Chapter 106
Nirma waited without pressing him, because she knew Arya was choosing his words. The young man in front of her never spoke before he was truly ready, before every word had found its proper place inside a sentence.
Arya scratched the right side of his neck with fingers that trembled slightly, then shifted to the left side—a nervous gesture Nirma had recognized since the first year they worked together, back in the days when Arya had been too young and too hesitant to say what he truly thought to a senior investigator like her.
"Nirma," he began, his voice a little awkward yet still firm and clear, like someone struggling to deliver something heavy even though his tongue felt stiff, "I want to ask something. Maybe it will sound foolish. Maybe it will sound like I'm doubting your judgment. But please listen first before you interrupt me."
Nirma nodded behind him, a nod invisible to the eye but perceptible through the slightest movement of her body.
"Go ahead," Nirma replied briefly, her single eye staring at Arya's back with the same intensity she had shown while interrogating Leontios a few hours earlier.
"My question is simple," Arya continued, his voice flowing more smoothly after passing the first obstacle.
"Does the motivation of this serial killer truly match Adrianos Komnenos's behavior during our interrogation earlier? Think about it, Nirma. Eighteen people have died at his hands. Eighteen lives lost in the same way—sprayed with an unidentified substance from behind, precisely between the shoulder blades, leaving a deep and fatal wound.
Among those eighteen victims, most were members of the crusading expedition: order knights, company captains, spear-wielding infantry, and elite guards. Whether they were leaders or merely followers of orders made no difference in his eyes.
He did not discriminate. He did not choose selectively. He wanted to prove only one thing—that every soldier, regardless of which side they belonged to, was under his control. That he could reach them whenever he wished, wherever they hid, no matter how tight the security surrounding them."
Arya paused for a moment to draw breath, and Nirma could feel his chest rising and falling beneath his thin robe.
"That isn't the motive of someone with a personal grudge, Nirma. It isn't the motive of someone angry because he was cheated or hurt because he was betrayed. It's the motive of someone who wants to demonstrate power. The motive of someone who wants to say to the world, 'I am stronger than all of you. I can do what none of you can.'"
Nirma remained silent, allowing Arya's words to settle in her mind, allowing herself to consider a perspective she might have overlooked because she had focused too intensely on physical evidence and the emotional reactions of the suspects.
Arya continued, growing more animated even though his voice remained soft and controlled, like a river flowing swiftly beneath a calm surface.
"And Adrianos Komnenos—the Megas Domestikos with all his authority, all his influence in the palace, and all the troops he can command whenever he wishes—what could he possibly prove by killing eighteen ordinary soldiers?
What would he show the world? That he, a great general, can murder his own subordinates? That he, the supreme commander, can betray the very people he is supposed to protect?
It makes no sense, Nirma. It would be like an emperor stepping down from the throne just to become a beggar in the market. It would be like a noble throwing away all his wealth simply to experience what it feels like to sleep in a gutter."
Arya shook his head slowly, a gesture that showed how absurd the idea seemed to him.
"He might be arrogant, perhaps even proud, perhaps convinced that he is the greatest among all the nobles of Constantinople. But he is not stupid, Nirma. And only a fool would risk everything he possesses—his rank, his wealth, his family's honor—just to kill people who could never threaten his position."
The horse slowed its pace, as if sensing that its rider was engaged in a conversation too important to be disturbed by the sound of hurried hooves.
Behind them, the Prefect's soldiers began to keep a greater distance, giving space, giving privacy, even though they did not know exactly what was being discussed ahead.
Arya lowered his head briefly, exhaled, and then continued in a quieter, more personal tone, like someone revealing the deepest contents of his heart.
"I know, Nirma. I know what you felt yesterday. When Adrianos spoke in that condescending tone, when he questioned our methods, when he said this investigation was a waste of time and that we would never find anything—I was angry too, Nirma.
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to smash that arrogant face. I wanted to show him that we are not garbage he can trample whenever he pleases.
My hands were already clenched at that moment, you know? I imagined what it would feel like if I stood up, stepped closer, and struck his jaw with a fist full of resentment."
Arya let out a bitter laugh, short and hollow, escaping through his nose without a trace of joy.
"But fortunately I held myself back. Fortunately I remembered who I am, who he is, and what we are fighting for here."
Nirma listened silently without interrupting or defending herself, because she knew Arya had not finished yet—that there was still something more important he wished to say.
And indeed, Arya had not finished.
He lifted his face and stared straight ahead through the thickening mist, and when he spoke again his voice sounded like a warning, like the slow tolling of a bell clear to anyone willing to hear it.
"We cannot mix subjective feelings with the facts in the field, Nirma. You taught me that yourself years ago, when I was still inexperienced and too quick to anger whenever a suspect spoke rudely to me.
You said then, 'Arya, personal resentment is the greatest enemy of justice. It will blind your eyes, deafen your ears, and make you see what you want to see instead of what truly stands before you.'
And you were right, Nirma. You are always right about that."
Arya paused briefly, letting his words settle before continuing with a firmer tone.
"So even though I was hurt by Adrianos's words as well, even though part of me wants to see him curled up inside a dungeon cell, I cannot allow that feeling to influence my judgment. I must be honest with myself—with the facts we have gathered, with the truth that may not always align with what we wish to see."
Arya glanced slightly over his shoulder, just enough to catch the shadow of Nirma's face from the corner of his eye, and spoke in a softer voice, almost like an apology.
"I'm sorry if I'm speaking too bluntly, Nirma. I'm sorry if I sound as though I'm lecturing you. But you know it yourself—Adrianos's lifestyle and the motives of this serial killer contradict each other completely.
He lives in luxury, in honor, in recognition from the entire court. He has everything—rank, power, money, women, whatever he desires.
So why would he kill eighteen people? Why would he take such a massive risk, gambling everything he has, merely to satisfy a murderous urge that does not even match his character?"
Arya shook his head slowly and returned his gaze straight ahead.
To be continued…