Chapter 107: Chapter One Hundred Six

The moment Isolde hit the floor, everything in the room shifted. Riven’s head snapped toward Lucien and Kael. He caught it - the flicker of shock, the genuine confusion, the way both men stiffened like they’d been struck. Not guilt, Not performance, Real surprise.

Riven’s eyes narrowed.

Riven (thinking): They didn’t do this.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the realization settled into his bones. Whatever else Lucien and Kael were guilty of tonight… Isolde wasn’t part of their script.

Lucien and Kael had drifted toward a quieter corner of the hall, whispering urgently.

Kael leaned in, voice low and sharp.

Kael: “This wasn’t what we were paid to do.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

Lucien: “No. Darian was the job. Not this.”

Kael’s eyes darted around the room, scanning faces.

Kael: “So who the hell added a second kill?”

Lucien followed his gaze, expression calculating.

Lucien: “We don’t even know who hired us. Could be anyone here.”

Kael swallowed.

Kael: “Then we need to figure out who benefits from Isolde being gone.”

Lucien nodded slowly.

Lucien: “Start looking.”

They scanned the room like wolves scenting danger. Kneeling beside Isolde, face twisted in shock and grief, Kael frowned, “He looks devastated.” Lucien responds,” Or he is a very good actor.”

Standing too still.

Eyes too bright.

Expression too composed.

Lucien’s gaze lingered.

Lucien: “She’s not reacting enough.”

Kael: “Or she’s in shock.”

Lucien: “No. That’s calculation.”

Hovering near the back of the crowd, watching the chaos with a little too much interest.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

Kael: “He’s enjoying this.”

Lucien: “He always enjoys chaos.”

Kael: “Exactly.”

Squealing, gossiping, stirring the pot like it was their life’s calling.

Kael snorted.

Kael: “It’s not them.”

Lucien agreed.

Lucien: “They’d brag.”

From across the room, Riven observed the two men whispering, their eyes scanning the hall with growing suspicion.

He saw the tension in their shoulders.

The confusion.

The fear.

And he knew.

Riven (thinking): They’re hunting the killer too.

He stepped closer, listening just enough to catch the tone — not the words.

Lucien’s voice was low, controlled.

Kael’s was tight, anxious.

Neither sounded like a man who had planned a second murder.

Riven exhaled slowly.

Riven: “So someone else is playing this game.”

The hall buzzed with panic and speculation.

Avery’s cards trembled in her hands.

Guests whispered theories.

Elena was practically vibrating with excitement.

Molly was already planning dramatic reenactments.

But in the corner…

Lucien and Kael were doing their own investigation.

Kael: “We need to figure out who hired us. And fast.”

Lucien: “Agreed. Because whoever it was… they’re not done.”

Kael shivered.

Kael: “And they’re in this room.”

Lucien’s eyes darkened.

Lucien: “Then let’s find them before Riven does.”

Riven stood over the mirrored alcove, the chaos of the hall buzzing behind him like a hive. He crouched, scanning the shadows for the planted weapon, but his mind flicked—just for a heartbeat—out of character.

Riven (thinking):

Molly really wanted to go all out… and Mother definitely put her flair on the script.

He exhaled through his nose, slipping seamlessly back into his detective persona before anyone could notice the break.

Anyone except Lucien.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He caught the shift, the flicker of real thought behind Riven’s mask. And he filed it away. When Riven came over, he planned to talk to him—quietly, carefully. Because something about this second “death” wasn’t scripted, and Lucien knew it.

While the hall erupted in panic and speculation, Avery and Molly had slipped away—ushered by staff into a small, quiet salon lit by soft lamps and cushioned chairs. The door shut behind them, muffling the noise of the game.

Avery paced, her hands trembling around her tarot deck.

Avery: “Molly, listen to me. That wasn’t part of the game. I saw something. A real vision. Not a role, not a card trick—something real.”

Molly sat on the edge of a chaise, arms folded, jaw tight with worry she tried to hide behind a stubborn smile.

Molly: “Avery, sweetheart, you’re exhausted. You’ve been running on nerves and adrenaline for days. This is supposed to help you relax.”

Avery shook her head, eyes bright with fear.

Avery: “I know the difference. This wasn’t the game. Something is wrong. We need to pause everything and check—”

Molly: “No.”

The word was gentle, but firm.

Avery froze.

Molly: “You need a break. You need to breathe. You’ve been carrying the weight of the academy, the prophecy, the politics, the visions—everything. This weekend is supposed to give you space. If we stop the game now, you’ll spiral.”

Avery’s throat tightened.

Avery: “But what if it’s important?”

Molly stood and took her hands.

Molly: “If the vision is real, it’ll still be there when the game ends. And if it keeps coming back, we’ll call a meeting with every head of state. I promise you that.”

Avery swallowed hard.

Avery: “You promise?”

Molly: “On my life. But right now? You need to sit. Breathe. Let the game play out. Let yourself be a girl at a party for once.”

Avery sank into the chair, trembling.

Molly brushed a hand over her hair.

Molly: “You’re safe. Nothing can touch you here.”

Avery nodded, though her eyes were still distant—still seeing something beyond the walls of the salon.

Riven straightened from the alcove just as Lucien and Kael finished whispering their frantic theories. He turned toward them, ready to question them again.

Lucien inhaled, preparing to speak.

Because now, more than ever, he needed Riven to know:

They weren’t the ones who killed Isolde.

And somewhere in the quiet salon, Avery’s vision pulsed again—soft, insistent, refusing to be ignored.