay double.”

“Got it, got it,” the driver said, nodding like a bobbing buoy.

Lucimia and Rexi traded a look, curiosity blooming like tea in hot water.

She seemed to be in a rush, a storm in a teacup.

Rexi hesitated, then tried, her voice gentle as rain, “You’re going to the Constabulary for what, exactly?”

The woman cut her a look, brows knit like a tight knot. “To report a case.”

“…Makes sense,” Rexi said, scratching her head like a puzzled cat.

Lucimia went silent, words cooling on her tongue like dew.

Then the woman spoke again. “You two kids… uh, are you Bloodkin?”

She’d been about to question why children were going to the Constabulary, but Lucimia’s hair color gave her pause, like moonlight staying a blade; maybe the girl was older than she looked.

Lucimia didn’t answer that; she sensed the path and stepped on it like a dancer. “I have a working relationship with the Constabulary.”

“Working relationship? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Oh, I’m the most famous detective among the Bloodkin,” Lucimia said, the lie slipping out smooth as river stones. “I’ve got a friend in the Constabulary. He asked me to help.”