Lucien studies me for a long moment, considering me like I'm an ant he might crush. “Half measures of truth are sometimes worse than lies,” he says at last, and I sense a cryptic warning beneath his words. “Elias was burned. Not by common flame, but by something far, far more dangerous. We don't have evidence for anything conclusive, but we have enough to call it what it is.”
“Murder,” I say.
He does not look away. “A killing. Whether by intent or negligence—still a killing.”
Viktor’s hand closes on the arm of his chair. The wood doesn't creak, but I know he’s digging in. “Do you have suspects?”
“We have interviews,” Lucien says. “We have patterns. We have too much noise and not enough data.”
“And the Shadow Court,” I say, the words out before I can stop them. I don’t say more. I don’
