Isaac and Bell stood their ground as Henry Spinelli’s personal squad - minus its leader, who was still in prison, awaiting trial - fanned out around them. In the center, directly across from Isaac, stood the man who must’ve been Henry’s deputy. He was short and stout, a scar running down his cheek, with a wild mane of hair down to his shoulders. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, and Isaac recalled Henry once mentioning he had a |Bloodhound| with him.

“Knew I smelled something awful here,” the man said, the bars on his collar identifying him as a First Lieutenant. He nodded in satisfaction as a second squad arrived. “Put that fire out.”

The members of the second squad found the nearest fire hydrant and turned its valve until a geyser of water erupted into the air. None went to waste; the squad immediately sent Rddhi into the water, bringing it under their control, and redirected it towards the burning building. At the moment, only the top floor was on fire, but given how Isaac felt the intense heat behind him, the flames could easily spread to the rest of the building. However, quick action by the second squad prevented the first floor from being caught in the blaze as well. As for the embers smoldering around the building, the |Bloodhound| crushed one beneath his black boots.

As the fire receded, the lieutenant made hand signals towards two members of his own squad. Isaac wearily watched them, but outside of smirks and glares, they made no hostile actions as they approached, brushing by the two naval cadets and stepping inside the building to investigate.

“I know you,” the lieutenant said. “The Spallacio boy. You were there when Spinelli delivered justice to Firmino.”

“You mean assassinated him?” Isaac boldly answered. He didn’t catch the look on Firmino’s face when he shielded him from the incoming bullets; Isaac often wished he could’ve.

The lieutenant whistled. “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter, ain’t that right? And the saying cuts both ways. What’s a pair of Cultivator Marine cadets doing at a Naval Police building this time of night, anyway?”

“We heard a scream cut short,” Bell explained calmly. He had the usual pleasant look on his face. “And we went to investigate.”

“Is that so? And what caused the explosion?”

“A suicide bomber,” Isaac answered.

The lieutenant twirled a strand of long hair between his fingers. “Was the destruction of the body total?”

Crimson rivers still stained the shield of ice Bell conjured around them. Isaac still felt the heat of the explosion on his neck. “He didn’t blow himself up with explosives. He used multiple charms.”

“How convenient.”

A bundle of grenades would do a great deal of damage, but the charms ensured the body was completely disintegrated. The man didn’t want to leave any evidence of his own identity behind.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for his motives. The two Naval Police officers returned a moment later, one with a rueful grin on her face as she held a bloodied pamphlet in her hands. “Lieutenant Kelly, the attacker hanged the night watchman,” she explained. “He left pro-Atalantan, anti-Arcadian propaganda on the walls, and this pamphlet on the hanged body.”

“Not anti-Arcadian,” Bell clarified. “Anti-Knights.”

The woman, tall and angular, with brown hair spilling out of her naval cap, spread her arms wide. “Ain’t the Knights and Arcadia the same thing? We both want what’s best for the Arcadian people. Why should the fat cats downtown give money to the Atalantans and the Elysians and all these other people when Arcadian farms are failing up north? Why ain’t we getting subsidies, huh?”

“We,” Kelly said simply. “Sergeant Webb, I suggest you keep your political opinions to yourself.”

His tone was firm and sharp, but not unsympathetic. The lanky Webb handed over the pamphlet and crossed her arms. The fire on the roof of the building was smoldering by the point Kelly finished reading the pages of the pamphlet. “The Atalantan Restorationist Front,” he summarized. “Striking back against the Naval Police and other military organizations that have allowed members of the Knights into its ranks and shielded them from the law. During the nationalization, military forces looted and then destroyed Four Eagles, other neighborhoods as well, with the very worst offenders being members of the Knights of Greater Arcadia.”

When he concluded, Kelly smirked and closed the pamphlet. “How quaint. General Stockham has just organized an Atalantan regiment, and now Atalantan sympathizers are conducting terrorist attacks on the Naval Police? And two Cultivator Marine cadets just happen to be here right as it occurs?”

Had this been Henry, Isaac would’ve expected a physical confrontation and a threat to imprison him in the brig. But the squad was without its true leader, and now that the obvious was out of the way - put out the fire, investigate the building - Kelly tapped a finger on the pamphlet, unsure of what to do next.

He needs somebody to point him in a certain direction, Isaac supposed. I bet that’s when he’s at his most dangerous.

But Kelly’s delay cost him. A Cultivator Marine platoon arrived, with Osip at its head. Henry and Osip were equals in terms of raw physicality, muscle, and height, but Osip stood at least a head taller and a foot wider than Kelly. Osip didn’t even need to say anything; Kelly stared at him, then frowned. He raised a hand and circled it - no point in fighting over the (already infamous) Isaac Spallacio and Bell, time for him to withdraw.

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“See what else you can find there,” he ordered Webb. She gave a crisp salute, side-eyed Isaac, and headed back inside with a few other officers. As Kelly marched off with the rest of his squadron, he muttered, “And where the hell is that Coleridge boy? If his father wasn’t so high up, I’d give that boy a good kick in the pants myself.”

Isaac frowned at the sight of Kelly’s retreating back. Another reason to get stronger. I can’t just rely on Osip and the others bailing me out in confrontations like these.

But that would be a later question. Right now, Osip brought Isaac and Bell to the administrative keep at the back of the base, where Leyton was already waiting in the lobby. He had dark bags under his eyes - Chief of Naval Intelligence couldn’t have been the easiest job. After Isaac and Bell explained what had happened, Leyton made a quick decision - he called the night shift secretary at the rail depot, then led the men through the keep.

For the second time in just a few days, Isaac was heading down that freight elevator, into the subterranean tunnel, carried by a handcar piloted by two Bureau guards down the tracks, and then arriving at the rail depot. If he hadn’t been a cultivator, Isaac would’ve been exhausted by this point - dawn couldn’t have been that far off.

They arrived at a longhouse that served as a barracks. Behind it, cranes rose atop buildings covered in scaffolding that would serve as housing once completed. But for right now, the Atalantans and other urban laborers would live in barracks not unlike the ones in the refugee camps. But, Isaac realized when he stepped inside, these ones were heated thanks to the cultivation energy of Factory #1, which chugged along and sent Rddhi through a maze of lead-lined pipes to the barracks and its heaters.

But they were only there for a moment, just to collect the community leaders - Lysandros and the man Spiridon. While Lysandros was still struggling to wake up, Spiridon had already donned his military dress uniform, the shoulder marks indicating him as Major within the 1st Atalantan Cultivator Marine Regiment. He walked crisply alongside Osip while Lysandros yawned, trying to shake the rust out. When they arrived at an administrative building and took up seats in an office, Lysandros had fully awoken, his eyes widening as Isaac and Bell relayed what happened.

“Based on your description of the man,” Lysandros realized, glancing at his friend. “This is Grigoris, no? We should have someone confirm if he’s in the barracks at the moment.”

Osip rose and made the order to one of the guards standing outside, who immediately saluted and rushed off.

Isaac didn’t recognize the name, so Spiridon elaborated. “He was a friend of ours from Four Eagles. A quiet man, but perhaps the most extreme member of the revolutionary faction within our community. He lost several siblings when Four Eagles was destroyed, you see. He didn’t very much like the idea of joining up with the Arcadian military, but he needed the money. I didn't like the idea much either, but as Lysandros convinced me, we must ally ourselves with someone powerful if we are to survive.” He clenched a fist, his shoulder bars shiny. “And I intend to make that alliance as solid as iron.”

“You led the revolutionary faction, right?” Leyton asked. It wasn’t an accusation, for he said it in an academic tone, but Spiridon bristled nonetheless.

“Back in the refugee camp, I did. But things are different now. I know some members are still upset about us joining the navy, but I do my utmost to keep a lid on things.” His eyes narrowed. “I fought in the Atalantan Civil War. I know what happens when brother turns against brother. I won’t let the same bloodshed break out here, or at least, I won’t be the flashpoint.”

He wrapped his knuckles on the table. “I’ve made no such orders to strike out against the Knights or Naval Police. Grigoris either did this on his own, or he was forced.”

“Forced?” Leyton repeated.

Spiridon shrugged. “Blackmail, perhaps.”

“His pupils turned completely dark before he died,” Isaac recalled. “Almost as if…something was taking over. Know what I mean?”

Isaac feared he was pulling at straws, but Bell picked up his train of thought. “Could somebody have placed him under a Mind Control Art? A Puppeteer Art?”

“There’s a distance limitation for those kinds of Arts,” Osip added in a gruff voice. “Somebody else would’ve needed to have been in that building, or at least somewhere close by.”

“I have Intelligence men scouring the area as of now,” Leyton said. “But even if we don’t find anything, we shouldn’t leave a stone unturned.”

Not leaving stones unturned is probably why he looks so exhausted.

The guard from earlier returned with a crisp salute. “We’ve confirmed that Grigoris is missing from the barracks.”

Lysandros and Spiridon shared a sad glance - Grigoris was one of their friends, after all.

Leyton adjusted his tie. “I’ll have my men keep searching for any other cultivators in the immediate area around that Naval Police building. As for blackmail, do we know of any oddities or reasons he could’ve been blackmailed?”

“He was a quiet guy.” Lysandros tented his fingers, trying to think of anything valuable. “He has one surviving family member, an older sister. She and her husband didn’t live in our refugee camp - they found work at the West River Tank Factory.”

“Another Army controlled facility,” Leyton recalled. “I’ll have my men find her as well.”

The guard re-entered the room once more, bearing bad news. “Sirs, we’ve just received reports that several other terrorist attacks have struck Atalanta. Multiple cases of arson, at least five dead. The attackers in all cases have left pamphlets behind, with the Atalantan Restorationist Front claiming responsibility. One of the locations was a bank known to hold accounts for Naval Police officers.”

Lysandros wiped his face while Spiridon slammed a fist on the table. “I want a roll call of the Atalantan Regiment, right now!”

“Agreed,” Leyton said. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s see who’s missing, and Intelligence will keep up their search.” As the men at the table rose, Leyton made eye contact with Isaac. “I heard Coleridge is taking you and Reed out for lunch tomorrow in the city. Keep your head on a swivel.”

Isaac nodded and joined the rush out of the building. As Leyton, Osip, Lysandros, and Spiridon all moved out with their marching orders, Isaac and Bell returned back to the train tunnel. As they walked across the rail depot, the first lights of dawn now stretched across the sky, streaks of white light clashing against the black.

When everybody else was out of earshot, before they reached the elevator to take them below ground, Isaac coughed and collected himself. “Sorry if I was acting distant earlier. I guess I got some trust issues. Maybe we all do, but me most of all.”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” Bell admitted. “That you killed Barbara Morang with your own hands. That’s not an easy thing to live with. I understand your hesitation.”

Isaac looked at his shoes. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. But I don’t got a reason to hesitate anymore. Let’s go find out what the hell’s going on in this country.”

After a moment, Bell tilted his head and smiled. “Agreed.”