The graveyard was too quiet. Not peaceful—the silence was too pointed for that. More like a silence that had something to hide.
Perry stopped just past the arched iron gate, letting it shut behind him with a faint groan. The ground crunched underfoot. Fine gravel, carefully laid. Even in the early morning, not a single leaf was out of place.
He blinked slowly, letting his senses adjust. No signs of recent spellwork. No signs of struggle. Just a graveyard pretending not to be involved.
System, he thought, any magical anomalies in the past 72 hours?
No external tampering recorded within the last 72 hours. Grave seal integrity: intact. Last registered presence: the gravekeeper.
So if something happened, it either left no trace... or wasn't magic.
The grave in question sat near the center, marked by an obsidian headstone engraved with noble sigils. The dirt was undisturbed. The stone was clean.
No crying corpses. No broken seals. Just a name:
LIRAN THARVEN
Born 840. Died 864.
"Died" was doing a lot of work.
Perry crouched beside the grave and traced a finger along the dirt. Firm. Not freshly filled. The enchantment seal glowed faintly under the pressure of his glove—active and authentic.
"You're the one they sent?"
Perry didn't look up immediately. The voice was low and gravelly. Male. Slightly annoyed.
"I was told a detective would come," the voice continued, closer now. "Didn't think they'd send someone still wet behind the ears."
He looked up slowly. The man was built like a doorframe, with a tattered vest and weathered gloves stained by soil. His beard was more moss than hair. The gravekeeper.
Perry stood. "You reported the incident?"
The man scoffed. "I relayed what the gardener saw. I keep graves. I don't gossip."
"And the gardener?"
"Off today."
"Convenient."
The gravekeeper didn't flinch. "He's old. He sees things. Could've been an illusion."
"Was it?"
A long pause. Then, almost grudgingly: "I checked the seal. Wasn't broken. That should be enough."
Perry walked past him toward the surrounding graves, glancing at spacing, direction, the light flow of the sun. Subtle layout inconsistencies.
This plot is newer than its neighbors. Odd choice for a noble burial unless rushed.
"Did you prepare this plot yourself?" he asked.
The gravekeeper frowned. "Of course. Why?"
"The spacing is off. It's not aligned with the adjacent graves. Suggests urgency."
"Sometimes death doesn't book a schedule."
"But noble families do."
The gravekeeper didn't respond.
Perry let silence do the asking.
After a long beat, the man muttered, "Fine. They rushed it. Girl was sobbing. Father wanted it sealed before sunset. Said it was tradition."
"What about the body?"
"Looked dead to me. Pale. Still. No signs of enchantment."
"You checked for enchantments?"
"I check what I have to. I don't get paid to ask questions."
And someone made sure you stayed that way, Perry thought.
He nodded toward the seal. "Rebinding a noble-class grave seal after tampering would leave traces. You're sure it hasn't been opened?"
The gravekeeper hesitated. "Not unless they used family blood. That kind of override doesn't leave a scar."
"And only family can do that?"
"Or someone with a drop of it."
Perry straightened. "You wouldn't happen to know where Liran Tharven's sister is, would you?"
The man blinked. "You knew he had one?"
"No. But you just told me."
The gravekeeper looked away.
---
By the time Perry left the graveyard, the morning sun had climbed enough to cast thin, suspicious shadows.
He checked the case scroll again.
Case filed. Investigation active. No suspects present—barrier dormant.
Not yet.
He walked toward the Tharven estate, passing through rows of ivy-choked walls and enchanted lamp posts that didn't need to be on. Noble money was always a little too visible.
A maid answered the door. Her eyes flicked to his badge.
"You're not the usual inspector."
"No. I'm the quiet kind."
She stared at him a second too long before stepping aside.
Inside, the family estate was somber but not mourning. Paintings had been removed from the halls. A portrait nail was still warm.
Someone doesn't want Liran remembered.
The sitting room held two people. An older man in a tailored coat, and a young woman with storm-colored eyes.
Perry bowed lightly. "Perry. Bureau. I'm not here to accuse, only to clarify."
The girl tensed.
The man said, "We've given our statement."
"I have a few clarifying questions. About Liran."
"My son is dead. That's all that matters."
You wouldn't have pulled the paintings if that were true.
Perry turned to the daughter. "You were close to him?"
She nodded once, tightly.
"Did he show signs of illness before the burial?"
Her eyes flicked sideways. "He collapsed suddenly. The surgeon said his heart gave out."
"Which surgeon?"
"Magus Corlan. He handles most noble deaths quietly."
"How quickly was the burial arranged?"
The father frowned. "Same day."
"Is that tradition?"
The daughter spoke before her father could. "No. It was his request. In his will."
Perry tilted his head. "He left a will?"
She nodded.
"May I see it?"
"It burned with his effects."
How convenient.
He paused. Let the silence linger.
Then turned. "I'll need to speak with Magus Corlan. And I'll be returning tomorrow morning. Please ensure no staff take the day off."
The father bristled. "Are we suspects?"
Perry offered a thin smile. "Not yet."
He left before the conversation could rot further.
---
Back at his apartment, the window shade had been shifted half an inch.
He didn't draw his dagger.
He just whispered, "Welcome back."
No response.
The room was silent. But the air was slightly warmer. A candle flickered even though it was snuffed.
He adjusted the shade back into position. A habit. A signal. No one answered it.
Then he opened his scroll.
Case filed. Investigation active. Barrier dormant.
He stared at the paper for a long time.
Then, almost casually, whispered:
"Why would a corpse cry... if it knew it would walk again?"
The system didn't answer.
It never did when the deduction was still loading.