Page 61 of The City Of Fractured Memory

It must have been invisible before whilst fresh, disguised by the hair, but after a week in the morgue, green and blue bruising peppers the surrounding skin, framing the now obvious wound like a target. On closer examination, I trace the slight kink to her hair, the indent travelling round her head, indicating where a tight diadem would usually sit. And it lands directly over the wound.

My brain spins as I finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. “The diadems are worn tight to the head. If something punctured the skull here through it, then the pressure from the diadem would keep the wound closed, whilst the blood started pooling beneath the skin. Removing the diadem would release the pressure, and cause the blood to spill at an alarming rate. Once two litres were spilled, the spell would activate.”

Stryx looks at me, stricken. “So is the killer the one that removed the diadems? Or was it someone else?”

“It can’t have been the victims removing them, or we would’ve found diadems at all of the crime scenes,” I muse, pulling my hood back and running a hand through my hair. “So that means the killer likely removed them…or someone else interfered. Vesper wasn’t a seer, but she has the same indent in her hairline. She must have been wearing something similar, a circlet maybe?”

Stryx huffs in frustration. “Regardless, we still don’t know why. Why would someone do this?”

Before I can speculate, I’m interrupted by muffled shouting.

“Where is she?” The louder, more furious shout echoes down the corridor to a chorus of pounding footsteps. I’d know that voice anywhere—it seems the Chief felt it was time to release Xavier.

The door slams open so hard it rattles dangerously on its hinges. Xavier storms in, his knuckles bloodied and dark hair a tangled mess, eyes burning with something between grief and madness.

My stomach drops at the sight.

Whatever feelings he’s succumbed to in the last two days whilst he’s been missing…it hasn’t just broken him. It’s changed him.

“Where is she?” Xavier’s voice tears through the morgue like thunder, raw and jagged with fury. He shoves past the wardens before they can stop him, his boots echoing sharply across the tiles. I jump in front of Vesper’s body, trying to shield my friend from further pain.

“Xavier, wait–” I start, but it’s too late.

His eyes land on the table behind me. He goes utterly still, his breath catching.

“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no–”

His knees hit the floor with a dull crack that echoes off the stone walls. For a long moment, the world seems to hold its breath. Then he crawls the remaining distance, trembling hands reaching for his lifeless twin.

“Don’t,” I say softly, reaching for him, but Xavier ignores me. A sound escapes him—half sob, half strangled gasp—as he crumples forward, his head bowing over Vesper’s chest. His fingers grip her hand, trying to warm the skin that will never move again.

“Vesper…” His voice breaks. “Gods, no. I was supposed to protect you.”

The Chief looks away from where he stands in the doorway. I didn’t even notice him arrive. I stand frozen in place, heart aching. I want to say something, anything, but what words can reach someone drowning in that kind of loss? I’ve seen him angry, reckless, arrogant, but never this hollow. Never broken.

I felt the same way when my parents died. I was so young, just a teenager when they were cruelly taken from me, and time has not healed me the way everyone promised it would. I’ve spent my life since, fending for myself, making my own way alone. It’s a fraught existence, and I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.

He looks up suddenly, eyes wild with red-veined fury. “You know who did this, Octavia,” he snarls, his voice shaking. “You know it as well as I do!”

Starling snaps to attention, looking between Xavier and me, waiting for us to elaborate, but I daren’t say anything. I know what Xavier is implying, but saying it aloud in front of a man who could be compromised is a reckless move.

I step closer, my throat thick with emotion. “We don’t know that yet,” I implore him quietly. “But we’ll find out, Xavier. I swear it.”

He turns away, unable to meet my gaze, and my jaw clenches so hard it feels like it might crack. He knows my conflict about Riven, a thing he clearly doesn’t share, and I can feel cracks start to form in the foundations of our friendship.

The silence that follows is almost unbearable. Grief, guilt, and rage twist together until they are one and the same, poisoning the air between us. I’ve lost so much, I can’t lose my oldest friend too. Not like this.

Then a warden steps into the room tentatively. “Sir, Governor Ashfell is here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

As one, our collective attention snaps to the warden, who looks back at us wide-eyed in confusion. Stryx and I share a look as realisation dawns on us too late. The words have barely left the warden’s mouth before Xavier stiffens, every muscle in his body tightening like a drawn bowstring. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow with grief, go cold.

“Where is he? Where is that traitorous Voyder?” Xavier shouts, launching to his feet and grabbing the warden by his collar, shaking him viciously. We run forward, but he throws the warden across the room before we can stop him, Starling frozen in shock at the scene unfolding before him.

“What is the meaning of this, Blackwood?” he rages, marching forward to help us apprehend him, but Xavier is already out the door, his voice echoing back to us ominously down the corridor.

“I’m going to kill him!”

Twenty-Eight