Elizabeth steps into the soft light of the police station and finds Officer Bleier emerging from the back office, a bundle of documents tucked under his arm and a troubled expression creasing his face — the look of a man who has seen something he wishes he hadn't. The moment he notices the mayor, however, he straightens and composes himself.
"Jules was attacked," Hugo says, cutting straight to the point, his voice grave and laced with concern. "The Storyteller is the only suspect."
A shadow of disbelief crosses Elizabeth's face. Without a word, she strides past him and into the hallway lined with cells, moving with quiet purpose. She checks each one in turn, methodically, until her eyes settle on Lleuad. He sits on the edge of the narrow bed, still and unhurried, as though the iron bars around him are of little consequence.
The silence of the hallway is thick, broken only by the intense, curious stare of Edmund from a neighboring cell.
Elizabeth takes a steadying breath, gathering her thoughts from the whirlwind of the night, before retreating to the lobby. She halts before Hugo, her voice steady but sharp with the need for clarity. "What happened?"
Hugo draws a slow breath and begins to recount the night's events in measured tones, though he cannot entirely mask the unease that had been plain on his face since she arrived. "I was walking down Lumber Street when I heard a child's scream. I sprinted toward it straightaway. On my way, I crossed paths with Mr. Sulienson — he was moving away from the direction of the sound, an unsheathed sword in his hand. Fresh blood marked the tip." He pauses briefly, his throat bobbing as he recounts the memory. "I ordered him to stop. He obeyed, but only for a heartbeat — then he turned and ran back into the alley where the attack had taken place. I pursued him and found Jules there, grievously injured. Mr. Sulienson had already gathered the boy up and was asking for directions to Dr. Remy's. Once the boy was in the doctor's care, the Storyteller surrendered without a fight. By the time I had him here and processed, the town was well past midnight."
Elizabeth's brow furrows. "How is Jules?"
"Marguerite couldn't give a straight answer," Hugo admits, his pessimism bleeding through. "She needed more time to examine the wounds. He was... hurt quite badly, Elizabeth."
The words land heavily. Elizabeth absorbs them, her jaw tightening for just a moment before she smooths it over. She presses on. "What do you have on the suspect?"
At the question, the unease Hugo has been holding at bay begins to surface. He steadies himself and begins his report, clearly trying to get through this part quickly. "Name: Lleuad Sulienson. Age: twenty-three. Occupation: Huntsman..." His voice drops a register as he extends an identification paper toward her. "I found this on him. It confirms he's a government-sanctioned Huntsman."
Elizabeth takes the paper, her eyebrow arching as she reads — the look of someone confronted with something that belongs in a storybook rather than an official document.
"And look at this." Hugo points at an intricately carved emerald crest on the right bottom corner of the identification paper — the image of a scepter, rendered with unmistakable precision, bordered in a clean, golden circle. "I had to scour the archives to be sure, but it matches this perfectly." He draws the mayor's attention to an open document in his hand, pointing at a photograph that contains the exact same crest.
Elizabeth reads the header of the document: The Royal Crest. The text beneath it is chilling. It describes a mark of absolute authority, second only to the King. The bearer is granted total autonomy across the Kingdom and absolute immunity for any action taken. To defy the Crest is an act of high treason, punishable by death.
The mayor looks up at Hugo, her gaze a complex tapestry of disbelief and mounting concern.
He clears his throat. "I confirmed the crest's authenticity." Hugo's voice is quiet but firm. "There's no doubt about it. It's the real deal."
The silence that follows is of a different quality than before — heavier, more deliberate, as though the full weight of what has been done has settled in. Hugo watches the mayor, searching for a spark of the fear that currently grips him, but he finds only the cold, calculating deliberation of a strategist.
"The town's safety comes first," Elizabeth finally declares, her voice carrying a calm authority that closes the matter. "We will navigate the legalities later." She glances at the officer. "You did well to keep him locked up, Hugo."
Hugo's unease settles somewhat at her words, and he continues. "He has a Semblance, which he showed to me – some kind of Specter he can summon at will. Claims he arrived the previous night. Apart from the ID, I found in his possession a sword, a locket with a photo, a notebook and... this." Hugo points to one of the items on the table. "He said it was a tool for work but didn't give more details."
Elizabeth glances over at the item, her eyes narrowing with intrigue. Its unfamiliar and intricate, unlike anything she's encountered before.
Hugo's tone shifts slightly as he continues, his skepticism thinly veiled. "When questioned about tonight's events, Mr. Sulienson insisted he was merely tracking the attacker who had harmed Jules and managed to graze them – hence the blood on his sword. He maintained that during our confrontation, he was in pursuit of the culprit—though I saw no one else." Officer Bleier pauses, a shadow of doubt crossing his features. "Beyond that, he insists our town is in peril unless we allow him to aid us in capturing whoever committed this crime."
The mayor's mind races as she tries to make sense of the new information. Her gaze lingers on the item before her, searching intently for any hidden clue or subtle hint that might illuminate the Storyteller's identity and true intentions.
"Thank you," Elizabeth tells Hugo, her eyes still fixed on the contents of the reception desk.
The mayor calmly walks down the dimly lit prison hallway, each step echoing with a quiet determination, and stops in front of Lleuad's cell. She faces the Storyteller with a stern gaze; her arms crossed in frustration as if daring him to lie again. Her presence exudes great authority, one that she has honed over the years to intimidate wrongdoers in this town.
"I knew Storytellers were good at telling fairy tales," Elizabeth's voice carries an edge as sharp as a blade, "but I wouldn't have thought they'd use them to lie about themselves. Makes it very easy to tell."
Elizabeth pauses, allowing the gravity of her words to settle in the air before continuing. "I will give you one more chance to come clean. Who are you and what were you doing at the crime scene tonight?"
Lleuad seems unfazed by the mayor's stern demeanor. Instead, he regards her with a gentle, pleading smile. "I am a Huntsman," he says calmly, "and your town is in grave---"
Elizabeth slams the prison bars with agitation, interrupting the Storyteller. "This is no time for jokes!" her frustration boiling over. "I have four other kids missing! I need to find them for the sake of their parents and what we've discovered today is not giving me much hope. Either you come clean now, or I will make your life a living hell!"
Lleuad's expression remains calm, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth. "You have to believe me," he implores earnestly. "There is no time to waste. If we don't find the culprit soon, more lives will be lost." His words are laced with a quiet urgency that seems to seep into Elizabeth's pores.
With a mocking tone that belies her growing frustration, Elizabeth retorts, "And what kind of culprit is a 'Huntsman' like you pursuing?"
"A human with Grimm powers," he says with a straight face, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth's.
The mayor's voice drips with sarcasm. "You mean like the one from the fairytale about the Grimm Count?"
The Storyteller nods, and Elizabeth's grip on the prison bars tightens until her knuckles turn white. "That's enough... If you don't want to be honest, I have nothing else to talk about with you."
Desperation creeps into Lleuad's tone as he pleads once more. "Please! You have to believe me!" His hands gesture frantically, emphasizing his sincerity. "Jules was hurt not by a blade but by claw marks!"
Elizabeth's patience has long evaporated, yet within her, a flicker of hope for some misunderstanding still lingers stubbornly. Her voice takes on a defiant edge as she responds, the sound of steel hidden beneath layers of exasperation. "Very well! We'll see if you are right."
With those words hanging in the air like a challenge, Elizabeth turns sharply on her heel and marches out of the police station with purposeful strides.
Hugo watches her go, his expression one of sheer dumbfoundedness as he processes the entire conversation he had witnessed.
— — —
The mayor strides purposefully toward the hospital, nestled at the intersection where two large streets converge—merely a short walk from the nearby railroad and situated in the northern part of Clairforet's central district. To an untrained eye, the hospital blends seamlessly into the fabric of towns historic neighborhoods, its grey walls and gabled roofs mirroring those of the surrounding homes. Each house, with its delicate trim and ornate windows, sits shoulder to shoulder, echoing the architectural harmony that defines the town. The only discernible difference between these and their neighbors is the gentle swing of the medical cross sign above the main entrance, its simple design exuding a sense of quiet dedication.
Elizabeth glides past the main entrance of the corner building, her footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night street as she makes a beeline for the adjacent home's emergency entrance. One of the windows adjacent to the door casts a warm, golden light onto the cobblestone sidewalk, illuminating the shadows that dance at its edges.
Without knocking, Elizabeth pushes open the door and finds herself enveloped in the sterile silence of the operation room. Jules lies motionless upon a gleaming steel table that stands as a silent sentinel amidst the shimmering array of surgical instruments. The soft glow of the fire-dust lamp suspended above him casts a warm, golden light across the space, revealing a model of cleanliness that disguises the lack of personnel. The air is heavy with the scent of antiseptic purity, as if the very essence of medicine had been distilled within these walls.
Dr. Remy was just about finished bandaging Jules' wounds when the mayor walks up to her.
"Ah, Mayor," Marguerite says softly. "He's still unconscious. The boy lost a lot of blood, but I was able to stabilize him. He should be able to recover... given time." Her gaze flickers to Elizabeth's face, then back to Jules' motionless form. "His wounds though are quite unusual. As if he was mauled by claws of a beast bigger than a bear. But I'm not aware of any animal that would cause injuries like these. What happened to him?"
Elizabeth's expression mirrors her own confusion and concern. "That is what I would like to know myself."
As the two women finish exchanging words, Jules' eyes flicker open, and he lets out a blood-curdling scream. The mayor instinctively reaches out to hold him down, while Dr. Remy rushes to check his vitals.
"Calm down, Jules," Elizabeth says, her voice firm but soothing. "You're safe here."
Jules, still thrashing about, ignores the mayor's words. His eyes are wild with fear, and he murmurs something incoherent.
Dr. Remy finishes checking his pulse. "His heart rate is too high. Looks like a panic attack. Keep talking to him. I'll go get a sedative," she instructs calmly.
The mayor leans closer, her voice steady as she meets his eyes. "Jules! Look at me. Breathe. Nobody here will harm you."
The boys' eyes lock onto hers for a moment as he seems to calm down a bit. Then he starts mumbling softly to himself.
Elizabeth moves closer to discern what he is saying.
"It's our fault," Jules whispers, almost inaudibly. "We brought this upon ourselves."
Eager to understand more, the mayor asks. "What happened?"
Jules clings to the mayor, his voice tinged with delirium and fear. "A monster! A black monster! We're being punished. She's come to pay us back for what we've done!"
"Who!? Who is she?" Elizabeth presses urgently.
But the boy continues repeating himself, caught in a loop of terror and confusion.
Marguerite returns, sedative ready in hand. "I need to administer this," she insists firmly. "His wounds are reopening."
Elizabeth's voice is tinged with desperation as she replies, "Just a bit longer! I need to hear more!"
But Marguerite is insistent. "He'll die if his wounds open again! Let me do my job, Mayor."
With a heavy heart, Elizabeth nods reluctantly.
Marguerite administers the sedative, and Jules' eyes flutter shut, his body relaxing into unconsciousness.
"Did you manage to glean something from him?" Dr. Remy asks with curiosity. "I believe so..."
Elizabeth replies, thinking over what she heard. "I will be heading back to the police office. Please call us if he wakes up again."
Marguerite nods as the mayor walks out of the hospital with a resolute stride.