You stepped into the portal leading to Pomefiore with Grim following close by. As the two of you entered the dorm, Grim squinted up at the vaulted ceilings. “Why does this dorm always feel like it’s grading my existence?”

“It probably is,” you muttered and stopped to adjust your collar. The last time the left side of your collar was slightly higher than the right, Vil had given you a lecture on always looking presentable.

Vil stood in the center of the lounge, adjusting the sleeve of his dorm uniform. He didn’t need to look up and recognized your footsteps and Grim’s claws pattering on the marble floors.

“Prefect,” Vil greeted. “I assume your presence here concerns the unfortunate state of the Heartslabyul’s prefect?”

Word at Night Raven College spread at the speed of light.

“So you know?” you asked, relieved you could skip a full rundown.

“An unconscious Housewarden is hardly a subtle headline,” Vil remarked. “It’s untidy, and Riddle is never untidy.”

From a nearby settee, Epel leaned forward, his face clouded with curiosity. “Is he really that bad? People are saying it was a magic attack straight to the jugular.”

“That’s a rumor. But we’re still piecing the timeline together,” you said, keeping your voice neutral, as you didn’t want to give anything away in case the culprit was listening.

“We’re the lead investigators here to save the day,” Grim grinned and puffed out his chest.

Vil raised a brow, unimpressed. “How noble…of you.”

Before you could respond, a soft clap echoed from the shadows of the corridor. There was only one person in Pomefiore who loved dramatics – your next suspect, Rook Hunt.

“Ah, what a thrilling development!” Rook Hunt emerged from the shadows, his golden eyes shimmering in fascination. “Monsieur Rosehearts has fallen, and now the hunters gather to pick up the scent. C’est magnifique!”

Grim bristled. “We’re not hunters, we’re help!”

“In this world, mon petit chat, everyone is hunting for something. Truth, power…or perhaps just a bit of peace,” Rook smiled.

“Rook, did you see Riddle this evening?” You got straight to the point, knowing that if you beat around the bush, he would do the same.

Vil’s expression tightened as he looked at his vice-housewarden. “I had rehearsal all evening. Epel was with me. Neither of us saw him leave the grounds.”

“We were stuck in the ballroom until an hour ago. We didn’t even know he was out of his dorm,” Epel nodded quickly, eager to confirm the alibi.

The alibi felt solid and too clean to be worth poking. You shifted your focus to Rook, who was tilting his head at an angle that suggested he knew more than he let on.

“I caught a glimpse of him,” Rook murmured.

Vil straightened, his eyes narrowing. “You failed to mention that during dinner, Rook.”

“You did not ask, Roi du Poison,” Rook playfully replied.

“When exactly?” you pressed.

“Shortly before the sun dipped below the horizon,” Rook said in a collected tone. “He crossed the main courtyard alone…a solitary figure against the encroaching dark.”

“Alone,” you repeated, thinking back to Deuce’s claim that Riddle had left Trey in charge.

“Quite alone, and carrying himself with a remarkable intensity, even more so than usual,” Rook chuckled.

“That’s just Riddle,” Grim muttered. “He’s always uptight.”

“No,” Rook disagreed, his gaze drifting as if replaying the memory in his mind. “This was different. He checked his watch repeatedly, and his jaw was clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. He seemed like he was…forcing himself to a destination he didn’t want to visit.”

“Did he say anything?” You inquired.

“He muttered about order and inconvenience,” Rook replied.

“That describes roughly eighty percent of his waking life. The information is hardly useful,” Vil sighed.

“Did he look…sick? Or like he was about to lose control of his magic?” Epel asked with a frown.

Rook paused for a second as if he hesitating. “Not sick, but strained. Like a man resisting a very simple suggestion.”

It felt like he was purposely phrasing it to sound vague. “Resisting what, Rook?”

Rook met your eyes, his golden irises reflecting the chandelier light. “A suggestion of change. I advised him, in passing, to adjust his approach. His rigidity is a beautiful thing to behold, but even the finest diamond will shatter if hit at the wrong angle.”

“You criticized his leadership? No wonder he looked irritated,” Vil scoffed, crossing his arms in disapproval.

“I admired it,” Rook corrected, sounding wounded. “But I questioned its sustainability. He reacted precisely as one would expect, defending his rules with ferocity.”

“That sounds like a fight,” Epel said.

“It was a philosophical exchange,” Rook countered.

“Did you follow him after that?” you asked, growing suspicious.

Rook took his time answering the question as if weighing all of the options. “I observed his departure. My curiosity is rarely sated by words alone.”

“Rook,” Vil warned, his voice sharp. “Where did he go?”

“He walked with a very specific resolve. Not toward the library for reflection, nor toward the gardens for leisure. Earlier that afternoon, a certain…rumor had begun to drift through the halls.” Rook’s eyes gleamed, enjoying every moment of this.

“What sort of rumors?” Vil questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A whisper,” Rook replied in a low hush. “A suggestion that Heartslabyul’s strictness was dampening student morale. A rumor that the Roi des Roses’s severity was no longer a virtue, but a liability to the dorm’s reputation.”

“Who would spread something like that?” Epel gasped.

“And who, pray tell, harvests whispers more efficiently than those who trade in them? Commerce thrives on the imbalance of power, after all,” Rook chuckled.

“Commerce…power…you’re talking about Azul?” You asked, tapping his chin.

“I simply mean that a certain Heartslabyul student was seen approaching Octavinelle. Preceding that, rumors bloomed,” Rook said with a shrug.

“So a Heartslabyul student paid Azul to damage Riddle’s reputation?” Epel asked, eyes widened.

“To encourage a reconsideration of the rules,” Rook clarified.

A heavy silence settled over the lounge as you pieced everything together: Riddle, already irritated, discovered that his dorm member paid a rival housewarden to undermine his authority even after he had softened after his overblot.

“That would do more than irritate him,” Vil said in a cold voice. “It would be a declaration of war.”

“Especially,” Rook added, “if he discovered the paper trail.”

“He found out,” you whispered. “He went to confront Azul.”

Rook tilted his head, a knowing smile tugging on his lips. Grim stared at you, his eyes wide. “Then let’s head to the Mostro Lounge!”

You didn’t wait for Vil’s parting remark or Epel’s reaction. If Riddle had stormed into Octavinelle in that state of mind, there was a chance that he might have unleashed Off With Your Head on Octavinelle students, which would have triggered Azul.

Rook watched your departure with delight, his hands clasped behind his back. He hadn’t told you where to go and hadn’t directly accused a soul; he had simply laid out the tracks and watched as you began the hunt. Vil observed Rook’s expression from his peripheral vision, knowing that look all too well.

You and Grim returned to the portals. Despite being tired of the goose chase, Grim seemed determined as the two of you were getting closer to finding out the truth.

“Let’s go talk to Azul,” Grim sighed.

“Yeah, let’s Sparta kick Azul’s office door and interrogate him.”