The midday bell's ring followed in my wake as I tore away from the one-minded trickle of students heading for the dining hall. It was lunch, but I wasn't hungry. My brief talk with Andy siphoned every bit of my appetite. When I left the room this morning, the slob excuse of a sophomore was still curled up in bed, a mop of dark hair sticking out from the folds of his blanket. Sometimes, it amazed me how far he got being an elite with an attitude like that. Maybe it was because of his status that he could afford to act as such.

Nevertheless, Andy told me something of value. From the start, I operated based on what Mr. Proleau revealed, not on what I knew. The first step in finding the solution was to start from the beginning. Look at what one was given. Often, the answers were glaring and simple.

Horace Prescott—a son of the Prescott family prominent in the legal gambling scene. At least, his father and grandfather were. His mother had a more...sensible hobby, which was staying home and hosting nigh-daily parties. Mrs. Prescott was a rumor mill, having cultivated a network of informants who wouldn't do anything other than nose into people's privacy. I might have tapped into said network more often than I'd like to admit, and doing so had always yielded favorable results. Mrs. Prescott was a hell of a woman.

Which was part of the reason I opted to cave in to Horace's request. Not because he slid me a full-round through appropriate channels, but because I intend to get his mother's network to work for me. But one wrong choice led to another, and now I was headed to where his murder took place.

I stepped out of the Food Science hall, coming to the lip of the wide courtyard leading to the expansive stairs. The descent connected to the rest of the grounds. Towering halls dedicated to connected Credences called Departments, landscaped gardens filling the choreographed cobbled paths winding through and around the campus, and embellishments like statues of forgotten Hylsas and vain politicians and commissioned fountains and sculptures from Creative Credence graduates littered the immediate surroundings. Lyllan University wasn't the most prestigious institution around for nothing.

My lips curled in on themselves. See...dorms were to my left, along with the Conservatory and the Creature Studies Hall. Theater Annex should be...well, somewhere. I was a New Slate—someone who hasn't even spent a full term. Lochrame be damned if I knew where the drama kids frolicked around.

Students of various coats and uniforms representing their current level at university milled around, flitting in and out of the domed lobby while talking among themselves or lugging stacks of grimoires enough to fill a trunk. Most of them took one lecture whose site happened to be at FSH. I'd bet my nonexistent inheritance that it was Biology A1, which was a required lecture especially for those in the Innovation Credence.

My lectures as a direct Food Science Credence with a major in Potions and Medicine and a minor in Herbology involved more complex ideas, enabling me to create the Idea Vial in my free time. A mere drop would open one's neural pathways, leading to the generation of ideas. Wild, out-of-the-trunk ideas, but ones nonetheless. It would be a hit once I start marketing it to the inventors and scholars, to any professional in need of ideas on a regular basis. The fact that it might be a tad addictive was inconsequential.

My boots hit the first step of the stairs. Where the hell was the Theater Annex? My eyes zeroed in on the roofed outdoor corridor leading to the campus' many exit points. The University Map should be there.

What a hassle. If not for Horace being foolish enough to down the whole thing in one go, we wouldn't be in this mess. He'd still be a pathetic and insecure bully, and I could move freely without fearing my greatest creation would be run to the ground before it even reached its full potential.

I hadn't been to the complex since the murder. I'd be foolish to. My knowledge on the production status, the inventory records, the incoming orders, and the ongoing and future trade deals stopped the moment Mr. Proleau called me into his office. A full day. No way I'd never be anxious.

A brief tap forced me out of my thoughts and back to the reality around me. Ethan's familiar face rippled in my periphery. "Yo, what's up?" he asked, the impish smile back on his round face. With those features, it was hard to believe he was the same age as me. Even his height didn't live up to his claim. "Why are you standing 'round here? Don't you have your next class?"

"It's lunch," I reminded him. Then, before our conversation died into sputtering embers, I smacked my lips together and faced him. "Say, do you know the way to the Theater Annex?"

Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "I do, yeah," he said. "Why would you want to go there?"

I clicked my tongue, scratching the side of my head. "Ah, there's this girl there that I like—"

An arm slid across my shoulders, the force knocking me on the back of the head. If not for Ethan holding me back, I would have slipped and rolled down the stairs. "Let's go," he said, never loosening his grip on my neck. "My dear friend, on a quest for love!"

Before I could offer a protest, no matter how muffled, Ethan dragged me down the steps. Only when we reached the central fountain in all of Lyllan University did he let me go. I glared at him, rubbing my sore throat in the process. Why was he excited about this? What did he have to do with my love life?

"Okay, the Theater Annex is near the Literature department since they kinda have to work together. Well, most of the time," Ethan was saying, smoothing his uniform down and tousling his hair. Was he preparing to bag someone there as well? "We'll go that way."

He pointed all fingers towards the opposite direction of the Conservatory. My mind relaxed. At least my chances of running into Andy would be minimized. Next, Ethan strolled past the bushes with thin petaled flowers and small, round fruits. Orbea shrubs were purely ornamental, and most scholars passed by it without doing more research. Perhaps the topic of my term monograph should be how the seeds of those fruits could be used to kill a yeti. Because it could. Totally.

Ethan took me to a sudden left then a right, zig-zagging through the hidden pathways I never imagined I would take. Walter would have a heart attack if he realized where I had been today. But until the murder was solved, I wouldn't dare step out of the campus. The bushes and grass only intensified, forming a path reminiscent of a maze. A couple more turns later, I was ready to announce we were lost.

My guide took one last left, and the farther we went, the sparser the vegetation became. Eventually, another expansive courtyard like the one flanked by the FSH bled before us. Has this place always existed alongside the part of the campus I was used to? This was nothing short of a parallel world.

"The Humanities Cluster is a beauty, yeah," Ethan said, whistling under his breath. He wasn't kidding. Unlike the harsh minimalism of the Sciences and Practical Arts Cluster, the HC boasted painstakingly ornate columns, lush gardens, glittering spires, cathedral-like halls, as if Mr. Proleau let loose a group of vain politicians into the empty grounds and approved every single one of their whims.

"The Theater Annex is this way." Ethan—I forgot he was there for a second—jerked his chin to my vague west. "Let's go."

We diverged from the main road and approached a grand structure designed to be a functional learning institution and a performance hall at the same time. I've been into both the Lochrainn Opera House and the Continental Theater, but even those were dwarfed by the sheer size of this place. The Theater Annex was hardly an annex. It was entirely its own.

Our steps echoed across the wide corridors of polished marble and smooth, stone walls. Light rods lined every bit of groove connecting the top plate and the arching ceiling. They cast a pure white gleam, making every display case a thousand times more flattering. Hell, even a slab of rock would look like an artifact stolen from far-away lands under them.

Ethan paused by the foyer, right in front of the information board necessary for every hall. The map of the Theater Annex blinked back at me. So...the dressing rooms were that way? Or was it this way? A whish of brown and yellow zipped from the edge of my vision.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I turned to a tall woman wearing a sophomore uniform like Andy's. A set of spectacles glinted against her face when she faced me, albeit slower than normal. Perhaps she wondered how a new slate like me had the nerve to strike a conversation with a sophomore. "Do you know who was the last person there two days ago?"

My finger tapped the spot on the glass where the first of the dressing rooms sat. The girl pushed the spectacles up her nose, striding closer to the information board. "That'd be Alyson Gardner. She was in the same lecture as me for Tragedy Studies. Has been on backstage duty for the past month. Always tardy, you see."

"Thank you," I said with a smile.

I was about to go when the girl spoke. "Are you two going there?" she asked.

My steps paused, and I whirled to her. "Is there any problem?"

"The Magistrate advised against entering yesterday," the girl said, tapping her chin. "Something about remodeling?"

Remodeling, my ass. Mr. Proleau's trying to cover up a murder. Instead of saying that, I flashed her another smile and ducked my head. "I'll be quick," I said with a hint of oath. It didn't mean I wasn't going to stay true to it. "I need to check something."

The girl shrugged. "Suit yourself."

With that, I followed the map's direction and strode towards the corridor that would lead me to the dressing rooms, Ethan at my heels. The first door crept into view—a simple block of wood uncharacteristic of the elegance the hall boasted. With a sigh, I cranked the handle, swinging the door open.

A musty and dim space greeted me. The dressing room was the size of a separate hall, but judging from the series of winding and intertwining stairs peppering the east wall, this was the backstage. I left the door ajar before striding into the space. My hands felt for a switch but found none. For all the flood of lights they have on stage, the dismal shower of corridor light was a bummer.

Ethan and I passed by crates of stage props bundled together and thrown on top of each other. Stitched dresses and embellished suits littered the floor. Ethan's boots swept a rhinestone-studded coat aside before letting me pass. The dust was thick, but something else was thicker—the smell of blood. Despite Mr. Proleau's efforts, nothing could mask the gruesome scene that happened here. The deeper we went, the more the rusty stench congealed to one point. There.

Puddles of crimson seeped deep into the wooden floorboards, leaving quite the impression. The body was gone—no doubt surrendered to the family—, leaving only a silhouette of the crimson artwork. Whatever happened, it wasn't because Horace took the Idea Vial. It was clearly murder. A blunt weapon or a melee kind, I wouldn't know. I swiveled on my ankles, facing the direction of the door. No traces of entry or exit. Blood was messy. If that much formed a pool on the floor, it would have dripped elsewhere. Would have coated the killer's shoes and left a trail upon their departure.

The room was clean. Too clean.

I followed the edge of the chalk marks made by the investigators, circling the evidence. The tip of my boots hit a small object, sending it flying with a thump. With knitted eyebrows, I watched the silver glint briefly arch before landing with a series of feather-like clinks on the floor. The sound got Ethan's attention, and he stopped examining the nearest crate. I crouched to pick the object up and held it to my face.

A circular, silver pin with the stopper missing sat between my fingers, held by the short stick. I ran my thumb on the button-like surface. Felt. Or at least, it appeared to be. I turned to Ethan and showed it to him. "Do you know what this is?"

Ethan peeked at it, stroking his chin as if he had a beard. "It must have fallen from one of the girls' uniforms," he said. "This is a dressing room after all. And with the chaos going around during rehearsals or performances, it's understandable some of those would randomly turn up."

I wrapped my hand around the pin and faced him fully. "How do you even know that?" I asked. "Did you already snag one yourself?"

His face flushed, and he stepped back, almost colliding against the crate behind him. "M-my sister loves theater," he said. "It used to be her major for her Basic Credence. She was on her way to become an actress."

A word caught my attention, prompting me to raise an eyebrow. " 'Was'?"

"She died a few years ago," Ethan replied with a shrug. "You know how it goes with common folk."

I really didn't, but it was better to pretend to be the opposite. "I'm sorry," I offered. A futile gesture, but for them, it was everything.

Ethan waved his hand in the air. "Ah, that was a long time ago," he said. "I barely remember it."

"Still..."

He clapped his hand, disturbing the cloud of dust floating between us. "Now, what are we doing in the dressing room with the ominous wine stains?" he asked. "I thought you had a girl to pursue?"

Ah, that almost slipped my mind. I shoved the pin deep into the pocket of my trousers and pushed past Ethan. "I do," I said. "I was just looking for her."

Ethan's breaths turned into excited huffs as he caught up to me. I danced away from his grip when he attempted to throw his arm around my shoulders again. "Can we get a name?" he asked. And if I didn't tell him, he was going to pester me like Horace did. This was why I never reveal my secrets nor even hint I had them. "Can we?"

I knew where I had to go next. When we passed the Theater Annex's information board again did I answer Ethan's question. "Alyson," I said, glancing at the girls passing by and ignoring us as if one of them might turn out to be our mystery girl. "Her name's Alyson Gardner."