We reached the top floor.

  Dominic bent forward immediately, hands on his knees, breathing hard from the five-story climb. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the evening chill seeping through the building's walls.

  I barely felt winded. Divine blood and extensive training had its advantages.

  "So," I said, letting him catch his breath while reviewing what he'd told me during our ascent. "The other two victims had almost no commonalities. Different social classes, different occupations, different zones of the eleventh district. The only connections are that they died the same way, were both male, and both died away from home - alone, in bed, seemingly without struggle."

  Dominic nodded between gasps. "Yes... milord. That's... the sum of it."

  I turned to Leonard and Alice, who'd followed us up the stairs with considerably more grace than our civilian companion.

  "L, A - check the other rooms on this floor for anything suspicious. Signs of forced entry, disturbance, anything that doesn't belong."

  They both nodded once and split without a word - Leonard moving left down the corridor, Alice heading right. Professional, efficient and taught.

  I turned back to find Dominic already at the door to Room 12B, hand on the handle.

  He pushed it open and stepped inside without waiting for permission, leaving the door open for me as he disappeared into the darkness beyond.

  Bold for a civilian. Or maybe just eager.

  Social hierarchy-wise, it would usually be considered disrespectful to treat an Inquisitor's authority with such casualness.

  Luckily for him, I never cared for social norms.

  I followed him in.

  The room was perfectly preserved - frozen in the moment of death.

  Heavy curtains blocked most of the light from the street below, leaving only the faint glow from gas lamps in the hallway to illuminate the interior. Expensive furniture arranged with careful attention to aesthetics - this had been a luxury suite before it became a tomb. A writing desk near the window. An ornate wardrobe against one wall. A plush armchair positioned for reading.

  And the bed.

  The man lying in it was barely recognisable as human.

  He lay on his back, half-covered by silk sheets that had probably cost more than most people earned in a month. But the sheets couldn't hide what had happened to him.

  Complete desiccation.

  The body looked like it had been mummified without the benefit of proper embalming - skin shriveled and sunken, clinging to bone like parchment wrapped too tight around a frame. His torso had collapsed inward as if his organs had simply vanished, leaving a hollow cavity beneath loose, wrinkled skin.

  But the face was worse.

  Eye sockets so deeply hollowed there wasn't even a faint glimpse of the eyes that should have been there. Just empty darkness. His mouth hung open in what might have been a scream or simply the natural relaxation of death, revealing teeth that seemed too large for the shrunken gums.

  I found the whole thing pretty revolting.

  Thank god there's no smell.

  I suppressed the urge to vomit. Unfortunatly for me, the Inquisition didn't provide barf bags in the masks.

  Unlike me, Dominic paid the gruesome scene no heed whatsoever.

  Instead, he moved immediately to the bedside with the clinical efficiency of someone who'd seen worse. He pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket along with a pencil, glancing between his notes and the corpse while scribbling observations, his expression hidden beneath his hat.

  But I could tell by his body language.

  He was excited.

  I smirked lightly underneath my mask.

  This kid has a morbid streak. Good.

  He'll need it if he wants to survive this line of work. The capital of the Empire isn't known for its civility, epecially in the outer districts.

  I scanned the room more carefully, looking for anything that didn't fit the narrative of a man dying peacefully in his sleep.

  The clothes caught my attention first.

  A full suit lay discarded near the door - jacket, vest, shirt, trousers, even undergarments. Just... thrown there in a pile, as if the Viscount had stripped the moment he entered the room.

  Strange.

  Going full commando the moment you close the doors a bit...

  I moved to the wardrobe, checking for spare clothes or luggage that might explain why he'd undressed so quickly. But nothing showed itself. The wardrobe stood empty except for a few hangers and the faint smell of cedar.

  No travel bags. No personal effects beyond what was scattered around the room.

  "Dominic."

  He looked up from his notes.

  "Was yesterday particularly hot in the Eleventh District?"

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He shook his head. "Quite cold, actually. We had rain most of the afternoon. Temperature dropped enough that people were wearing heavy coats by evening."

  I looked back at the pile of clothes by the door.

  Then what could possibly cause a man to strip naked the moment he entered a cold room?

  My eyes returned to the bed. To the position of the body. To the way the sheets had been pulled up, almost... gently.

  Nothing made sense.

  I felt frustration building in my chest.

  "Milord?"

  Dominic's voice carried a note of barely contained excitement.

  I turned to find him practically vibrating with eagerness despite his attempts at a serious expression.

  "I may have a lead," he said, tapping his pen on his notepad in a rhythmic pattern. "If you would like to hear it."

  He looked at the corpse the way some people looked at birthday presents. As if this crime scene were exceptionally interesting rather than horrifying.

  I'm starting to doubt this is even a morbid streak.

  Maybe he was born like this?

  I raised an eyebrow beneath my mask. "Proceed."

  "I believe the Viscount was not alone when he died." Dominic moved closer to the bed, gesturing at the body with his pencil. "Based on evidence from the other two victims, and now finally getting confirmation from the third, I believe I've confirmed a theory I've been developing."

  He paused for dramatic effect.

  "I believe all three victims were accompanied by ladies of the night when they died."

  I blinked. "Prostitutes?"

  He nodded enthusiastically. "All the evidence points to this conclusion, milord."

  My mouth opened lightly, slightly shocked until I started thinking about it.

  I wasn't really surprised that some so-called 'Nobles' indulged in prostitution here and there. I wouldn't put it past them.

  "Explain."

  Dominic launched into his explanation with childlike energy.

  "The clothes next to the door indicate the Viscount was quick to strip. That alone is strange but doesn't explain much." He moved around the bed, pointing at the corpse's position. "But look at how he's lying. This is quite an unusual way to sleep - on his back, arms at his sides, perfectly positioned. And despite the aparent violence of what killed him, there's no sign of struggle. No disturbed furniture, no marks on the floor."

  He gestured at the sheets. "Even the bedding seems to have been pulled over him by an external hand. See how the corner has been tucked to the side, despite the Viscount's hands lying underneath the covers? He couldn't have done that himself. Even if he could, it's extremely unusual and unlikely."

  I followed his reasoning, seeing the inconsistencies I'd missed.

  "But even if that wasn't enough proof..." Dominic reached for the sheet covering the lower half of the corpse.

  He pulled it down.

  I winced beneath my mask.

  This definitly wasn't something I wanted to see today.

  I would have been better off not seeing it any other day, too.

  The evidence of arousal was, unfortunatly, unmistakable. Even in death, even desiccated, some things remained obvious.

  "See the disturbance in the sheets next to his hips?" Dominic pointed at stretched fabric on either side of the body, where pressure had pulled the material taut. "The pattern suggests weight distributed here, and here. Someone straddling him."

  He smiled, laughing lightly. "I believe the lady of the night was on top of him when death came, milord."

  I studied the evidence, trying to see it through a detective's eyes rather than an Inquisitor's.

  "It's compelling. But not conclusive."

  "Ah, but I have one more piece of evidence." Dominic's smile widened. "One that confirms everything."

  He moved to the corpse's neck, carefully peeling back folds of loose skin with the tip of his pencil. "When I concluded the other two died during sexual encounters, I searched for physical evidence. Fluids, hairs, skin cells - anything that would prove another person's presence. But it seemed like all the moisture had been sucked out of the room. Every trace evaporated."

  His expression grew more serious. "That was until I found... this."

  He produced a small square of skin from the neck of the Viscount.

  Two tiny holes marked the center, maybe an inch apart. Perfectly circular. Deep enough to have penetrated flesh.

  Puncture wounds.

  My eyes widened behind my mask.

  Dominic's earlier excitement faded, replaced by something closer to concern. His brow furrowed as he stared at the specimen.

  "I believe my conclusions discovered even more trouble than anticipated, milord."

  He started to sweat despite the cold, a twitching smile of feigned innocence adoring his face.

  "I should have reported this immediately. The moment I found these marks on the second victim, I should have contacted the Inquisition directly, but I thought - I wanted to be certain before making such serious accusations-"

  "No matter," I interrupted. "You've proven your worth. Cover the Viscount back up and follow me."

  Dominic nodded quickly, relief flooding his features as though death had left his doorstep.

  I wasn't stupid. This must have been why he was so adament to get in the hotel. Not only to investigate, but to prove his worth to the Inquisition.

  If the Inquisition found out he was withholding evidence, or even if he had reported it, interrogation would have been the lightest outcome.

  The Inquisition was extremely careful when it came to heretical influence.

  He pulled the sheet back over the corpse with careful respect, then moved toward the door.

  As I did similiar, I stopped. From this angle, a small piece of white poked out from within the clothes. Something I hadn't noticed before.

  I grabbed the small piece poking through the clothes and yanked it out from the pile.

  A mask.

  Not a simple cloth covering, but an elaborate masquerade mask - the kind worn at balls and private parties. White porcelain worked with gold filigree, designed to cover the upper half of the face while leaving the mouth exposed. Expensive. Distinctive.

  Dominic opened his eyes in shock, before smiling wide. "Praise be... it seems we have our lead."

  He politely motioned for the mask, which I indulged.

  He examined it briefly, eyes focused on every minute detail.

  "Only one brothel in the Eleventh District uses masks like these as part of their... aesthetic, milord."

  His confidence returned, the professional investigator pushing aside the nervous boy. "It's where all the nobles sneak away from their boring wives in the inner districts. Discretion guaranteed. Privacy assured. Perfect for men like the Viscount who wanted entertainment without scandal."

  "So we have our lead."

  "I believe we do, milord. Very convenient, no?"

  I motioned for him to follow as I stepped into the hallway.

  Leonard and Alice stood at opposite ends of the corridor, both turned toward us expectantly.

  "Anything?" I asked.

  Leonard nodded once, then gestured to Alice.

  She moved past us without a word, leading us down the hallway toward the room at the far end. Her boots made no sound on the carpeted floor - the same eerie silence she'd maintained since we met.

  She pushed open the door and stepped aside.

  The room beyond was empty.

  Completely empty. No furniture, no decorations, no signs of occupancy. Just bare walls and floor, clearly intended for storage or future renovation.

  But the window was wide open.

  Cold wind blew through the gap, sending curtains billowing inward like pale ghosts. The fabric snapped and twisted in the breeze, creating movement in an otherwise still space.

  I approached the window and looked down.

  A sloped roof extended below - part of the hotel's architectural design, providing cover for a lower-floor balcony. Easy enough to drop onto. From there, a skilled climber could reach the ground without using the main entrance.

  An escape route.

  I turned to Dominic.

  "What brothel uses these masks in the Eleventh District?"

  "The Maison de Plaisir Masqué, milord." He pronounced the French name with some difficulty, not bothering to hide his low born origin. "The House of Masked Pleasure. Three blocks east of here, tucked into an alley off Crimson Street. Exclusive clientele. Very expensive. Very discreet."

  I nodded, mind already planning our approach.

  It seems the brothel has hired some... troublesome employees.

  "We may just have some use for you yet, Dominic."

  I pulled out my pocket watch.

  The brothel would be opening for business soon.

  Whoever did this, they'd know we were investigating them by now.

  Better get this done while the tracks still fresh.

  Before any more nobles died with smiles on their desiccated faces.