As they rode through the streets of the magical city, Ethan was trying his best not to seem too giddy and excited about sights that should’ve been mundane to him. He only gave lazy, disinterested glances as the coach drove past a shop full of talking plants, a mechanical pet shop, and a gaggle of orc children who must have been about 8 but looked like they could bench press him without breaking a sweat; he knew Lysandra was watching him closely, her piercing purple eyes staring into his soul.

She said nothing for the first few minutes of the ride, and Ethan’s palms grew clammy. Was the real Gilbert talkative? Or was he cool and collected? Was the real Gilbert funny? Should he make a joke to diffuse the situation?

Lysandra’s eyes began to glow with a faint, barely visible light, and Ethan heard a soft chime.

"Your aura's different," she stated. "Did you try that experimental charm again? You know those aren't properly regulated yet."

"No, no experimental charms this time,” Ethan hoped his laughter sounded less awkward in real time as it did in his head. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Lysandra sighed. “Look, Gilbert- is this about the Vorsina case? You know it won’t do you any good to keep worrying about that.”

“No, it’s- I do mean it. I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep very well.”

“Well, you chose a bad time to not get enough rest. Pull yourself together, and fast - we’re here.”

The building in front of them was another imposing spire that made up the center of the city. Large letters above the door proudly proclaimed this to be THE ARCALIS MUSEUM OF MAGICAL ARTIFACTS.

Arcalis. Could it be the name of this city? Or was it a proper name, like the Smithsonian?

Ethan could not help but notice the gargoyles nestled on the building - some fierce and threatening, some smaller and quite adorable. And all of them slowly turned their heads to look at him, eyes glowing.

"Stop dawdling," Lysandra called over her shoulder as she climbed the steps. "And try not to look so nervous. You're making the gargoyles anxious."

Ethan quickened his pace, trying not to stare at the magical creatures. In his peripheral vision, he noticed one of the gargoyles slowly moving towards him, like an animal ready to pounce.

With relief, he entered the building. Inside, the museum's grand marble foyer was crowded with uniformed guards, some wearing casual outfits, some wearing leather armor and helmets. They all wore glowing badges, and Ethan noticed each badge contained a unique rune and the words Arcalis City Guard on the edge of the badge. So Arcalis was the name of the city.

The members of the guard parted respectfully as Lysandra strode through, and Ethan noticed several of them giving him appraising looks. No, not him—giving Gilbert appraising looks. He straightened his posture and tried to project confidence he didn't feel.

"Shadowveil! Moonwhisper!" A broad-shouldered woman wearing a half-plate waved them over. "Took you long enough. The scene's this way."

They followed her down a corridor lined with display cases. Each contained objects that defied physics—a flame frozen in crystal, a book whose pages turned themselves, a compass whose needle pointed to something other than north - and slowly kept turning. Under different circumstances, Ethan would have been fascinated.

“What can you tell us about the victim?” Lysandra asked.

"Victim is Dr. Marcus Vale, head curator of the Artifacts of Power wing," the woman explained as they walked. Ethan squinted at her badge - it said Sergeant Kavima Lyone, Arcalis City Guard. "Found by the morning security shift. No signs of forced entry, magical or otherwise. The artifact he was studying is missing."

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"Which artifact?" Lysandra asked.

"The Codex Impossibilis."

Lysandra stopped dead in her tracks. "That Codex? The one that—"

"Yes," the sergeant cut her off. "That's why we need you two on this. The sealed room protocols were active. Multiple redundant wards. Monitoring spells. The works. According to the magical signatures, no one entered or left that room between midnight and 6 AM when the body was found."

“An impossible murder,” Ethan whispered to himself, starry-eyed.

It’s not that he was a fan of murder. But all his fondest memories were of reading detective stories and books with his dad, before the accident. His dad was a Sherlock fan; Ethan always liked Poirot most of all. It was part of why he was studying cybersecurity; the idea of becoming a cyber detective just seemed so fun.

Whatever crazy dream or circumstance he has found himself in right now - at least it could be somewhat fun. In a strange, impossible-murder kind of way.

They reached a set of heavy doors marked with pulsing runes. Two officers stood guard, their wands drawn. Beyond them, Ethan could see a large circular room filled with floating display pedestals. In the center, sprawled across an ornate desk, was the body of an elderly man in scholarly robes.

"Gilbert?" Lysandra turned to him. "Want to take on the initial assessment?"

Ethan swallowed hard. He'd been hoping to follow Lysandra's lead, learn by watching. But of course the real Gilbert would know exactly what to do. "Right. Yes. Of course."

He approached the body, trying to remember everything he'd learned from true crime shows and that one forensics class he'd taken as an elective. Look for signs of struggle. Check for wounds. Note the position of the—

The ring on his right hand suddenly grew warm. Without warning, his vision shifted.

The room became awash in layers of colored light—wards and magical traces overlapping like aurora borealis. Around the dead curator's body, a dark void pulsed ominously.

"Interesting magical signature," he heard himself say, the words coming from somewhere deep in Gilbert's muscle memory. "The death curse was..."

He stopped, realizing he had no idea what he was looking at or saying. But Lysandra was already beside him, her own hands weaving patterns in the air.

"You're right," she said. "That's not a standard death curse pattern. More like... Wait." She frowned. "What are those?"

Ethan followed her gaze and saw what looked like tiny sparks of blue light scattered around the desk. They reminded him of something... The way they clustered and moved...

"They look like electrical discharge patterns," he said without thinking.

Lysandra turned to stare at him. "What?"

"You know, like... static electricity?" Ethan backpedaled, realizing he might have said too much. Would Gilbert know about electricity? Did magical detectives study physics? Was electricity even common in this world, or was everything powered by…. pure magic and arcane batteries? Steam, maybe?

"Since when are you interested in mundane electricity?" Lysandra's violet eyes narrowed. "And why would there be an electrical discharge in a magically sealed room?"

Before Ethan could respond, there was a commotion at the door. A tall figure in elaborate robes swept in, with the air of someone who owned the place. He was bald, but his beard was long and pitch black.

“Head Curator Scoveri,” the sergeant gave him a cold nod of acknowledgement. Head Curator Scoveri walked right past her.

"Well?" he demanded, looking directly at Ethan - or rather, at Gilbert. "How did someone breach my security and steal the most dangerous book in Arcalis?"

Ethan looked at the scattered blue sparks, the complex magical wards still visible in his enhanced vision, and the dark void around the curator's body. There was something about the crime scene that tugged at the parts of his brain that kept referencing his knowledge of technology. The problem was, it seemed Gilbert Shadowveil was as technologically illiterate as they come.

The ring on his finger pulsed again, almost encouragingly. Maybe it knew something he didn't.

"Head Curator Scoveri," he said, surprising himself with how steady Gilbert's voice could sound, "I believe your security wasn't breached at all. At least... not in the way you're thinking."

Lysandra raised an eyebrow at him, but he could see curiosity replacing suspicion in her expression. Whatever was going on with her partner, at least he seemed to be onto something.

If only Ethan had any idea what that something was.

----------------------------------------

Somewhere far, far away, bright and unfeeling hospital lights shined directly into Ethan’s eyes.

Or Ethan’s body, anyway. The current occupant was anyone but.

Gilbert Shadowveil tentatively lifted up his arm, examining the IV that he was hooked up to.

He lived. Damnit, he lived.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the one person who was way too far to possibly hear. “Good luck out there.”