Crestana was making tea for the meantime. Separated by a few walls, the girl seemed to come back to her senses. Alis had pulled up two chairs, placing them opposite each other in the centre of the room, uneasy about taking Evalyn’s place at her desk, especially in front of a potential client.

The girl, who’d timidly introduced herself as Moira, sat across from him, cradling her own arms as she scratched them as though something belonged in between them.

Alis didn’t have anything to offer besides a cushion on Iris’s desk, so he gave her that.

She clung onto it, oily hair falling over her shoulders. It wasn’t matted, nor was it particularly dirty. Not too dissimilar to those whom bathing regularly was a luxury. She wasn’t matted like a stray dog, but he guessed she had gone at least a week or two without.

The kettle finished boiling, and Alis heard Crestana take it off the stove.

“You understand me, right?” Alis muttered. Moira nodded sheepishly, the oversized flannel shirt shuffling with the slightest movement.

“All right. That Beak’s name is Crestana. She won’t hurt you, all right? She’s actually nicer than me.”

“But—”

“No buts. You keep getting scared and we won’t be able to have our conversation at all.”

Moira pursed her lips together, sinking back into her chair.

Alis had little experience dealing with children. Beyond telling them to scram when they asked for free food, he found it hard to deal with them.

Not for any fault of their own. Children were supposed to be entertained, every interaction catering to them and their needs. Alis—well aware of his ineptitude when it came to dealing with people—found it too high a hurdle to clear.

The baggy pants that hid Moira’s feet reminded him of Iris. She had somewhat grown into her clothes since, her stubborn refusal to wear anything else besides uniform giving him a comical then-and-now comparison. Moira, although the clothes different, the skin tanned from sun and hair jet black, gave off the impression of a similar life story.

Even if the girl in front of him didn’t share his friend’s thousand-yard stare, he pondered how an interaction between the two would go.

Fascinating, but utterly boring at the same time.

Crestana entered the room again, and Moira sank into her chair, shoulders tensing, Alis’s eyes the only thing anchoring her to the chair. Crestana looked conflicted, shutters drooping over her eyes as she set the mugs down on Iris’s desk and shifted it closer to them.

Moira’s eyes were now squarely in her pillow as she held it close to her face. Alis looked around, the atmosphere growing awkward each second the silence continued.

“Who are we looking for?” Alis asked, finally starting the conversation.

“My…self,” Moira said, rather carefully.

“Your…yourself?”

Moira shook her head. “I don’t remember much. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know where my home is.”

“So, you’re lost?”

A pause, the answer’s timing off beat by a few seconds. Moira nodded, as though choosing her actions very carefully.

“Then you’re better off asking the police—”

“No!” the girl cried, jumping out of her seat. “Please.”

“Why not?” Alis asked, “they can help you far better than we can.”

“They’ll put me in jail,” Moira said, desperation leaking from her eyes into her voice. “They’ll put my brother in jail.”

“You’re a criminal?” Alis asked next.

“She might’ve entered the country illegaly,” Crestana said, directing her words to Alis and Alis alone. “No passports.”

Alis looked back to Moira, who nodded her head into the cushion, finally finding the Spirit in the room to be a helpful convenience.

Alis narrowed his eyes but obliged.

“All right, but we still don’t run this agency. It’s no use asking us until the detective came back.

“Please!” came another outcry. “I want to go home. I don’t know what to do.”

Alis squeezed the bridge of her nose as Crestana watched him, just as confused.

The door opened, and the three snapped their attention to the hallway as a pair of light footsteps travelled down the hall.

“Is that the detective?” Moira asked.

“No, shouldn’t be,” Alis said, standing up in time for a head to poke around the corner.

“It’s a party in here,” another jet-black haired individual said, military overgarments slung over one shoulder.

“Mr Maxwell,” Alis said to his second landlord.

“Who’s this?” Elliot asked, pointing at Moira.

“She showed up at our door a few minutes ago,” Crestana started. “It sounds like…she has amnesia?”

“Amnesia? Did she hit her head?” he asked, getting closer. Moira dug herself into her pillow, but the fear was nowhere near as visceral as it was when she faced Crestana for the first time.

Elliot kneeled, smiling to calm her nerves. “Can I see you hand?”

Moira tentatively stuck her left hand towards him, and he took it in his own.

“She’s malnourished. It isn’t recent either, her growth’s quite stunted. Anything else unusual?”

“She’s terrified of me,” Crestana said, the disappointment coming across in her voice.

“She might’ve been a slave, or at least was on the market to be one,” Elliot said, deducing it like clockwork.

“Slave?” Crestana muttered, voice box betraying the shock. Elliot only nodded in response.

“I’d be scared of Spirits too if I were held captive by them.”

Moira’s wary eyes scanned Elliot, but nonetheless his treatment seemed to finally calm her down. He smiled at her, friendly façade never faltering despite the dire condition.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I’m guessing she has no papers either.”

Alis shook his head. “Crestana thinks she doesn’t want to go to the police in case they’ll deport her.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows, patting the girl on the head. “It’s possible, but what she needs right now is a doctor.”

“No!” Moira shouted again. The outbursts were getting incessant. She clung to the cushion, eyes pleading with Alis more than anyone. With nobody wanting to struggle with a child, the four were left in a stalemate situation.

Alis sighed. If it meant getting her to the hospital…

“I will personally take your case if you do what this man tells you to.”

The crowd was hushed; Crestana’s shutters were angled in surprise, and Elliot’s brow was mirroring them. They looked to him, then back to Moira. She of all people seemed most shocked of all.

Alis wasn’t one to unfurrow his brow easily, or without reason. Knitted eyebrows almost seemed to be his most natural state, too intense to simply call it an unfriendly resting face.

It was a quirk, but one Crestana had learned to ignore. Even so, watching him brood beside her in the Great Library’s lobby—amber glow casting harsh shadows across his face—was enough to make his expression feel almost contagious.

The shutters were squeaking, and she fought to keep them at a neutral position.

She tapped her feet, filling in for the lack of words she felt slowly killing her.

“What do you think will happen?” she asked for the sake of conversation.

“I don’t know,” Alis answered, letting her words drown in the ensuing silence.

Crestana swung her feet, watching as the books around her constantly shifted positions, reordering themselves like ants crawling across a wall.

“Why don’t you want to help her?” Crestana asked, hoping he’d give her a different answer. “We have nothing to lose. You’re not busy.”

She turned to him, rolling her head along the back of their leather couch. “It’s not against your code of ethics to help a little girl, right?”

Crestana wanted him to shift, move in his seat out of discomfort, as though there was something going through his mind as he sat there, vexed. But he was as still as a statue, forgetting to even acknowledge that she had ever spoken.

She shrugged internally, turning back.

“Why do you want to help her?” his voice finally replied, and Crestana closed her shutters, finally letting her shoulders sink into the couch.

“Why not?” she said. “There’s a child who needs help. I’m sure it’s innate, but I find it hard to ignore someone like that who’s sought us out for help.”

“So you’d do the same for anyone else provided they knocked on that door?”

“Probably not.”

She was being honest with herself. Something about the girl drew her into caring: denying that would just be no different from lying. She could pity Moira more than anyone who’d brought their problems to Evalyn over the phone.

It was a privilege she could afford, and one that both Mrs Hardridge and Iris desperately wanted her to keep.

“I’d be more reluctant to help settle a domestic squabble than help a poor girl find out where she came from.”

“And if she was a slave, like Elliot said?”

“Then we find out how she got here. That’s not so bad. And who knows? Maybe there are people looking for her.”

Crestana glanced over at Alis, who hadn’t looked up from his original position. Stoic as ever, his train of thought continued bulldozing through the silence.

“You need a win, Alis,” she started, self-aware the words came from experience. “Three years with the U.L.E.F. and barely anything came of it. This might be good for you, you know? Even if it doesn’t topple Vesmos tomorrow, it might just put you back on the right track.”

Alis the boulder finally shifted, leaning back into the chair as his eyebrows unfurled just the slightest bit.

“We both need a win,” she sighed, just as Elliot cleared a line of bookshelves and entered the lobby. The two sat up, eager for the news. Elliot’s face as he sat down was solemn.

“She’ll be all right,” he said. “But she isn’t healthy.”

“Any diseases?” Crestana said.

“A long list,” Elliot sighed. “All related to her malnourishment. We can get away with not taking her to a better hospital provided she eats, but it seems like she’s gone without for a long time.”

“Can she get better?” Alis asked, and Elliot bobbed his head left to right.

“Sure, but that depends on what happens next. Legally, I doubt she exists outside of some godforsaken asshole’s receipt book. Unless you find this girl any next of kin, she’s going to end up in an orphanage.”

Crestana felt herself sink into the couch further. She could tell why Elliot looked so troubled: judging by the state she was in, a fresh start in an orphanage might just be the best thing for her.

To even go along with her request might be doing more harm than good.

“I still think she deserves answers,” she said, the words almost sounding involuntary coming out of her voice box. “I can imagine her being haunted for the rest of her life. You know, a bit like how Iris is.”

The three fell silent one last time, the indecisive air finally broken by the person she least expected.

“I’ll take the case,” Alis said, and Crestana felt the weight lift off her shoulders.

“We’ll get started—”

“Woah, who said we?” Elliot interrupted, flicking his eyes back and forth between the two. Crestana looked over his expression, thoroughly stumped by what he was referring to.

“We…Alis and I.”

“You have an aunt and a school term to get through.”

“But this is more important!”

“Yeah, yeah, tell that to your aunt. She’s letting you stay out late already, don’t give her more reasons to panic. You’re staying here.”

“I’ll be fine, Crestana.”

“I’m sorry Alis, but this isn’t about you.”

She turned back to Elliot, but he simply pursed his lips and shook his head. “Alis has years under his belt, and he can take time off too. You’re not in a position to do that yet.”

Crestana pleaded with her shutters for a second longer, but quickly conceded the effort. Elliot came across as the more frivolous parent, but according to Iris he could be even stricter than Evalyn at times. People who had seen war thought differently.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”

He’d ironed out more specifics with Alis as they left the great library, splitting ways at the exit to head for different tram lines. They arrived at their stop just as the sun was setting, and the lanterns in the sky were beginning sparkle, one by one.

They had filled the time by talking about school, Elliot recounting a life in the middle of the woods that felt almost alien to Crestana. The small talk only lasted so long, and Elliot finally entertained her misgivings with his decision.

“I heard from Evalyn about your recent requests of her. I’ve got to say, you sound like an upstart warrior trying to become an ancient master’s apprentice.”

“Yeah, but it hasn’t worked so far, that’s the problem,” Crestana sighed.

“It never will. No one would agree to train the one person who could one day kill their daughter.”

Crestana saw things differently, but stating that now, would only make her feel like a broken Pattern Reader. It was a courtesy that Evalyn hadn’t told her off for it yet; she was better off taking Elliot’s gentle warning and backing off.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” she said, watching her own hands resting on the wooden bench. The sun was setting, the shadows growing, the acutely nauseating feeling of falling into the shadows creeped up her spine, threatening to swallow her whole if she lost control.

“The shadow magic, controlling Aether, I can’t help but think there’s a reason I have all of this.”

“To pay for the sins of your family, huh. Sounds awfully familiar.”

“Evalyn said the same thing.”

“The only difference is, Evalyn asked for her powers. You didn’t.”

The tram rolled down the street, ringing its bell as the odd stray pedestrian crossed quickly jogged over the tracks. The lights inside sent stripes of orange glow across the brickwork, and the wheels squealed as the brakes engaged.

“Evalyn couldn’t opt out for the longest time, but you have the option to never opt in in the first place.”

The tram stopped, and Elliot stood, making for the door.

“You make that sound like Mrs Hardridge’s situation has changed.”

Elliot paused in the tram’s doorway, his shoulders slowly slumping as he turned around. “Let’s get on first.”

“Okay.”

She boarded quickly after him, re-shouldering her school bag as Elliot dropped a few coins into the driver’s palm. He took a window seat, and Crestana sat down beside him.

The tram began to move once more, rocking her stiff body side to side as the silence dragged on.

“What trapped Evalyn into being a Witch wasn’t the magic, it was her mindset. Her Spirit will only stay inside her for as long as she wants it. That’s how it works.”

He kept his eyes out the window, eventually closing them as the sounds of the street below sifted in through the window’s opening.

“She was racked with guilt by association, and she had a burning need to make sure she could never lose family again. Her and I lost people during the last war; she didn’t want to relive that. But now that guilt’s faded, and she’s realised that protecting those people doesn’t necessarily equate to what she does now. I think I have too.”

“So you’re both…moving on?” Crestana asked.

“She’s thinking of retiring once Iris is ready. I’m thinking of dropping active duty once and for all.”

Decades worth of collective effort, and to so resolutely throw in the towel in such a manner. He was showing her the end in hopes she would never even bother starting.

“Does Iris know?” she asked.

Elliot shook his head. “Haven’t found the chance to tell her yet.”

“Do you think she’ll take it well?”

He was silent for a moment, biting his lip as his mind worked silently. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

Crestana couldn’t face him. The tram kept rocking side to side.

“I’m…like this now,” she said. “Even if I try my best to avoid it, I can’t help but feel that one day, that life is going to find me.”

“Then…then let’s pray it doesn’t,” Elliot said.