Closed.

-Be hostile

Clare stared at the door for a moment before looking at the time. She drew in an irritated breath when she saw she only had a few minutes to get ready. "Are you kidding me?! You didn't wake me up in time!" She grumbled as she threw off her sheets and threw her legs off the side of the bed. When she sat up to rub her eyes, she found herself pausing to look at her hands.

It still felt dirty. She felt like every crevice still had his blood in it. Everytime she touched a fabric she felt like ash and dirt rippled off of it. She slowly brought her hand to her nose and sniffed it gently. It didn't smell of anything, but she imagined it still smelled like the battlefield. Well, she thought, everything smells like the battlefield.

Another knock made her jump out of her thoughts and onto work. She quickly got changed into something more casual and strided for the door. Stop it with the worrying. That's what I'm trying to prevent. People suffering and dying under smoke filled skies. This agency will impede another war. I'm doing something for those who died in vain... I hope they can see.

She opened the door and looked up at David. "I'm ready."
 
"I'm not your nanny." Came Finch's tired response through the doors.

Despite Clare's determination, her feet still shook as she walked about to get ready. Her ears were certainly not ringing with the sound of artillery, because that was not medically possible, but she started to develop a headache. The nightmares just wouldn't leave her alone.

The soldiers had arrived to find Pierce had bled to death beyond the prison walls, behind enemy mechs and she was unconscious and almost dead due to blood loss herself. As a result she was forcibly retired, despite only starting her army career. Nine months later peace was declared - peace without victory for either side. But she was recruited to Woodworth's irregulars after that, continuing to do tasks that mattered for her country, all was not so bad. Except on mornings like these.

David Finch waited for her by the doors as she continued dressing. Officially both of them were private detectives and he dressed as such, complete with a monocle that made him look older than he was. He glanced over her once, then once more, clearly reading the signs of the nightmare her face betrayed. That was his way, he simply had to analyse everything. But he did not speak about it, so it was all good.

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--

Nine minutes after he knocked on Clare's door, the pair of them were rattling through the streets in a cab. The fruit sellers were setting up their stands and the newsagents opening their shutters and the serving girls scrubbing their masters's front steps. They didn't know it, but Arthur Woodworth and his operatives stood between them and harm.

- David Finch is your friend.
- David Finch is just a colleague.
- David Finch is a rival.
 
-David Finch is just a colleague

Clare wanted to ignore the way he looked at her. How he knew something was wrong, but decided to be tight lipped. She understood it though. They were only colleagues. She didn't meddle in his past so he shouldn't for her.

She gingerly got in the cab and closed the door behind them as they rode off. She glanced outside to see everyone preparing for the day's events, whatever that may be. She leaned back against her seat until the cushion lowered beneath her. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes for a while before talking.

"I thought I heard a couple of days ago there has been more advancements to made to our mechs." She opened her eyes slightly to stare up at the ceiling. "I would imagine Woodworth would be harping on agents to watch over it." It was her way of asking if that's where they were heading.
 
"Perhaps he is. However, if you are excited by the notion that you might get to inspect the army mechs, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed." Finch answered as they rode on the steamer.

--

Woodsworth always claimed to be nothing more than a minor government official, but it was a miracle if anyone believed him. For one thing, no minor government official could afford suits as finely tailored as his.

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"There you are." He greeted the pair of Detectives in his office, stationed at the end of the endless tunnels and corridors of the financial neighbourhood, where all the buildings looked the same. If you wanted to hide your business from plain view, this was where you did it. "Come in, please." Woodsworth called as the two appeared on the doors of the office. There were two more people in there beside him - Mrs Lawrence, his secretary, and an unhappy-looking young man seated in a chair with his hands shackled on his lap and his ankles chained to the legs. It was quite an unusual setup.

Before he or Clare could say anything, Finch was the one to speak, in his usual cold and deductive manner.

"The shiny marks on the cuffs from the pressure of writing declare he works in an office, and his age and shabby attire suggest clerk rather than a more senior position. He is clearly in a great deal of trouble. Sabotage? Theft? Something related to the government, no doubt. Treason."

"Well, that's why you two are here." Woodsworth sighed, leaning across the table. "He is in custody for theft of important official documents, however he refuses to speak with anyone."

"Indoctrinated by the Sun Temple cultists or blackmailed? You believe he is a spy for the Vlaski Empire, is that correct?" Finch asked, but Woodworth simply waved him off.

"There's the boy. Find out by yourselves."

- Talk to the suspect.
- Talk to Finch.
- Talk to Woodsworth.
 
-Talk to the suspect

Clare frowned a little at Finch, she didn't take him as the gentle kind. His forthright attitude makes him appear awfully condescending to others. Perhaps she doesn't ask to best questions, but she does strive to make the person at least trust them a little.

She walked over to the young man and looked at all the cuffs. "I'm sorry you're chained up, but we really mean you no harm. If you explain to us what happened we can help you if you need it. We won't treat you harshly if you work with us. It will be quite easy in fact. We can start with simple things if you want." She spoke in a caring tone, something she often did to panicking victims. She would lie to them endlessly, telling them 'it's okay' when their legs were blown off. 'Everything is fixed' when they were bleeding out. If they felt safe, it could make things easier. This young man wasn't a war patient however, he knew when things were fabricated. Which made this harder. But, she did have Finch. Perhaps that could give her an advantage.
 
Woodsworth spoke before the suspect did however, turning to look at Clare. "May I present to you the honourable George Easterly. Employed as a junior clerk in the Naval Department of Her Imperial Majesty's War Office. It is a position of great delicacy and responsibility, which he has proven himself unfit to hold. Last night he allowed a Vlaski agent working in Kingsford to examine and copy the plans for the Nigel-Trevelyan Glass."

Mr Easterly flinched at this accusation, his hazel eyes looking at Clare, like she could provide some sort of refuge.

"The Nigel-Trevelyan?" Finch said. "I have never heard of it."

"Of course you have not." Woodsworth waved again dismissively, a gesture he was very comfortable using. "It was among the War Office's most closely-guarded secrets. This miserable child was entrusted with one of only three keys! Not only did he take the documents, he let a Vlaski agent examine them! That is high treason."

Mr Easterly blinked a couple of times, then licked his lips. In a shaky tone he spoke, looking at Clare, as if she was the only one in the room. "All of this is true. I took the documents. But I planned on returning them after, I swear! But then the guards caught me." He frowned. He generally looked to be a in a very sad state.

There was still the matter of "why", though.

- Ask him gently.
- Ask him feigning kindness.
- Ask him coldly.
- Demand answers.
 
-Ask him gently

Clare looked between Easterly and Woodworth as they spoke. Copy plans. But, why? She turned to Easterly seeing as he did seem somewhat shaken up and did say it was true. "It was your job to keep the documents guarded which you disobeyed even if you were to return it. Why did you do it? Did the Vlaski agent say anything to you?" She asked him calmly.

However, I have to wonder... "Woodworth, did you also apprehend the Vlaski agent?" She asked. It would only be right to question them both.
 
"Rusk, you cannot possibly pity this traitor?" Finch turned to her, looking at her with genuine surprise.

"The agent got away." Woodsworth answered her question with another tired sigh. "Hence your presence here. We need to hunt him down. He could not have gone far by now, these are the events of this morning. I agree with Detective Finch however, we cannot afford our sympathy in this matter."

"You don't understand!" My]r Easterly burst out. He looked at Woodsworth and Finch briefly before settling his wide-eyed gaze on Clare. "I-I was being blackmailed. My fiance, she…" He swallowed. "She's a sun-worshiper. She persuaded me. I went with her to a meeting and uh... they're good folk, ma'am. Nothing like what-what people say of them."

Woodsworth rose from his armchair, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You joined their cult."

"It's not a cult!" Mr Easterly tried to protest, but then sighed. "Yes, I did. And-and... a man with a Vlaski accent stopped me as I walked home from work one night. He said i-if I did not help him, he would see to it my superiors discovered my conversion and your know sun-worshipers may not hold public office or any other position of responsibility. And there was my fiance to think of! We'd be shunned as well as penniless. It was my whole life. What else could I do?"

"You are a public servant. A servant of your Kingdom." Finch hissed in a voice dripping with contempt. "You should have put its welfare above your personal affairs."

- Agree with Finch.
- Agree and press Easterly further.
- Disagree and encourage Finch to lay off.
 
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-Agree and press Easterly further

Clare rubbed her head slightly and reached an arm out to Finch. "He's right. You could have endanged the whole country and lost more than what the Vlaski told you. However, what you say is true as well we need to catch him. Do you know where he is heading? Any clues as to where he is going now?" She pressed.

She hated herself for being slightly cold. She understood where he comes from, putting others you love before you. She was probably his own kingdom. He would never betray her. She felt the same way when...

She pressed her hand to her head again to halt the thoughts. She felt the twinge of her vision relay the mechs before filtering back to the room. There won't be a war. Not if she doesn't catch this Vlaski agent first.
 
"I do not know!" Mr Easterly cried out, his eyes tearful. It was clear that he was a broken man.

"Rusk." Woodsworth stepped closer to Clare, then slightly touched her elbow, leading her out of the office. "Let's leave him with Detective Finch for a moment. I have something to talk to you about." His face was grave as he closed the doors of the office behind them, leaning closer to her in confidentiality. "The Nigel-Trevelyan Glass translates electromagnetic waves. To anyone wearing goggles or spectacles made from this glass, Lighteaters will show up as surrounded by an aura of blood red while the rest of the population appears to be surrounded by an aura of golden white. We will be able to identify them with a look only, Detective. You must see what this represents. You of all people must know what's at stake here."

Lieutenant Pierce and a handful of soldiers were kept in a Lighteater prison. They have endured the worst possible torture that could be inflicted on a living being. Their souls were drained little by little. This left no marks on the body, beside making the victim ghostly pale and without any gleam in their eyes, but it slowly took away their happiness, leaving them only the saddest of memories. Until at last it took away their whole being and the prisoners became empty husks, drooling vegetables. Pierce had a smile on his face when he died. Because, despite everything, he was finally away from that horrible place.

But there was another thing to take into consideration. Clare's great-grandmother was sun-touched. She had the gift of healing, because not all sun-touched are Lighteaters. Her grandmother was a gentle person who took care of the sick who could not afford doctors. Yet people were still afraid of her. And after the was with Vlask Empire, the fear of sun worship grew even worse.

There was a slight possiblity that Clare had something of her great-grandmother's sun-touched genes, even though she never tried to heal anyone without medical equipment. What if her aura would show as blood red under the Glass?

- Be thrilled with the idea of Glass.
- Be afraid of it.
- Be interested with how it works scientifically.
 
-Be afarid of it

Clare frowned a bit when he explained to her what the glass does. While she didn't express it, she was terrified. She thought back to her great-grandmother for a moment. She was sun-touched. But, then again, my mother didn't show any signs she was sun-touched. I never showed any properties either. Although, both of us haven't tried.

"That's... New." She quickly backpedaled her comment. "I-I mean new in a good way. Like, oh wow that's new!" She laughed warily before regaining her senses. "Right, sorry. Glass. Lighteaters... Was that the only place the glass was held? Is there more in another part of the kingdom?" She asked him quietly.
 
"No, the Glass is not yet made, Detective, focus." Woodsworth gave her a stern look. "Easterly took the plans and gave them to the Vlaski agent to look over and possibly copy. Weren't you listening? The Glass is supposoed to detect Lighteaters specifically. Nigel and his student Trevelyan determined that certain habitual behaviors create subtle changes in electromagnetic wave frequency. Specifically, the appalling practice of light-eating will, over a long enough period of time, noticeably shorten the frequency of the practitioner's electromagnetic waves."

Those were good news. It meant that the Glass would be focused on those who abused the power of Sun, and not on those who used it for healing only, or who never used it, but may have the gift.

"May you two return here?" The doors of the office creaked open and Finch peaked out. His top hat was held in his hand and he looked to be a bit out of breath. "I have pacified our traitor." He said impassively.

Back in the office, Mr Easterly was slumped against his restraints but have shown no signs of any injuries. Whatever Finch did to him was not visible. The Detective took the copy of The Times and waved it in front of Clare's face.

"This is how he communicated with the Vlaski agent. Coded advertisements in the Personals column. You see the one signed with 'D'? That stands for Dmitri. The agent. Now all we have to do is have Mr Easterly here write an advertisement to this Dmitri. A place and time. And we'll have him."

"I will not." Mr Easterly mouthed, his expression suddenly rebellious. Perhaps Finch was not that successful in his efforts after all.

- Speak with Easterly and try to get him to cooperate.
- Speak to Woodsworth and offer to mage a concoction that will make the man more placid, you are a medic after all.
- Offer to write the coded message on your own.
- Let Finch get Easterly to cooperate.
 
-Speak with Easterly and try to get him to cooperate

Clare nodded and wanted to ask Woodworth more until Finch opened the door. When she walked in, she shot Finch a look. "Could you have been more gentle? The guy isn't going to want to cooperate if you make him pass out!" She said angrily. Yes, she understood he was a traitor and criminal. But, he was also their advantage.

She turned to Mr. Easterly when he spoke and walked over to him. "Mr. Easterly, please look at me." She asked him gently. When he did, she spoke more. "I'm someone who also faced the odds someone I love being taken from me. It was from forces far larger than myself. I didn't know what to do. How to feel. I just wanted to resist it. But, I learned that serves no one. Easterly, understand that whatever you do here on out can help so many others. This is your chance at redemption if you see to it. Don't let Dimitri be a force that's greater than you. If you can do something," she grabbed the paper and held it in front of him, "do it."
 
"You talk as though my life still had value to me." Easterly said. "If I do not hang, they will know I helped you. How long do you think I will live then? What do you suppose they will do to my fiance? If I go to a traitor's death, at least they will have no reason to torment her afterward." A brief pause as Easterly's reddened eyes focused on Clare. "I want my fiance to be safe." He said. "If you promise to ensure her welfare and to find her somewhere to live well away from Kingsford, where it would be too much trouble for the Lighteaters to seek her out, I would write anything you wanted."

After a long pause, Woodsworth nodded. "Well, we have done such things before. I can make arrangements for the young lady to move to the north. Or perhaps to Loegria, which might be more to a sun-worshiper's taste." He fixed Easterly with his cold grey eyes. "I shall embark upon these arrangements once we have captured your friend'Dmitri. If he slips through our grasp, the girl gets no protection. It is therefore in your interest to be sure we catch him. Let that dissuade you from including any clever warning in your message."

Easterly promised frantically that he never planned to do any such thing, that he will do everything he can to help capture the Vlaskesar and earn his fiance's safety. His promises seemed genuine.

"Thank you, Detectives." Woodsworth said picking up a pen. "Now then. We can get this into the morning editions if we waste no further time."

--

After the column was written Woodsworth dismissed both of the Detectives to go home and wait for his call. Once Dmitri was baited, they would meet again and plan on his capture. In the meantime, Clare had the whole afternoon to herself.

"Tea?" Finch offered as they stepped out of the agency. He frowned at the gathering grey clouds.

- Spend the afternoon with Finch.
- Walk alone through Kingsford.
- Go home.
 
-Spend the afternoon with Finch

She was still reeling over Easterly and what she had said while Woodworth talk to him about the demands. Clare didn't want to use his fiancé as a bargaining chip, but she found that was the more efficient route. Which bothered her endlessly.

She walked out with Finch and glanced up at the clouds as they formed a shadow over the city. It looked like it was going to rain. She found herself seeping into her own thoughts until Finch's voice drew her attention. "Huh? Oh, tea?" She paused for a moment and eventually sighed at the thought. "Sure. That actually sounds quite lovely at the moment." She smiled gently and glanced up at Finch.
 
Finch offered a slight bow as he gestured at her to proceed forward down the sidewalk. They walked for just a couple of brief moments in silence, when Finch stopped in front of a tea house opening the doors for Clare to walk in.

As soon as they sat at the table, Finch broke the silence. "Lighteating. It is becoming a more frequent subject with each passing day." He removed his top hat and placed it on the table. Then his eyes focused on Clare, gaze unwavering like it was when he analyzed one of their suspects. It was a gaze that could see right through a person. At times, Clare thought that he Finch was always able to tell when someone was lying. "How do you feel about this?" He asked, without much sentiment or curiosity, though there was a faint speck of warmth in his tone.

- Answer positively.
- Confide.
- Refuse to answer.
- Change the subject.
 
-Answer positively

Clare decided not to think much of this tea talk. She was postive he was going to ask her about the glass when he suddenly talked about lighteaters. It took her off guard at first since she instantly thought about Lieutenant Pierce, but shook it away with a calming tone. "I believe it's a positive development. We could discover more about them and save many lives." She grabbed the menu to slide over her mouth as she pretended to overlook their options. Of course, she hated talking about lighteaters. Whenever it was uttered, she felt herself looking around crazily. Is one there? Right behind her? After seeing what havoc they can reap on a person, she would go insane before they even touched her.

"What are you planning on getting?" She asked calmly behind the menu.
 
Finch did not comment on her reaction, but the wheels and cogs were turning in his head as they always did. Whether he did not persist on the subject out of politeness or disinterest, she could not know yet, she was not that familiar with the Detective. They have been living in the same flat for almost a year now. Woodsworth was the one who insisted on it, simply due to his own convenience. Thus, if he wanted both of them to come to the office he did not need to track either of them down separately. Good thing was that Woodsworth paid for it, so at least Clare did not have any expenses on that account. God knew that her paycheck was not glorious.

"Mint tea." Finch answered, not taking the menu to look at what else was on it. He always drank mint tea, in every circumstance. Their whole flat smelled of mints at times.

The server came to take their order, scribbled it on a paper and left with a polite not and a smile.

"I have never seen you shoot." Finch threw another unexpected subject her way. "Do you even know how to do it?" While Clare was in the Imperial Army, she was part of the Medical Corps where no gun or mech training was necessary.

- But Clare's a natural crack shot.
- She learned to shoot well enough still.
- She never learned how to shoot.
 
-She learned to shoot well enough still

She smiled back to the server in a friendly manner before it fell at Finch's questions. What's with all these questions? What does he even want? She wondered. "Just because you haven't seen me shoot anything doesn't mean I can't. I learned just in case I needed it. However, I do not like to restort to killing." It was a small lie. Before she joined the army, she wanted to learn to fight. Whether that was to do harm or good was lost to her past self. Regardless, she knew how.

"I also would enjoy not having to come down to the option of death. We already had enough." She said quietly. She turned her gaze away from Finch to look outside just as the rain began to fall.
 
"You will need it tomorrow." Finch stated simply. "When we face the Vlaski agent."

--

That night, Clare and two other operatives gathered at the empty house Easterly and Dmitri have been using to meet, and settled down to wait. Woodsworth's summons were different than usual, especially because he split Finch and her up. He never did it before.

Now she was forced to sit without a fire, and the night was bitter cold. The rain did not stop falling the whole day. Her feet grew numb within her boots, forcing her to shift gently, silently, trying to keep the blood flowing. Finally midnight tolled, making her get up.

The other operatives were doing the same, although Clare could not see them. Stevenson waited at the end of the darkened corridor. Morris, the strongest of the three of them, was stationed within the study, behind the door, from which position he would hopefully be able to subdue Dmitri the instant the Vlaskesar steps through the doorway.

Down below, the back door creaked open.

If Clare did not know that the man climbing the stairs was Finch disguised as George Easterly, she would never be able to guess. The masquerade was perfect. The dark lantern trembled in his deliberately shaking hand, making the light dance in a way that obscured rather than illuminated. Clare could not really see the Vlaski spy climbing the stairway behind him. Dmitri followed Finch into the study and Clare suddenly became aware of the metal of the gun at her hip.

Finch unshuttered the lantern fully at the same moment Morris sprung. Morris tackled the Vlaskesar half to his knees, one arm across his throat...

But Dmitri whirled before Morris could establish the chokehold. He was a big man, but Clare had never seen anyone move that fast, ever. Morris gave an odd little gasp, crumpling, and the Vlaskesar was sprinting for the stairway before the operative hit the floor.

Finch spat a loud curse and following at a dead run. The flash of his lantern as he went by showed a knife sticking out of Morris's chest, the blood welling up around the hilt.

- Run to help Morris.
- Tell Morris not to pull the knife out, then sprint after Dmitri.
- Tell Morris not to pull the knife out, then quietly slip through the back doors, using the shadows to your advantage.
 
-Tell Morris not to pull the knife out, then quietly slip through the back doors, using the shadows to your advantage.

Clare knew all of this was necessary, but hated every moment of it. The way her breath came out like smoke, and she just wanted to huddle under burning rocks at this point. When she saw others start to move, she understood what to do.

However, she felt this thought shatter as the agent stabs Morris and runs off. She watched Finch chase after him and quickly went over to Morris. "Don't pull the knife out. It'll only make it worse, I'll come back for you." She said as she stared at the backdoor.

She was thankful she was wearing black since it will help to blend in. She needed a way to slow him down.She felt the gun shake at her hip, drawing her eyes to it. She was about to reach for it, when she thought about it logically. I'm not that good at shooting. If anything, it'll bring more attraction to the situation if they heard a gunshot.

She sighed worriedly before quickly slipping through the backdoor to follow as best as she could.
 
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Morris nodded, a pained grimace on his face, not strong enough to speak. Capturing the enemy was Clare's first duty, though, she would have to hope that Morris survived long enough to get help later.

She slipped through the back doors, into the dark alleys, just in time to see Dmitri running through the connecting alley, right in front of her. Finch was on his heels, flinging the lantern aside, while operative Stevenson followed behind him. Finch threw caution to the wind flinging himself forward, and he and Dmitri clattered and clash and tumble to the ground. Stevenson joined the fray and the three men are on the cobbles in a tangle of limbs. It was difficult to discern who was who in the darkness of the alley.

- Aim the gun and shoot at Dmitri.
- Shout to distract Dmitri.
- Fling yourself into the fray.
 
-Shout to distract Dimitri

Clare found herself scurrying back a little as soon as Dimitri flew across her vision as well as Stevenson as they all dog piled on top of each other.

She was tempted to join them, but it could make things worse since she couldn't tell who was who in the darkness. She decided that she needed to distract him. "DIMITRI YOU ARE UNDER ARREST." She decided to yell in her strongest voice possible. Perhaps at a lower tone too as she started to approach the three of them slowly.
 
A tactic that had worked often for Clare in the past, but unfortunately it didn't work this time. Dmitri was not even momentarily distracted, as he pushed Stevenson off, sending him clattering against the cobbles.

His hand slapped onto Finch's face and Finch froze instantly. Dmitri looked up at Clare with a smile that chilled her blood. Time seemed to stop. Finch hung rigid in his grasp, as though paralyzed, but Stevenson stirred. Dmitri looked over at him, snarling in annoyance, and releasing Finch. The Vlaskesar sprung to his feet, deciding that there were too many of them to handle and escaping into the night. With a choked sound of rage, Stevenson hurried off in pursuit.

Finch was leaning against the wall, as though dizzy. Visible in the poor light of the lander on the cobbles, livid against the pale skin of his face, was a red handprint. For a moment, in Clare's eyes, the handprint on Fiches faces merged with the remembered handprint on Pierce's.

- Be angry.
- Be sad.
- Be scared.
- Be thrilled with the challenge.
 
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