The office felt colder the moment Albedo finished speaking.
Jean tapped a steady rhythm on her desk, her brows pulled tight as she processed the implications. Klee's bombs had always come from Albedo's workshop. Always regulated. Always predictable.
Yet the crater at Cider Lake had been anything but predictable.
"Bring me Klee's backpack," Jean ordered.
Moments later, a knight returned with the oversized, rabbit-eared pack Klee guarded like treasure. Jean placed it on the desk.
Albedo stepped forward, unfastening the clasp with careful fingers.
As he sifted through its contents—fish, tools, snacks, and bomb after bomb—his brows pulled lower and lower.
"These are my designs," he murmured, rotating a red, smiley-faced bomb in his palm. "But their output capacity is fixed. They should not be able to create an explosion of what we witnessed today."
Jean exhaled, tension building between her ribs. "Then someone altered them."
"Or Klee used a bomb that wasn't mine at all." Albedo's expression darkened with quiet calculation.
Jean's mind flicked through scenarios—none pleasant.
If someone was tampering with Klee's equipment, they weren't just targeting a child. They were probing Mondstadt's defenses.
"I'll take these for further study," Albedo said, slipping the backpack's straps over his arm. "The cause might be… deeper than a simple mistake."
Jean nodded. "Keep them secured. When Klee's confinement ends, you can return the bag to her."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "She'll be heartbroken without it."
He paused, eyes softening. "Children grow up through mishaps… hers are simply a bit more explosive."
Jean gave a weary laugh. "This time, seven days. She needs to understand the weight of what happened."
"I'll check on her periodically," Albedo promised. "And next time, restrain her before she reaches the lake."
"That will be the plan," Jean sighed.
Albedo dipped his head and left with the pack.
Jean returned to her paperwork—only for a sharp flutter of wings to interrupt her.
A white-feathered eagle swooped through the open window and landed on her forearm, its talons gripping her bracer with disciplined precision. Jean recognized the bird immediately.
Eula's hawk.
She unfastened the message tube.
The note inside was brief and alarming.
"Found remnants of a terrifying explosion near Starfell Lake. Unidentified energy—possibly more dangerous than Pyro. Urgent attention required. —Eula."
Jean's breath hitched.
Cider Lake's explosion was still unresolved.
Now Starfell Lake as well?
This wasn't coincidence.
"Is it… also connected to Klee…?" Jean muttered.
No. Klee's bombs were strong, but that strong? Impossible. And Klee never went near Starfell Lake today.
Something else was moving across Mondstadt.
Something that left behind dangerous trails of power.
Jean rose sharply from her internal analysis as another knight burst into the office.
"Grand Master Jean—trouble! The Fatui are causing a disturbance in the market!"
Jean spun toward him. "What happened?"
"They're demanding that local merchants hand over materials. They showed diplomatic permits and threatened legal action when we intervened. The citizens are panicking—the situation is about to spiral!"
Jean's eyes flashed cold.
The Fatui again.
Of course.
"Understood."
She stood, sliding Eula's letter into a drawer. "I will handle this personally."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The knight stepped aside. Jean strode from the office, boots striking the marble with sharp, calm authority. But inside, the storm was rolling.
Cider Lake's explosion.
Starfell Lake's unnatural energy.
And the Fatui stirring trouble the same day?
These threads were not separate—they were converging.
Jean stepped through the headquarters doors.
A squad of knights was already assembled.
"Commercial district," Jean commanded. "Restore order. And contain the Fatui. They do not get to dictate the law in Mondstadt."
"Yes, Acting Grand Master!"
The knights hurried after her as she headed toward the heart of the city—where tension simmered, and the Fatui waited with their false diplomacy and sharpened intentions.
Mondstadt was on the brink of something unseen.
Jean could feel it.
Something dangerous was coming.