The two paused to take it in; the woman, a familiar face here, ran straight inside, hope a small lantern swinging in fog for any good news.

Lucimia and Rexi followed at once, shadows keeping to a flame.

Inside, Lucimia saw light-armor soldiers, scales of dull iron under lamplight; they had to be the Enforcement Squad.

The woman was already at her handler’s desk, questions spilling like pebbles into a well; the answer was only a helpless shake, a leaf falling.

Disappointment frosted her face, then melted; she remembered Lucimia’s Investigator badge, said something, and suspicion hooked the handler’s gaze toward Lucimia.

“Rexi.” Lucimia nudged her with an elbow, flint striking flint; Rexi caught on and snapped her fingers, crisp as a spark.

In the next beat, the puzzled soldier brightened, clouds parting to sun; he came over with a sunrise smile for Lucimia and Rexi.

He looked like a solid middle-aged man, tall, with stubble like dry grass.

He stopped before Lucimia and smiled. “Hello, Investigator. I’m Luwens, the deputy captain here.”

“Lucimia.” Her name fell like a seal pressed in wax.

“Oh, a pleasure.” Polite as a folding fan, Luwens gestured. “This way. Let’s sit and talk.”

Lucimia nodded, a leaf tipping to rain.

Warm satisfaction flickered inside; Rexi’s Memory Power was ridiculously handy. They followed Luwens to his desk, an island in paper seas, and sat; the woman took the other side.

Luwens straightened like a reed finding wind. “What are you here to investigate, Investigator? I’ll fully cooperate, though to be honest…”

Puzzlement pricked first; Lucimia looked at him, brows knitting like gathering cloud.

His expression twisted, words snagging on thorns. “Honestly, we’ve got a few tough cases. I don’t know if you’ve got time to maybe…”

Lucimia got it at once; he wanted help. Help or not, paint him a pretty picture first.

“I’ll see,” she said, a feather held back in the hand.

“Alright, alright, thanks.” He didn’t mind if it was a picture; sunlight still pooled in him. “So, what do you need to look into?”

“First, a question. Is your archive, like in some places, both local and national, not just local?” Her voice stepped soft, a needle dipped in oil.

She asked with care; emotion first, then the move, a cat paw on silk.

Even with Rexi’s Authority bent into Memory Power to nudge minds, a torn seam would show; a fox would scent the trap fast.

So she framed it as “like in some places,” laying stepping stones across a river.

She wore the mask of an Investigator, rank heavy as iron; she should know the carved grain of the rules, and so should a deputy like Luwens.

If she said, “Give me all local and national files,” it’d ring like a hammer on a bell.

If they only had locals, the offbeat drum would jar him.

If she asked bluntly, “Local or national?” the blade would flash straight from the sheath.

Whatever the rule, he’d smell a common-sense slip, a foot on a loose plank splashing water.

But “like some places” would send him chasing regional quirks first, smoke drifting before fire.

“Oh, we’ve got both local and national,” Luwens said, answer sliding smooth as a drawer.

“Good.” She nodded. “I need your local and national cases on abductions and disappearances—missing persons, specifically.” The list clicked like beads on a string.

“Abductions? Disappearances?” Ripples ran across his face.

“What’s wrong?” Her question prodded the ashes like a twig.

“Uh…” He flicked a glance at the eavesdropping woman, thought, then rose, leaned to Lucimia’s ear, and whispered, a moth’s wing brushing, “Whose idea is that?”

The barb landed; Lucimia’s frown tightened, a thorn under silk.

What did that mean? Fog rolled into the valley.

Were abductions and disappearances hiding silted truth beneath clear water?

She began to suspect something hollow and vast in the Lowegar Kingdom, a mountain sounding wrong when struck.

Quick on her feet, she fixed her mask, a hint of edge. “Don’t ask what you shouldn’t.”

“Got it.” Luwens flashed an okay, a stamped seal, then dropped back into his chair like a stone.

“I can get you the files, but let me warn you—the water here runs deep. That’s why I asked. Better watch your step.”

Deep water… what exactly? A cold eddy curled around her ankles.

Confusion rippled under the ice of her face; Luwens stood, a bow drawn.

“Wait a moment. I’ll fetch them,” he said, tying the promise like a knotted string.

“Mm.” The reply fell like a pebble into shallow water.

He strode for the station’s depths, footsteps drumming rain into a long corridor.

While they waited, the woman’s anxiety fluttered; her eyes were sparrows at a window. “Will you help me investigate?”

“I’ll look at the files first.” Her words spread sugar glaze over a bitter pill.

Still, she weighed it: if the water ran deep in Lowegar, if Yuna’s name wasn’t in the files, she could tug this woman’s thread at the edge of the knot.

Wait—Yuna’s name? A bell rang in a quiet hall.

Lucimia blinked, a shutter lifting to pale sun, something returning to the sill.

“Lucimia, I’ve got a feeling your first task won’t be easy…” Rexi breathed, wind before a storm.

Luwens had whispered, but Rexi’s Memory Power had cast a net and caught the silver words.

“Not ‘won’t be easy’—it definitely won’t,” Lucimia said, pressing her brow, a fist closing behind her eyes. “I just forgot something crucial.”

“What?” Rexi’s question skipped like a pebble.

“The person I’m looking for doesn’t exist in this world anymore. There’s no way to find her…” A lantern snuffed by wind.

“What do you mean? Dead? There’d still be a record.” Her logic clicked, beads counted one by one.

“She doesn’t exist.” The bubble popped and left no wet.

“Huh?” Rexi’s face went blank, a page without ink.

Lucimia sighed, dazed, ash drifting where a flame had been.

She’d forgotten: after the Devouring, even Yuna’s existence was erased. If the files once held her, the ledger might now be clean.

“Strange. How could I forget something so important? Did you change my memory?” Lucimia asked, frown like a hidden blade.

“No way,” Rexi whispered, innocent as open palms. “I don’t recall touching your memory. I wouldn’t change this. I didn’t know. Besides, yours isn’t easy to overwrite—you’ve got that passive, the Devouring-everything thing, right?”

“That’s true, but I don’t guard against you. We use your Authority Power to talk, after all. Still, you didn’t know… Strange. Maybe I’m just tired, and I simply forgot?”

Lucimia frowned again, brows two strokes of ink darkening the page.