Flight

For the first time in my ten years as a detective, I was at a complete and utter loss. A girl had been murdered; no one knew her name or face. The murderer had escaped; he had not left a trace. There was no trail to follow. I knew three things, and only three. 

One, the girl had been killed by a knife to her heart, a difficult and impractical way to kill someone. That meant that the killer knew what he was doing. She would have died quickly, though, meaning the murderer was not the cruel, sadistic kinds that the people in the little paper cities see on television programs.

Two, the killer said that he had left the body on Butcher Street, a seemingly apt place to commit a murder. There was not much additionally to be read from this, except the possibility that the murderer had a somewhat twisted sense of humor.

And three, the body was not there.

This meant one of several things itself. One, he had lied. Two, the body had been moved, either by him or by someone else. Or three, the girl had never been dead to begin with. Provided he really had found her heart, she could not possibly be alive. And if he hadn’t, then why would he have said he had? Thus, I was able to almost entirely dismiss the third option. But the first two remained stubbornly possible. 

Someone knocked on the door. I flipped my case notebook shut with a start. “Enter,” I said coolly.

The door opened and my assistant, Arath Evony, entered the room. “I got you the security camera footage you asked for,” they said.

“The what?” I asked.

“The camera footage,” they repeated. “Of the murderer.”

“Oh. Right,” I had been so distracted by the case that I had forgotten about asking Arath to fetch the footage.

“By the way,” Arath continued. “I met a strange girl earlier today.”

“Oh?”

“She was wearing a black cloak. I couldn’t see her face. She looked to be unconscious, but then she got up. I asked if she was okay. She said she would be. Then she spat a mouthful of blood on the ground. It was black.”

“Her blood?”

“Yes. Should I take it to be analyzed?”

I was about to say no, but then a detail of the story caught my attention. “What did you say she looked like?” I asked.

“Not sure. She was faceless. Wore a black cloak with a tear above her heart.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“No, I was disguised. Why?” Arath, like all citizens of Mordium, was born with a magical Talent. Theirs was Persona, or the ability to take on a limited number of forms different from their natural one.

My mind was racing and trying to sort through all the details at once. “Where’d you find her?”

“Butcher Street.”

“And where’d she go after that?”

“North. I tried to follow her, but she seemed aware of me.”

“North,” I whispered softly. “Arath, bring me a map of the city.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Arath hurried out of the room towards the archives.

“Chill, Flight,” I whispered to myself. “I’m sure it's just a coincidence.”

Spoiler: it wasn’t a coincidence.

“Here you go, Ma’am,” Arath said a minute later, presenting me with a full map of Mordium. I quickly located Butcher Street and traced northwards before my finger landed definitely on the destination.

“Pack your things, Arath,” I said. “We’re doing some field work.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Heart’s Den Casino.”