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Shattered glassware crunched under Evander’s boots as he approached Rigley and Cecillia, the headmaster’s arms still curled protectively around his niece’s shoulders.

“Uncle?” Rufus echoed. The inspector exchanged a frown with Evander and Leon.

Though his complexion remained ashen, Rigley recovered his composure. “I suppose explanations are in order.”

“Indeed,” Evander said coolly. “Starting with why you concealed your familial relationship with Professor Harrington.”

Guilt clouded Cecillia’s eyes. Evander now understood the meaning of the words she’d spoken when they’d first met.

“Quite frankly, I didn’t think it relevant to your investigation,” Rigley admitted.

“You didn’t think—!” Rufus began hotly. He fell silent when Evander raised a hand, the annoyance tightening his features reflected in Leon’s expression.

Evander noted the defiance in Rigley’s voice with a faint frown. It was clear he was being difficult for the sake of protecting his niece.

“Any connection to Professor Whitley and his research is relevant,” he said, his tone measured despite the elemental magic still humming through his blood. He suppressed a grimace at the familiar tingle of ice in his fingertips and retracted his powers.

The shadow creatures had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. They reminded him of the terror he’d felt for Viggo’s safety when they’d confronted Renwick. The thought of his absent lover caused a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the recent exertion of magic.

He needed to talk to Viggo. And the sooner the better.

Cecillia broke the fraught silence.

“Headmaster,” she faltered and bit her lip, her pleading gaze on Rigley. “Uncle, I think we should tell them the truth.”

For a moment, Evander thought the headmaster would not budge. Rigley finally nodded.

“Perhaps we should relocate for this discussion?” Leon suggested smoothly. The Frenchman looked remarkably unruffled as he retrieved his coat and shrugged into it.

Only Evander could tell he was tense from the faint lines around his mouth.

“My office would be more appropriate,” Rigley said reluctantly. “And private.”

“We should have Fitch guard the laboratory while Bartley fetches more officers,” Evander told Shaw and Rufus briskly. “We need someone to watch the premises until we finish our investigation.”

Rigley watched as the forensic mage nodded and disappeared, his expression indicating he was uncomfortable with this arrangement. They waited until Shaw returned with Fitch before following the headmaster.

Leon fell into step beside Evander as they made their way through the corridors of the Institute.

“That was impressive work, mon cher,” he murmured, his voice pitched for Evander’s ears alone. His fingers brushed Evander’s knuckles. “We always did work well together.”

Evander carefully shifted away from his touch, an unwelcome warmth rising in his cheeks. “What are you doing?” he said under his breath.

Leon’s eyes crinkled at the corners, an arresting smile curving his mouth that would have made Evander’s heart skip a beat in the past. “Trying to win you over, of course.”

Evander lowered his brows. “You can shelve that notion right now. I have a lover. One I am wholeheartedly committed to.”

Surprise widened Leon’s eyes.

Luckily for Evander, Shaw intervened before the Frenchman could question him.

“Your Grace, I found something in the quadrangle.” She produced a small cloth bundle from her pocket and carefully unfolded it to reveal several shards of clear glass. “I believe these may be fragments of a vial.”

Evander frowned. A trace of purple coated the lining of the glass.

“Is that Noctis Bloom ?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Shaw replied reluctantly. “It doesn’t have any noticeable scent.”

“Have Brown examine it.”

Shaw nodded and put away the evidence.

Rigley’s office on the uppermost floor of the Institute befitted the headmaster of the prestigious establishment.

Dark oak panelling covered the walls and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with ancient tomes gave the room a solemn, scholarly air.

A large desk dominated the space beneath the tall windows overlooking the Institute grounds.

Evander fixed the headmaster with a penetrating stare once they were all seated, Rigley in his chair and Cecillia to his right.

“Now, I believe we’re owed that explanation.”

Rigley passed a hand over his face, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-odd years.

“Cecillia is my late sister’s daughter. When her parents died in the cholera outbreak fifteen years ago, I took her in and raised her.

It didn’t take long for me to realise she was a talented mage. ” He shot a kind glance at his niece.

“And her appointment to the faculty?” Rufus asked pointedly.

“Was based entirely on merit,” Rigley insisted, his voice hardening. “Cecillia graduated top of her class and has published more scholarly works on hydromancy than anyone her age in the Institute’s history.”

“That may be true,” Evander said quietly, “but your failure to disclose this relationship may have compromised our investigation.”

Cecillia’s knuckles whitened on her lap.

“Please, your Grace, don’t blame my uncle.

” Her voice trembled a little as she gazed pleadingly at him.

“I asked him not to reveal our connection when I first applied for a position here. I wanted to make my own way through the Institute, free from whispers and accusations of nepotism.”

“Yet, from what you revealed when we first met, it seems others already know your secret,” Evander observed.

Alarm widened Rigley’s eyes. “Is that true?!” He stared at his niece, stricken.

Cecillia hesitated before nodding miserably. “I didn’t want to burden you.” She reached over and clasped her uncle’s hand. “You have already done so much for me.”

Rigley swallowed and placed his fingers atop hers.

Evander’s expression softened slightly. He understood all too well the desire to forge one’s own path, independent of family connections. And it was clear to all in the room that uncle and niece cherished each other deeply.

“What is your connection to Professor Whitley’s research?” he finally asked Cecillia.

She took a tremulous breath, as if to steel herself.

“I possess an unusual magical ability.” Her jaw tightened as she met their stares. “I am what some call a hybrid mage.”

Evander’s pulse quickened. He masked his surprise behind a steady stare.

“Hybrid?” Rufus asked, confused.

Cecillia nodded reluctantly. “My primary element is water, but I also have affinity for light magic built into it.”

“Cor blimey,” Shaw mumbled.

Evander traded a tense look with a pale-faced Rufus.

As far as they knew, Ophelia was the only light mage in London.

“That’s exceedingly rare,” Leon said gravely.

“Yes,” Cecillia confirmed. “Walter became interested in my abilities several years ago. He believed that studying magical hybridity might lead to breakthroughs in our understanding of how magical gifts are inherited and develop with age.”

Evander wrinkled his brow. “Professor Chevalier evidently shared the same interest.”

Rigley visibly startled.

“Professor Chevalier? Do you mean Henri Chevalier, the Elemental Magic specialist working at the Paris Institute for the Arcane?” the headmaster asked sharply.

Evander realised belatedly that Rigley knew nothing about the French scientist’s disappearance. He briefed him about the reason for Leon’s presence in London.

“My God.” Rigley leaned back heavily in his chair, his expression ashen. “This is unfathomable.” He stared blindly at his desk for a moment. “I recently approved Walter’s leave. Though he didn’t specify the reason he was going to Paris, I gathered it had to do with his research.”

Something about Rigley’s troubled expression had Evander’s scalp prickling.

Intuition blasted through him, causing him to straighten in his chair.

“You know why they were researching rare magical abilities, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Cecillia shot a bewildered glance at Rigley. “Whitley never told anyone why?—”

Rigley stayed her words with a gentle touch upon her wrist.

“Magical transference,” he confessed quietly, his gaze meeting Evander’s unflinchingly. “Whitley was researching the theory that magical abilities might be transferable under certain conditions.”

Evander’s chest tightened painfully in the heavy silence, to the point he feared he would struggle to catch his next breath. He could tell from the way Leon had grasped the armrests of his chair in a white-knuckled grip that the same fear coursing through him was chilling the Frenchman’s blood.

If Rigley was correct, then the implications of Whitley and Chevalier’s research were beyond staggering.

Were such knowledge to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be catastrophic.

The power to steal magical abilities would upset the very foundations of not just their society, but the world as they knew it.

Evander’s nails dug into his palms.

And it could very well spark a war between magic users and thralls the likes of which we have never seen before.

“Are you suggesting,” he finally said, his voice deceptively calm despite the knots in his stomach, “that Whitley and Chevalier were attempting to find a way to transfer magical abilities from one person to another?”

“It was theoretical research only,” Rigley hastened to add. “Walter was a man of science, not a dark magician. He was interested in understanding the fundamental nature of magic, not in creating some—some abomination.”

“And yet,” Leon observed coldly, “someone has likely employed dark magic to abduct both him and his student. Not to mention Chevalier.”

Something in the Frenchman’s voice had Evander shooting a glance at him.

“Which means someone felt their theoretical research could actually be put into practice,” Rufus concluded softly.

Hearing the words made the ghastly possibility all the more real to everyone in the room.

Shaw cleared her throat. “Your Grace, I should take these glass fragments back to the AFD for analysis. There is still the laboratory to investigate too.”

Evander nodded, his mind racing. “Please do.” He studied Rigley and Cecillia with a faint frown. “We will arrange protection for Professor Harrington. If someone is targeting those involved in this research, she may be in danger too.”

“That won’t be necessary—” Rigley began.

“With all due respect, Headmaster, it absolutely is necessary,” Evander cut in coolly.

“Two professors and a student have vanished and we’ve just been attacked by shadow creatures in this very building.

I strongly recommend you close down the Institute to external visitors for now and send the students home.

The Met will carry out a thorough review of everyone involved even the slightest with Professor Whitley. ”

Rigley’s mouth thinned to a line. “I’m afraid I cannot agree to either of those demands without consulting the Institute’s board members.”

“Then may I suggest you do so posthaste?” Evander snapped. His tone softened at his old mentor’s mutinous expression. “Please, work with me, Headmaster. After all, we both want the same thing, do we not? To keep the Institute safe for students and staff alike?”

A heavy sigh finally left Rigley. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You always were stubborn to a fault, Ravenwood. I shall do my best to get them to agree to your requests.”