Luthiel stepped through the door of the chief's house and closed it softly behind her.
The inside was warm as always. The familiar smell of aged wood and alcohol hung in the air. Lantern light flickered across the walls, casting soft shadows over the furniture.
But the couch was empty.
Luthiel stopped. She looked at the spot where Morrigan would normally be—sprawled across the cushions, jug in hand, snoring or muttering or doing both at once. The indentation was still there. The empty bottles still lined the floor.
But the old turtle was gone.
"That is strange," Luthiel murmured, El's monotone voice barely audible in the quiet room.
She looked around for a moment, checking the kitchen, the back hallway, the washroom. Nothing. The house was empty. She shrugged lightly. It wasn't unheard of for Morrigan to wander at night, but she was usually home by this hour. Luthiel decided not to worry about it.
She grabbed a few pieces of fruit from the basket on the kitchen counter, bit into one, and sat down at the small table near the window. Then she reached into a basket beside her chair and pulled out a bundle of yarn and two knitting needles.
She was working on a new scarf for Urgor. His fur was thick enough that he didn't technically need one, but he had always seemed to like her knitted things. He wore the last one she made him until the threads came apart. It was a small token of thanks for everything the furry dwarf had done for her—her body and the repairs, the warmth, the simple fact that he smiled when she walked through his door.
Her mitten-like hands moved slowly but precisely, the needles clicking against each other in a quiet rhythm. For a few minutes the only sounds in the house were the soft click of yarn and the occasional crunch of fruit. The repetitive rhythm calmed her thoughts. Then a knock came at the door.
Luthiel set the yarn down, brushed her hands on her dress, and went to answer it.
When she opened the door, Morrigan stood on the other side, a fresh jug of something strong in one hand and a lazy expression on her face. The basin of water on her head rippled gently as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Luthiel bowed and stepped aside.
"Hello, Master. Welcome home. I was expecting to meet you here, but it seems you were out later than usual."
Morrigan shuffled inside, a tad unsteady on her feet. She waved the jug dismissively.
"Eh, yeah, sure. You're right." She dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the cushions groaning beneath her. "I was just taking care of one last thing real quick."
She took a drink, then peered at Luthiel with one half-closed eye. "How was your fucking day, my lil cutie?"
Luthiel stood by the doorway, her posture straight, her bangs covering her eyes.
"Scribe and I had a productive day."
Morrigan eyed her for a second. Then she leaned forward slightly, the water in her basin sloshing.
"What'd ya learn about that hottie today?"
Luthiel stared blankly at the old turtle, her expression unchanged behind her bangs.
"I learned many things. Allow me to report?"
"Go ahead. I mean that should be obvious though, I just asked you. Sometimes you're too responsible, El."
Luthiel nodded and began.
"First, I have determined that Scribe is under some form of threat. He is being coerced." Her voice was flat and measured, each word placed with care. "I revealed his arm and found burns. I would predict the other arm bears similar injuries, given how carefully he concealed it. When I questioned him, he admitted that he had conducted an experiment and that it was related to a threat against his life."
Morrigan took a slow drink. The water in her basin flowed gently as she tilted her head.
"Under threat, huh?" She set the jug on her knee. "Interesting. Perhaps blackmail from the Lacerts."
Luthiel nodded. "That was my assessment as well."
Morrigan stopped drinking. She held the jug still and stared at nothing for a long moment. "Or perhaps…"
Luthiel waited. Morrigan's eyes had sharpened beneath their lazy exterior. The casual haze was fading.
"I know of a way," Morrigan said slowly, "to modify a Mgbaaka Maara into a kill switch."
Luthiel tilted her head. Her face remained nearly expressionless, but something shifted behind the bangs.
"I was not aware of that. I thought the Mgbaaka Maara was meant for tracking and monitoring."
Morrigan nodded. "That's its primary function, yeah. But it ain't widely known that the design can be altered. It's not too uncommon either, if you know the right people." She tapped her claw against the jug. "If my theory is right, then that fucker is in some really deep shit."
She took a long swig, drained the jug in a single chug, and tossed it toward the trash can across the room. It missed. Luthiel quietly noted the location and began moving toward it. Morrigan continued while Luthiel picked up the jug and deposited it properly.
"That experiment he did. Did it involve a Jangushut?"
Luthiel nodded as she returned to her spot. "Yes. I found a shattered Jangushut and a crude contraption in his room."
Morrigan sighed deeply. She leaned back into the couch and stared at the ceiling.
"Well, damn. That confirms it."
Luthiel waited.
"That's a rare procedure," Morrigan said. "Done to delay the effects of an installed kill switch. You destabilize the Anima that connects the remote trigger to the bracelet. It's risky as hell. Most of the time it doesn't work, and when it does, the delay is only temporary."
She scratched her chin with one claw.
"But if he did that—if he went through all that trouble to jam the trigger and buy himself time—then it confirms the Mgbaaka Maara isn't just a tracker for him. It's his personal shackles. And it means he's not here by choice."
Luthiel stood still for a moment. Then she nodded slowly.
"I suppose so."
Morrigan's eyes drifted to the ceiling again. The water on her head swayed gently.
"That means there's a chance. If the bracelet were removed, he might not betray us. He might not continue working with the Lacerts at all."
Luthiel's voice carried a rare note of something close to hope. "You can remove it, right, Master?"
"Yeah, of course I can. A low-grade piece of shit like that? I could snap it off in my sleep." Morrigan paused. "But there's a problem."
Luthiel tilted her head.
"Just because he ain't friendly with the Lacerts doesn't mean he doesn't have his own plans against us. Removing the bracelet could mean letting a feral beast off its leash." She stroked her chin. "I need to know his intentions first. All of them."
Luthiel sighed quietly. "I understand."
Morrigan shook her head. "There's another problem too."
Something in her tone made Luthiel go still.
"The reason I was out late tonight," Morrigan said carefully, "is because I instructed some of the Guardians to keep watch on him. Just in case things went sideways after your conversation today."
Luthiel's eyes widened behind her bangs.
Morrigan sighed. "They'll be watching him until midnight. If during that time they see the Mgbaaka Maara—especially while they're already suspicious of him—it'll be a lot harder for me to question him quietly, take it off in secret, and let him off easy without losing the Guardians' support."
Luthiel's body went rigid.
"And on top of that," Morrigan continued, her voice lower now, "if they catch him and see it for themselves…" She took a breath. "I'm afraid some of them might try to kill him on the spot. Pazuzu especially. That man doesn't wait for permission when he thinks the village is in danger."
El stood perfectly still. Even for someone whose default expression was blank, the horror was visible. It was in the tension of her shoulders, the stiffness of her mitten-like hands at her sides, the way her breath caught just barely behind her teeth.
She tried to continue with her report. She needed to tell Morrigan the rest. It was important.
"There is more."
Morrigan looked back.
"What else?"
"I also learned there are multiple Sky-Fallen. Scribe was not alone when he arrived. There are others like—"
She didn't get to finish.
A sound cut through the night air from somewhere outside. Distant at first, then louder. Screams and shouting. The heavy sounds of a battle. Both Luthiel and Morrigan snapped their heads toward the window. Through the glass, they could see movement—lanterns swinging, shadows running, voices rising into the dark.
Something was happening in the village.
The old turtle's drunkenness vanished instantly. Her expression hardened as the water inside her basin began moving violently. Another shout rang out.
"SPY!"
The word carried through the night. Luthiel felt her stomach drop. Morrigan cursed.
"Fuck."
Both of them already knew exactly who that scream was about. Morrigan was on her feet before the second scream reached them. Her staff appeared in her hand as though it had always been there. Luthiel was already at the door.