I have always believed that Fontaine rests upon two pillars: justice… and the appearance of justice.

When one of them falters, the other falls with it.

That is why I was not surprised when the Supreme Judge of Justice, Neuvillette, summoned me to his office in the middle of the night. What did surprise me was the presence of a sealed envelope on his desk. Sealed with blue wax and the emblem of the Tribunal.

“Clorinde, I need you to accept this mission outside of protocol,”
he said, without preamble.

I didn’t ask questions. I never do. I took the envelope with steady hands, though my gaze never left his face. There was tension in his jaw—the same tension he shows when a verdict threatens to collapse under its own weight.

I broke the seal and read.

A single word among the sea of documents made my breath catch for an instant.

Navia.

President of the Spina di Rosula. Daughter of the late Callas. A friendly face in social circles, yet also known for her sharp tongue and a web of contacts that allows her to move through the shadows better than most would care to admit.

“Are you accusing her?”
I finally asked.

“Not yet. But someone attempted to assassinate the Minister of Commerce two nights ago. And part of the ammunition found at the scene came from a diverted shipment… one that was under the protection of the Spina.”

I closed the envelope. It took me less than a second to make a decision.

“Do you want me to protect her, or to watch her?”

Neuvillette held my gaze.

“Both.”

…

I found her two days later, at the docks, just as the morning fog was beginning to lift. Her silhouette stood out against the glow of the gas lamps, her characteristic white coat fluttering in the wind. She was talking with a group of workers, smiling as if half of Fontaine weren’t whispering her name under their breath.

I approached. She didn’t look at me until I was only a few steps away.

“Clorinde.”

Her voice carried a note of surprise—I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not.

“How unexpected. Are you here to give me a warning, or an accusation?”

She asked, and I didn’t hesitate to reply.

“Neither. I’m here to ask you a question.”

“Only one? How disappointing.”

Her smile twisted into that elegant sarcasm I hate for how effortlessly she wears it. Then I asked:

“Where were you on the night of the attack on the Minister?”

Silence.

The workers slowly drifted away, understanding that this was no longer a conversation for common ears.

“Do you really think I’d have anything to do with that?”

Navia crossed her arms and turned her gaze toward the water.

“I’m not paid to believe. I’m paid to find the truth,”
I replied, blunt and direct.

“And if the truth forces you to see me as something more than an obstacle… will you be able to accept it?”

Navia said, meeting my eyes. The way she said it… it wasn’t just a challenge. It was a warning.

We stood in silence for a long while. The kind of silence only weapons know before someone decides to pull the trigger.

She isn’t guilty. That’s what my instinct told me. But I’ve learned not to trust my instincts. All of Fontaine would crumble if its protectors allowed themselves to be guided by emotion.

“I’ll be watching you closely, Navia. Closer than you’d like,”
I said coldly. She smiled.

“You know, you could’ve started by inviting me for a coffee.”

She said it as I turned away—not because I wanted to leave, but because if I stayed one second longer, perhaps… I would have allowed myself to smile.

And that, for someone like me, would be the beginning of a very dangerous mistake.