Time/Date: TC1853.01.20 (Morning)

Location: Metropolitan Police Station - 4th Ring, Interrogation Room Three

The walls of Interrogation Room Three had that particular shade they used in government buildings—the kind that was supposed to be calming but mostly just made you feel like you were trapped in a filing cabinet. Someone in some administrative office probably picked it from a color chart labeled "Soothing Sage" or "Tranquil Moss." In reality, it was the color of nausea and bureaucracy, of waiting rooms and bad news delivered with professional sympathy.

Morning light filtered through the reinforced windows, trying its best to soften the edges. Didn’t work. The harsh fluorescent strips overhead still dominated, casting everything in that flat, unforgiving glare that made even expensive silk look cheap and carefully maintained composure crack like old porcelain under stress.

Selene Lin sat in the same chair where she’d spent most of yesterday unraveling. One thread at a time, her composure coming apart like that emerald sleeve she kept worrying. Sleep in the station’s holding cells hadn’t improved things—if anything, the eight hours of staring at concrete walls had given her too much time to think. To remember. To replay seventeen years of choices that had seemed so justified at the time but felt increasingly hollow under the weight of confession.

Her dark hair hung loose instead of perfectly arranged. That emerald silk sleeve she’d worried into a wrinkled mess yesterday was beyond repair now, the fine fabric showing stress lines where her fingers had found it again and again. Those pale blue eyes—regressed violet, the mark of bloodline failure that still stung thirty years later—tracked Detective Inspector Morrison’s movements with exhaustion that went bone-deep. The kind you couldn’t sleep off. The kind that settled into your marrow and made even breathing feel like work.

Behind the one-way glass, Commissioner Wu stood with his arms crossed. Military bearing as rigid as always, despite the late hours he’d been putting in since this case exploded into something far more complex than anyone had anticipated. Beside him, Officer Chen shuffled through case files with the kind of methodical precision that suggested she’d been up all night, too. Her sharp eyes kept flicking between the documents and the woman on the other side of the glass, analyzing, cross-referencing, building a picture that grew more disturbing with each piece of evidence they uncovered.

Lieutenant Veyne settled into her chair across from Selene. Steel-gray hair catching the overhead light, professional calm intact despite everything they’d uncovered in the past day. Decades of interrogations had taught her how to maintain composure when the person across the table was falling apart. Morrison leaned against the wall—that deceptively casual pose he favored, one foot propped against the institutional green, weathered face giving nothing away. But his hands told a different story. The way they kept adjusting his notepad. The small tells of a detective who’d stumbled onto something that wouldn’t let him sleep.

"Mrs. Brenner." Veyne’s tone stayed neutral. Professional. The kind of careful neutrality that came from years of walking the line between compassion and investigation. "I hope you got some rest. We’ve got more ground to cover regarding yesterday’s confession."

Selene’s fingers found that ruined silk again. The nervous tell was automatic now, muscle memory taking over when conscious thought got too heavy. "More questions?" Her voice carried that hollowness you heard in people who’d emptied themselves out and found relief less comforting than they’d hoped. "I told you everything. The baby swap, the years of abuse, the hotel workers who helped facilitate..." She trailed off, pale blue eyes showing something that might have been confusion or might have been the first stirrings of defensive walls going back up.

Morrison pushed off from the wall, moving with deliberate care. Not threatening, but purposeful. He pulled a folder from his stack, opening it to reveal crime scene photos. Chemical analysis reports. That crystal flute with its damning fingerprints preserved in forensic clarity. "You did. And we appreciate the honesty." He paused, gray eyes studying her reaction. "But there’s something we need to clarify about the mechanics of your actions."

Selene’s expression shifted—confusion replacing exhaustion. The kind of genuine bewilderment that was hard to fake. Morrison had spent three decades reading faces, and this wasn’t calculation or deflection. This was a woman who had no idea where this conversation was about to go.

"The Amber Kiss potion you used at the New Year’s banquet fourteen days ago." Morrison’s graying temples caught the light as he looked up from the file. Each word came out measured, precise. "And the Nerys root blend you used on Mara Brenner. These aren’t simple substances, Mrs. Brenner. They require considerable alchemical expertise and access to extremely rare ingredients."

The confusion deepened. Her fingers stilled on the silk for just a moment, then resumed their worried pattern. "I don’t understand what you’re asking."

Veyne leaned forward slightly, just enough to make it clear this was the real question. The one that mattered. "We’re asking about your supply chain. Moon-blossom petals gathered at specific lunar phases. Sun-sap resin that glows at sunrise. Queen’s Bloodwort is tied to lineage rites. Celestial Union Incense is restricted to sacred ceremonies." She paused, gray eyes sharp with the kind of focus that missed nothing. "Where’d you get these materials? More importantly—who prepared the potions for you?"

Selene blinked at them like they’d started speaking in riddles. Like they’d asked her to explain quantum physics when she’d come prepared to discuss grocery shopping. "Prepared them? No one prepared them."

Behind the glass, Wu’s eyes narrowed. Morrison’s hand stilled on his notes, pen frozen mid-notation.

"Mrs. Brenner." Veyne’s voice stayed carefully neutral, but there was an edge now. The sharp focus of someone who’d just heard something that didn’t make sense. "Perhaps you misunderstood the question. We’re asking who you purchased the finished potions from. What alchemist did you hire to create these substances?"

"I didn’t hire anyone." Genuine bewilderment colored Selene’s tone now—the kind that came from not understanding why they were making this complicated. Like they’d asked her who she’d hired to tie her shoes. "I made them myself."

The silence that followed had weight. Physical weight. The kind that pressed against your eardrums and made breathing feel like work. Even the fluorescent lights seemed to hum louder in the sudden absence of sound.

"You..." Morrison’s weathered face cycled through several expressions—confusion, disbelief, sharp attention, back to confusion. "You made them."

"Yes." Selene looked between them, pale blue eyes showing nothing but confusion at their confusion. "Of course, I made them. How else would I have gotten them?"

Behind the glass, Wu reached for the station communicator. His fingers moved with military precision even as his mind raced through implications. If she’d made them herself... if she had alchemical talent sophisticated enough to brew Amber Kiss...

"Mrs. Brenner," Veyne spoke slowly, like she was explaining something very simple to someone very confused, "Nerys root requires precision blending. The ratio between essence and stabilizer has to be exact within three parts per thousand, or the potion becomes either inert or poisonous. And Amber’s Kiss..." She didn’t need to consult her notes. This information was burned into her memory from years of investigating illegal substance trafficking. "Amber’s Kiss is notoriously unstable. Even experienced master alchemists have a sixty percent failure rate when attempting to brew it."

Selene’s fingers worked faster at that silk. The ruined fabric bunching between her palms. "But... it’s really not that difficult?" The question came out uncertain, like she was checking whether two plus two still equaled four or if the fundamental rules of mathematics had changed while she wasn’t paying attention. "You just have to layer the essences correctly, make sure the Moon-blossom is added at precisely the right temperature, and..." She trailed off, seeing their expressions. Reading the shock and disbelief written across faces that had spent decades maintaining professional neutrality. "I mean, it takes practice, but it’s just basic mixing?"

Wu was already speaking into the communicator, his voice carrying the clipped precision of military command. "Get me someone from the Imperial Alchemist Guild. Master-level. I don’t care if they’re in the middle of important work—this is a police investigation involving illegal substances. Tell them it’s urgent." He paused, dark eyes fixed on the woman through the glass. "Tell them we need someone who can evaluate advanced alchemical capability. Someone who can’t be fooled."

Morrison had gone very still. That particular kind of stillness that came from a detective recognizing a case had just exploded into something exponentially more complicated. Something that reached far beyond baby swaps and family drama into territory he hadn’t anticipated. "Mrs. Brenner. When’d you learn alchemy?"

"Since I was a child." Selene’s confusion was morphing into something else now. Defensiveness, maybe. Or the first stirrings of uncertainty—like she’d stepped onto ground that felt less solid than it should. "My sister Caelia was the brilliant one, of course. Everyone said so. She was always telling me my potions were half-baked. That I should stop fooling around in her lab and do something useful with my time instead of wasting expensive ingredients on mediocre results."

Veyne exchanged a look with Morrison. Years of partnership, reading each other without words. Something was very wrong here. Very wrong. "Your tutors. What’d they say about your work?"

Selene’s voice faltered. "They... they said I should focus on more appropriate pursuits for a lady. That pharmacology wasn’t..." She swallowed, and for a moment, that professional facade cracked enough to show the girl underneath. The one who’d been told again and again that she wasn’t good enough. "That I wasn’t talented enough and that I wasted their time. That I was embarrassing myself by pretending I could understand such complex work."

"But you continued anyway," Morrison pressed gently. His tone had shifted, becoming something softer. Something that recognized pain when it saw it.

"I..." Her fingers stilled on the silk. "I enjoyed it. Even though Caelia said my work was mediocre at best. Even though the tutors said I was embarrassing myself. Even though everyone told me I should give up and focus on things more suited to my... my limited capabilities." She looked down at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. Hands that had held jade rings and silk sleeves. Hands that had apparently mixed potions she believed herself incompetent to create. "I just... I liked mixing things. Seeing what worked. It was the one thing that felt like mine."

Behind the glass, Wu was pacing now. Short, controlled movements that betrayed agitation, his face refused to show. Officer Chen had stopped taking notes, her sharp eyes wide with implications she was still processing.

"Commissioner," Chen said quietly, "if she really can brew Amber Kiss... if she has that level of skill and doesn’t know it..."

"Then someone conditioned her not to know," Wu finished grimly. "Someone systematically suppressed awareness of her own abilities."

"Caelia," Chen breathed. "Her twin sister. Who’s supposedly this brilliant healer and alchemist."

Wu’s jaw tightened. "Call the Guild. Tell them to send their best evaluator. I want this tested. I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with."

***

The Imperial Alchemist Guild occupied prime real estate in the 4th Ring’s Guild Quarter. Three-story building managing to be both beautiful and functional—bubbling fountains demonstrating alchemical processes in the courtyard, meditation gardens for contemplation, laboratories that smelled of herbs and possibility, and the particular sharp-sweet scent of essence extraction in progress.

Master Alchemist Feng had been in the middle of delicate essence extraction when Wu’s summons came through the Guild’s communication system. Forty-three years old, thin as a reed, with that intense focus you developed from decades spent perfecting an art requiring absolute precision. His hands—stained with various herbal compounds that no amount of scrubbing ever quite removed—moved with practiced economy as he secured his work and grabbed his guild satchel.

The Guild Master who delivered the message looked apologetic. Feng was known for being... particular... about interruptions to his work. "Commissioner Wu specifically requested you by name. Said it’s urgent police business."

Feng’s irritation flickered across his thin face. Wu didn’t make frivolous requests—the Commissioner was known for respecting Guild expertise and not wasting their time on trivial matters. "Did he say what this concerns?"

"Something about verifying alchemical capabilities of a suspect. Said you’d need to bring testing materials."

Feng’s irritation transformed into cautious interest. Capability verification wasn’t common. Usually meant someone had claimed skills they couldn’t possibly possess, or... or someone had demonstrated skills they shouldn’t be able to demonstrate. "Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes."

He swept through the Guild halls, mentally cataloging what he’d need. Standard testing components. A journeyman-level formula that would separate genuine skill from lucky accidents. Something complex enough to challenge a competent alchemist but not impossible.

Twenty minutes later, Feng swept into the Metropolitan Police Station carrying his satchel and considerable professional pride. The desk sergeant waved him through with the weary efficiency of someone who’d seen every variation of emergency and knew a Guild Master when he saw one.

"This better be worth my time," Feng announced, though his tone had shifted from irritation to cautious interest. "I’m in the middle of an experimental longevity compound that’s been fermenting for six months."

Wu materialized from a side corridor with that uncanny ability he had to appear exactly when needed. Military bearing suggesting this wasn’t trivial. "Master Feng. Thank you for coming on short notice."

"What’s this about, Commissioner?"

"We have a suspect who claims to have brewed Amber’s Kiss and Nerys’ root potion herself. We need your expertise to determine if she’s lying." Wu’s voice carried the kind of careful neutrality that suggested the answer mattered. A lot.

Feng’s thin face cycled through several expressions—disbelief, professional skepticism, sharp interest. "Amber’s Kiss? That’s... Commissioner, that potion requires—"

"Master-level skill, yes. We’re aware." Wu gestured toward the interrogation wing. "Which is why we need you to test her. To tell us definitively whether she’s capable of creating such complex substances."

"Test her how?"

"Give her components for a complex potion. Watch her work. Tell us if she knows what she’s doing or if she’s somehow fooled herself into believing she can do what she clearly can’t."

Feng’s eyes lit with that particular gleam craftsmen got when asked to evaluate another’s work. The chance to witness either impressive skill or embarrassing failure—either outcome would be educational. "What level of complexity?"

"Journeyman test level. Something that would challenge a competent alchemist but not be impossible for someone with genuine training."

A smile ghosted across Feng’s thin face. "I have just the thing."