After the harrowing events surrounding Ceaser Wyrth and the Black Veil legacy, Celeste Noir finally found herself at peace—well, temporarily. With the culprit dead and the children returned safely, Silverpalace could breathe again. And for once, so could she.
Thanks to Cedric stepping up and delegating minor cases to his officers, Celeste wasn't immediately buried under paperwork or another blood-stained riddle. She could sleep, sip tea, and—perhaps for the first time in years—feel like a regular woman.
Celeste (stretching by the window):
"Today feels... ordinary. Unusually so."
(She glanced at her torn coat from the previous case, hanging like a trophy on the stand.)
"Right. I need a new outfit."
She dusted herself off, brushed her long lavender hair into a neat braid, and grabbed her bag and revolver—just in case.
An Hour Later – Midway Market, Silverpalace
The streets were bustling, filled with vendors shouting about rare fabrics, spices, and enchanted trinkets. Celeste, still going by "Emma Walker" in public, found herself at a boutique with sleek, modern tailoring but hints of classic flair.
Celeste (holding a coat against herself in the mirror):
"Hm. Too flashy. I'm solving murders, not attending a royal gala."
She settled for a dark plum trench coat with black embroidery—subtle, sharp, and professional.
Shopkeeper: "A fine eye, miss. That piece is part of our winter detective collection."
Celeste (raising a brow):
"Convenient. Wrap it up, please."
Until fate, as always, found a way to tap her on the shoulder.
Thud.
She stumbled slightly, bumping into a woman who looked like she hadn't eaten in days.
The woman was thin, trembling—her eyes hollow yet desperate. Her dress was torn near the ribs, and spots of red slowly spread across the fabric.
Celeste steadied her, instinctively holding the woman by her arms.
"Hey—are you alright?"
The woman looked up, her voice barely a whisper.
"Can you… help me?"
Celeste's eyes narrowed. Her instincts flared.
"…What kind of help?"
The woman hesitated, then bit her lip and finally gave in. Her voice cracked.
"There's a noble… a powerful one. He's after me. I don't have long—"
(She coughed, and fresh blood stained her sleeve.)
"But please, I beg you… take my daughter with you. Keep her safe."
Celeste paused. Her first instinct was to remain neutral, to question, to weigh the truth in the woman's words. But then she saw the signs—pulse weakening, breath shallow, skin cold and pale as snow.
A dying woman on borrowed time.
Celeste (softly):
"So… you're on a time limit?"
The woman nodded weakly.
Celeste closed her eyes for a second, then sighed.
"Alright… show me the way."
They moved through the quiet side streets of Silverpalace, the woman clutching her side, each step a struggle. Celeste kept her pace steady beside her, eyes alert. She was used to following blood trails—but not ones that walked beside her, desperate and dying.
As they rounded a corner into a less crowded alley, Celeste broke the silence.
Celeste (flatly):
"Why trust your child to a stranger?"
The woman didn't answer immediately. Her breathing was ragged.
Celeste (tone sharper):
"Are you confident I won't sell your daughter to a slaver? Or dump her in an orphanage and forget she ever existed?"
The woman gave a faint, breathy laugh—more exhale than humor.
Woman (weakly):
"Because no slaver wears a sword and revolver like that with clean hands… and no orphanage worker walks like a predator-hunter."
Celeste raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Woman (continuing):
"I don't have the luxury of choosing someone safe… only someone capable."
Celeste didn't respond immediately. The tension between them lingered for a few moments before she finally said, almost grudgingly:
Celeste:
"…Fair answer."
They turned another corner. The streets grew narrower, lined with crooked buildings and flickering lanterns. The stench of rust and mold filled the air. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
The woman stopped in front of a tiny, slanted door in a worn-down tenement.
Woman (softly):
"She's inside. I haven't told her yet."
Celeste's fingers brushed against the holster at her side. Something about this felt off… but not in a dangerous way. Just a sadness too deep to put into words.
Celeste:
"Then let's go in together. You still have a little time."
[Inside the small, dimly lit house in the slums]
The wooden floor creaked beneath their steps. Dust hung in the air like a lingering memory. A tiny fireplace crackled weakly in the corner, the only source of warmth in the otherwise cold, crumbling room.
A little girl—no older than six—sat on a woven rug, playing with a doll that had clearly seen better days. She looked up as the door opened, her wide amber eyes immediately locking onto her mother.
Girl:
"Mama?"
The woman smiled, her expression soft despite the pain in her eyes.
She knelt beside her daughter, brushing a strand of hair from the child's face.
Woman (softly):
"Sweetheart… there's someone I want
you to meet."
She looked back at Celeste—Emma Walker—who stood silently by the doorway, watching everything.
Celeste's gaze swept the room, her eyes sharp. The place was old, run-down, but there were traces of class in the way things were arranged—fine silverware tucked away, a family portrait hastily turned toward the wall, and the woman's posture: straight-backed even when weakened.
Celeste (calmly, crossing her arms):
"Well, you brought me far into the slums... but your face, the way you carry yourself, the way you speak—it's too polished to belong here."
She took a slow step forward, letting her voice drop in tone.
Celeste:
"You're a noble, aren't you? Or you were. So what happened?"
The woman stayed silent for a moment before nodding faintly. She didn't look surprised.
Celeste (more firmly):
"I'm a detective. Emma Walker, if names matter. But I don't babysit children out of pity. If you want me to care for your daughter, then tell me the truth."
The woman looked down at her daughter—then closed her eyes, gathering her breath. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of everything she'd been holding back.
Woman:
"My name is Lady Seraphine Ashridge... formerly of House Ashridge. Once a noble family known for its military lineage."
Celeste's eyes narrowed slightly.
Seraphine (continuing):
"I married a man chosen by the court. He was powerful, respected… and ruthless. He didn't want a wife—he wanted a pawn."
She glanced at her daughter, who listened quietly, sensing the tension even if she didn't understand all of it.
Seraphine:
"When I gave birth to Arianne, I thought I could endure it all for her sake. But when he found out she had no aptitude for magic—he called her a disgrace. He wanted her... gone."
Her voice broke slightly on that last word.
Seraphine:
"So I ran. I took nothing. No gold. No servants. Just her. We've been hiding ever since."
Celeste didn't say anything for a long while. Her violet eyes studied the woman with unreadable calculation. Then, slowly, she walked over to the girl.
Celeste (kneeling slightly):
"What's your name, little one?"
Girl (quietly):
"…Arianne."
Celeste smiled gently, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
Celeste:
"Well then, Arianne. You might be staying with me for a while. How do you feel about helping a detective solve mysteries?"
The girl blinked, surprised… then smiled shyly and nodded.
Celeste stood again and looked at Seraphine.
Celeste (softly, but firmly):
"I'll take care of her. But if what you said is true… he'll come looking. You understand that, right?"
Seraphine:
"I know. I just want her to live. Free."
Celeste nodded.
Celeste:
"Then I'll make sure she does. You have my word."
Celeste looked down at the little girl one last time before walking back toward Seraphine, her expression shifting—no longer just sympathetic, but hardened by truth.
She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a folded kerchief, and handed it to Seraphine.
Then, in one swift motion, Celeste removed her own wig, revealing long lavender hair that shimmered faintly in the dull firelight.
Celeste (calm, serious):
"I have something you need to understand."
She knelt down beside Seraphine, so they were eye level.
Celeste:
"She'll have to live like me. Hidden. Masked. Her name, her face, her identity—none of it will ever be her own again. If your husband is half the predator you described, then hiding in the slums won't protect her."
She held the wig gently in her hand before folding it and putting it away.
Celeste (quietly):
"She'll need a new name. A new hair color. New story. No magic. No noble titles. Just a little girl with a common life. That's the only way she'll survive."
Seraphine's hands clenched tightly on her lap. Her face turned pale—not from fear, but from the gut-wrenching reality she knew was true.
Celeste:
"I'm asking you, Lady Seraphine Ashridge, not as a mother—but as a woman who's about to vanish from her daughter's life forever."
She leaned in closer.
Celeste:
"Would you still want this? A life where your child forgets the halls she used to run through, the crest she was born under, and the mother who once told her bedtime stories by candlelight?"
For a moment, there was only silence—broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and Arianne humming softly to her doll across the room.
Seraphine's lips trembled.
Seraphine (whispering):
"If that means she'll live… then yes."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She looked at her daughter—burning the memory of her face into her soul.
Seraphine (barely a whisper):
"Please… protect her. Let her live free. Even if it means she forgets me."
Celeste nodded, solemnly.
Celeste:
"She won't forget you. But she will live."
Celeste stood slowly, her expression sharpening with intent as she looked down at Seraphine.
Celeste (calm, but direct):
"There's one more thing I need to ask you, and I want the truth."
Seraphine looked up at her, startled.
Celeste:
"Does your husband abuse you? Your daughter? Or is he involved in anything illegal? I need to know—because if he's guilty, I'm not just taking your child into hiding... I'm coming after him."
Seraphine hesitated—her mouth opened, then closed again. Her fingers trembled slightly.
Celeste (firmer):
"I'm not just someone you ask for help—I'm a detective. If you want me to protect your daughter, I need the full story. No more veils. No more vague warnings. If he's a threat, I need to know how far he'll go."
Seraphine's eyes glistened, but her voice was clear.
Seraphine (softly):
"He's a monster. Behind his title and charm—he traffics people through the guise of noble alliances. Commoner girls. Children. I found out by accident… and when I tried to stop him—"
Her voice cracked, hand clutching her side where the blood was still seeping.
Seraphine:
"He swore no one would believe me. That I'd disappear before I could even speak."
Celeste's jaw tightened. Her gaze became razor-sharp.
Celeste (low, deadly calm):
"Then he's more than just dangerous. He's a predator."
She turned to glance at the girl playing quietly, unaware of the storm around her.
Celeste:
"Don't worry. I'll make sure she never becomes another pawn in his twisted game. But know this, Seraphine…"
She turned back.
Celeste (eyes glowing with resolve):
"If you're telling the truth—and I believe you are—I won't stop at hiding her."
Celeste:
"I'll bring him down."
The second night came quietly, blanketed by the soft hum of wind through the slums. Inside the small, dim room, Seraphine lay resting, her face pale but peaceful. Celeste sat at the edge of the room, keeping silent vigil, her eyes flicking occasionally to the small child curled beside her mother.
Arianne had finally dozed off—exhausted from crying earlier, her tiny hand still wrapped around her mother's.
But when morning came, Seraphine didn't stir.
Celeste approached quietly, fingers reaching for a pulse she already knew she wouldn't find. She placed her hand over Seraphine's heart.
Nothing.
A soft breath left her lips as she gently pulled the sheets higher, covering her face.
Celeste (softly):
"She waited until she knew her daughter was safe."
Moments later, a scream pierced the air—Arianne had woken up.
Arianne (sobbing):
"No! Mama! Mama, wake up! Please! I'll be good, just wake up!"
She shook her mother's body again and again, her cries ripping through the air like knives. Celeste knelt beside her, trying to soothe the child, but Arianne refused to let go. Not yet.
Not until her tiny hands had no strength left to hold.
Eventually, Celeste gently pried her away and held her tightly as the girl's sobs turned into quiet hiccups, tears soaking into Celeste's coat.
Two days later.
The rain was light—just a misting drizzle. Celeste stood by the freshly filled grave in the public cemetery, one hand on Arianne's small shoulder. The girl held a bundle of wildflowers, picked from the roadside.
The modest gravestone read:
Seraphine de Villarelle
A mother who gave everything for her daughter.
May her soul find the peace she was denied in life.
Celeste gave the girl time. When Arianne placed the flowers on the grave, she whispered a soft goodbye and pressed her cheek to the stone before stepping back, eyes still red.
Celeste (quietly, to herself):
"I promise… she won't grow up in fear."
She took Arianne's hand gently in hers and turned away from the grave.
A storm was brewing elsewhere—and Celeste was already preparing for the next move.
One week later…
The detective agency, once a quiet little building on the edge of Silverpalace, now had a new guest.
Arianne, now called Emily Walker, sat by the window with a book in her hands—something light and adventurous. Her hair had been dyed a soft chestnut brown, trimmed into a more modest style. The girl still cried at night, but less than before.
Celeste watched her from the hallway, arms crossed. She gave a small nod of approval. Emily was adjusting.
And now that she was safe… it was time to turn her attention to the real issue.
Celeste stepped into her office and closed the door behind her. Pulling out her notebook, she flipped through the pages until she found the name again.
Seraphine de Villarelle.
She picked up the rotary phone on her desk and dialed a familiar number.
After two rings, a voice answered.
Cedric (casually):
"Emma Walker's number. Don't tell me there's another noble in your kitchen."
Celeste (dryly):
"Not yet. But I need you to dig into one."
There was a pause on the other end as her tone shifted.
Celeste (serious):
"I want everything you can find on the husband of a noblewoman. Her name was Seraphine de Villarelle. Formerly of high standing, but she died last week."
Cedric (instantly alert):
"You think the husband had something to do with her death?"
Celeste:
"I know he's involved in something. Abuse, threats—at the very least neglect. But I want it confirmed. His full name, where he is now, any business or criminal records, mistresses, debts—anything that smells off. Leave no stone unturned."
Cedric:
"Alright… I'll pull some strings. Might take a couple of days to get past the noble house records."
Celeste:
"Then get started. I want to know what kind of man would drive his wife to the grave… and why he was so afraid of what she might leave behind."
Cedric (softly):
"...You're taking this one personally."
Celeste:
"I buried her. I have to take this personally."
She hung up the phone, her jaw tense.
She looked over her shoulder—through the crack in the door, she could see Emily peacefully drawing by the fireplace.
Celeste (to herself):
"No one else is going to take her future away."
Celeste quietly stepped into the room, holding a small cup with both hands. The scent of warm cocoa drifted through the air.
Celeste (gently):
"Here. Careful, it's hot."
She knelt beside the girl and handed her the cup. Arianne—now Emily—took it with trembling hands.
Arianne (softly, eyes lowered):
"Thank you… detective big sister…"
The words came out quietly, almost a whisper, but they made Celeste freeze for a moment. Her expression softened.
She placed a hand gently on Emily's head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Celeste (smiling faintly):
"Your mother is watching over you now. She's up there, probably fussing that I forgot to bring a blanket or made the cocoa too bitter."
Arianne gave a tiny laugh through her tears.
Celeste (firm but kind):
"She left you with me because she loves you. She wanted you to have a life of freedom… not one spent running from that man. You don't need to be afraid anymore. Not while I'm here."
Arianne nodded slowly, sniffled, and took a careful sip.
Arianne:
"...It's sweet."
Celeste (chuckling softly):
"Of course it is. I'm not that bad."
The fire crackled gently in the background. Outside, rain began to fall—but inside, wrapped in the gentle warmth of cocoa and quiet safety, Emily finally let herself breathe.
The calm, cozy moment between them was short-lived. The shrill ring of the telephone cut through the warmth like a knife. Emily flinched, startled.
Celeste gave her a reassuring smile and knelt beside her.
Celeste (gently):
"Arianne… from now on, let's go with Emily, alright? You're Emily Walker now. My little sister."
Emily blinked, surprised, but then slowly nodded.
Celeste (softly):
"If anyone ever asks, you tell them your big sister is Detective Emma Walker. That'll be enough to keep you safe."
Emily (quietly):
"Okay…"
Celeste ruffled her hair briefly before standing and walking toward the phone. She picked it up, her tone turning businesslike.
Celeste:
"Walker Detective Agency—how can we help you?"
Cedric (voice sharp on the line):
"It's me. Celeste."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone didn't change.
Celeste (dryly):
"Oh, it's just you. So, did you find anything on that man? As expected, you police officers really are fast when it's not your paperwork."
Cedric (grumbling):
"Save the sarcasm, Celeste. You're going to want to hear this. We found something… interesting."
Her expression turned serious.
Cedric (grim):
"That man's not just a noble with a temper. He runs an underground slave trading network. Legitimate on the surface—an import business—but the truth is filthier than mud. He had ties to Ceaser. Frequent communication. Mutual dealings."
Celeste's fingers tightened around the phone. Her face was a picture of calm, but her eyes burned. Behind her, Emily sat on the floor, repeating in a small, sweet voice:
Emily (practicing):
"My name is Emily Walker… my big sister is Emma Walker…"
Celeste closed her eyes for a second, drawing in a breath.
Celeste (quietly but firm):
"Come to the agency. Bring everything. All the files."
Celeste:
"This case… will be handled by Celeste Noir."
A pause.
Celeste:
"I will never let that man go."
An hour later, a soft knock sounded at the door. Celeste opened it without a word. Cedric stood there, holding a thick envelope, his face grim.
She stepped aside.
Cedric (stepping in, voice low):
"It's worse than we thought."
Celeste took the file, her expression unreadable as she moved to her desk. Emily was asleep in the next room—safe, for now.
She opened the file, the desk lamp casting a harsh glow across the first page.
—
[CONFIDENTIAL DOSSIER – SUBJECT: LORD ALARIC DE VILLARELLE]
Status: High-Ranking Noble of the Silverpalace Council
House: Villarelle — One of the original ten founding noble lines.
Public Role: Director of Lux Imports & Trades, Philanthropist, Orphanage Patron
Private Activities (CLASSIFIED):
Known associate of Ceaser Wyrth
Tied to black-market slave auctions, particularly targeting orphans and runaways
Accused of domestic abuse against Lady Seraphine de Villarelle
Implicated in disappearances of multiple household servants
Under investigation for influence over judiciary and council bribery
Cedric (glancing toward the living room where Emily was doodling quietly):
"So… is this the kid you took under your wing, Celeste?"
Celeste (without looking up from the dossier):
"Yeah. Her name's Emily Walker now. An alias—matches with Emma Walker. Makes it easier to explain."
Cedric (cracking a faint smile):
"Sounds exactly like something you'd do."
Celeste (closing the file and sitting back):
"But to think… a high-ranking noble, from one of the Ten Founding Houses, running a slave ring like some gutter rat. What the hell is going on in this world?"
Cedric (half-joking, but with an edge):
"I mean… aren't you technically a princess of a foreign country who became the infamous detective Celeste Noir?"
Celeste (glaring, voice low and cutting):
"Don't you dare say another word."
Cedric (saluting like a soldier):
"YES MA'AM! Mouth sealed. Message received."
Celeste (muttering):
"I'm not royalty anymore. I threw that name away a long time ago."
Cedric stayed quiet this time, watching as she stood and walked to Emily's side. The little girl looked up and smiled at her—completely unaware of the storm Celeste was preparing to walk into again.
Celeste (quietly to herself):
"I may not be a princess… but I'll be damned if I let another noble ruin a child's life."
Celeste (glaring at Cedric, her voice sharp and low):
"You just had to bring up something I'd rather keep buried, didn't you?"
Cedric (rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish):
"...Force of habit. My bad."
Emily (walking over, holding her notepad like a teddy bear):
"Big sister, what are you doing? And… who is this person?"
Celeste blinked, her expression softening as she crouched slightly to Emily's height.
Celeste (gently):
"This is Cedric. He's a police officer,Sometimes annoying, but usually helpful."
Cedric (smiling and kneeling slightly):
"You can call me Sir Cedric if you like. I help your sister when things get a little too dangerous."
Emily (tilting her head):
"So… you're like her assistant?"
Celeste (smirking slightly):
"More like the other way around, but sure—let's go with that."
Cedric (pretending to be offended):
"Hey!"
Emily (giggles):
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Assistant!"
Celeste gave a faint laugh, ruffling Emily's hair.
Celeste (softly):
"Go on, Emily. Keep practicing your writing. I'll be with you in a bit."
Emily nodded and went back to her little practice corner, leaving the two adults once again with the heavy file open between them.
Celeste (voice dropping again, serious):
"Now… let's talk about how we're going to bring that bastard down
Celeste closed the file with a quiet snap, her expression unreadable as her eyes scanned over the desk scattered with documents, red string lines, and criminal photos.
Celeste (calm but firm):
"This man—alaric de villarelle—has influence, money, and a web of connections that run through the underbelly of Silver Palace like rot under polished wood. If I go at him through official channels, he'll cover his tracks before the ink dries on the paperwork."
She stood, walking over to the wall where a small map of the city hung. She tapped two places: a warehouse near the east docks and a noble estate in the high district.
Celeste (thinking aloud):
"He has to be moving the trafficked people between here and the ports. He won't use his own name. I'll go in myself—disguised. A potential buyer, maybe a courier. It'll get me close enough to gather proof and maybe even find where he's keeping the others."
Cedric (frowning):
"You want to infiltrate the Villarelle ring alone? That's suicide, Celeste. Let me come with you, or at least back you up from a distance."
Celeste (shaking her head):
"I can't risk exposure. He knows the police are sniffing around. If he sees you near me, he'll tighten security. But me—just a lone broker with the right coin and false name? He'll let me walk through the front door."
She turned toward him, gaze sharp.
Celeste:
"I need someone to stay behind."
She looked over to the side, where Emily was curled up with a book, scribbling her new name over and over again on a piece of paper.
Celeste (quietly):
"I have to leave Emily alone, Cedric. She's been through too much already, and if something happens to me…"
Cedric (gently but seriously):
"It won't. You're not alone in this."
Celeste (softly):
"Still. I need someone I trust to stay with her. Someone who'll protect her if things go south."
She pulled on her coat, slipping her revolver into the holster, and buckled her sword into place. Her expression hardened with resolve.
Celeste:
"Watch over her. I'll go. And when it's done—when he's exposed for the monster he is—I'll come home."
She glanced back at Cedric one last time.
Celeste (with a faint smirk):
"You handle the cleanup. Like always."
[Night – Grand Noble Estate, outskirts of Silverpalace]
The full moon loomed overhead, casting a pale glow across the towering estate surrounded by tall iron fences and patrolling guards. Celeste, dressed in a muted cloak, crouched behind a thicket of hedges, her eyes fixed on the eastern wing of the manor.
Celeste (muttering):
"According to Cedric's intel, the operations are handled beneath the east wing... let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."
She pulled out a small vial of smoke compound, threw it toward the far end of the perimeter, and within seconds a plume erupted. Guards shouted and ran toward the distraction.
She sprinted across the open path and scaled the ivy-laced wall with practiced ease, slipping through a window into a lavish corridor.
Inside, she moved with ghostly silence, weaving through darkened halls until she found the concealed staircase behind an antique armoire—just as Cedric's file described.
[Hidden Basement – 20 minutes later]
Rows of locked iron cages, empty shackles, and manifest ledgers lined the chamber. Celeste crouched behind crates when two men entered.
Guard 1:
"Lord Alaric will be here any minute to inspect the next shipment."
Guard 2:
"I heard he's planning to move the entire operation again. That Wyrth brat caused too much noise when he got himself killed."
Celeste's eyes narrowed. She waited until the two men left, then crept forward and scanned the ledgers, photographing the documents before slipping toward the far tunnel—one that led directly to the study upstairs.
[Lord Alaric's Study – Midnight]
Alaric de Villarelle stood by his fireplace, swirling a glass of wine, unaware of the figure emerging from the secret entrance behind the bookshelf.
Celeste (coldly):
"Quite the empire you've built in your family's name, Alaric."
He turned, startled, before setting the glass down and clapping slowly.
Alaric:
"Well, well... if it isn't the infamous Emma Walker—no... Celeste Noir."
Celeste (dryly):
"Took you long enough."
Alaric:
"You've made a mistake walking into my home. Do you think you'll leave here alive?"
Celeste:
"I didn't come alone."
She flicked a switch on a small device in her pocket. Instantly, loud knocks and shouts echoed from outside.
Cedric (from outside):
"Silverpalace Guard! Open this gate! We have a warrant!"
Alaric's composed face twisted.
Celeste (stepping closer):
"You trafficked the vulnerable. You destroyed lives. And now you'll pay."
Alaric pulled a concealed pistol from his drawer, but Celeste was faster. In one swift move, she disarmed him with a strike to the wrist and slammed him against the desk.
Celeste (whispering into his ear):
"Your games end here."
The door burst open as Cedric and a group of uniformed officers stormed in.
Cedric:
"Well, looks like someone's caught red-handed. Good evening, Lord de Villarelle."
Alaric (spitting):
"This won't hold! I am one of the Ten!"
Celeste (turning away):
"And you'll be number one on Silverpalace's hall of disgrace."
As they dragged Alaric away, Celeste watched in silence, her hands tightening into fists—but her eyes calm.
The door creaked open quietly as Celeste stepped inside, her boots light against the wooden floor. Her coat still bore dust and soot from the estate, but her eyes—usually sharp and cold—softened the moment she saw the little figure waiting near the window.
Emily (eyes lighting up, running):
"Big sister!"
She rushed across the room, throwing her small arms around Celeste's waist. Celeste knelt down, hugging her back tightly.
Celeste (gently, resting her cheek against Emily's hair):
"I'm home."
Emily (smiling up at her):
"Welcome back, big sister."
For a moment, the world outside—nobles, corruption, secrets, and bloodshed—faded into nothing but the quiet warmth of found family. Celeste looked at the small girl in her arms and exhaled.
Celeste (softly):
"I kept my promise."
Emily (nodding, teary-eyed):
"And I waited, just like you asked."
They stayed like that for a while, the gentle ticking of the agency's wall clock filling the silence. And in that moment, Celeste Noir—detective, hunter of shadows, survivor of endless cases—allowed herself a rare moment of peace.
—case closed