The library was quiet, almost oppressively so. Rows of law books towered like silent sentinels, their leather spines reflecting the dim light of the overhead lamps. The air smelled faintly of dust, old paper, and something metallic beneath it. My footsteps echoed softly as I moved past shelves, pulling the crime file closer.
Julian had sent a brief message earlier: a court hearing had dragged on unexpectedly, and he wouldn't be able to accompany me today. I shrugged off the twinge of disappointment; his absence was part of the rhythm of his work. Some things—law, duty—always came first.
Keir trailed behind, notebook in hand, brow furrowed as he studied the shelves. "You know," he said quietly, "I never thought a library could feel so… hostile."
I didn't look up. "Hostile isn't the right word. It's observant. Everything here is catalogued, documented. People think books are safe. That's where they hide their secrets."
He smiled faintly. "So, you're saying the books are as dangerous as people?"
"Sometimes more." I kept scanning for anything out of place. The murder method had left traces most people couldn't see—tiny soot particles, minuscule chemical residues, subtle burn marks. Evidence hiding in plain sight.
Keir crouched beside a shelf. "Check this." He pointed to a small smudge near the edge of a reading table, almost invisible unless you knew what to look for.
I knelt, brushing it with a swab. "Ignivora," I murmured. "This isn't random. Whoever's doing this is leaving just enough signature for someone trained to notice."
He leaned closer than necessary, and my skin registered it more than I expected. "Careful," I whispered, "the closer you get, the more likely you'll catch fire from the sparks of truth."
Keir chuckled softly. "Maybe I like a little heat, Analyst. Makes the chase… more interesting."
The tension between us was subtle but tangible, like static before a storm. I tried to focus, channel it into the investigation, but I noticed the way his eyes lingered, the faint smirk when he realized he'd startled me by leaning in too close.
"See that?" I said, gesturing at a ledger partially hidden under a stack of books. "The victim's last entries—notes on property disputes, dates, names. Whoever has the Ignivora is meticulous, predicting every step."
He crouched beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. "You know, if I were a villain, I'd want someone like you following me. It'd make the chase… far more thrilling."
I felt a small thrum of heat under my skin but forced myself to ignore it. "You'd be disappointed," I replied evenly. "Nothing escapes me."
Keir grinned. "Maybe that's why I like being around you. You make me feel like part of the puzzle I can't solve."
A subtle hiss echoed from the ventilation shaft. I froze, heart kicking. The faint smoke scent was unmistakable. Keir noticed too, eyes narrowing. "Not again," he muttered.
I traced my gloved hand along the vent edge. Tiny flecks of black soot clung there, confirming my suspicion. "This killer wants us to see their work," I said. "They're daring us to follow."
Keir's eyes met mine, sharp and intense. "Then let's accept the dare."
We moved methodically, scanning each row, noting every anomaly. Each step uncovered fragments of the same story: traces of Ignivora, strategically placed soot, patterns meant to intimidate. Whoever this was, they weren't just killing—they were orchestrating.
For a brief moment, as we crouched side by side over the ledger, I felt the strange beat of my pulse, unnervingly fast. Not fear. Not surprise. Something else. Something… unquantifiable.
The sound of the library door creaking snapped me out of the moment. Julian's name flashed briefly on my phone, a reminder of his absence: court deadlines, filings, and hearings—his work never stopped. I ignored it. Keir's presence grounded me more than Julian's could. I handed him the swab with residue. "We've got evidence. Now it's just connecting the dots."
He nodded, tucking it carefully into his notebook. "And maybe… keeping me close while we do it?"
I looked up sharply, but he only grinned, expression teasing and unrepentant. I returned to the ledger, heart still racing, reminding myself: the case came first. Sparks of distraction could wait.
Outside, the night pressed against the library windows, indifferent to our small tension inside. But in that quiet, dusty room, a storm of purpose—and something else—was quietly building.