The mansion's garden was cut grass and iron fences were warming in the sun. Tom stood outside, hands in his pockets, watching the servants clean the fountain.
Inside, Liam sat behind his oak desk, wearing a white waistcoat and an exhausted smile. His brothers, Ben and Bihal Shaw, stood opposite.
Both dressed richly, both red in the face. Harriet sat awkwardly on the couch with crossed legs, pretending to be relaxed, though the air was heavy.
Ben jabbed a finger at Liam. "You really think standing for the King's seat will fix this? Our people are vanishing one after another and you want votes?"
Bihal scoffed, swirling the drink in his glass. "It is not politics we need. It's protection. That damned clown—" He spat the word like venom. "He is playing games again. He killed Uncle just to make us chase ghosts."
Liam's eyes darkened, but he kept his tone even. "That is exactly why I'm standing in the election. If I have the seat, I will have the power to move people legally. I can pull guards from Ramsis to Attur without having to bribe anyone. You think I don't want revenge? But I will do it in my way."
Ben sneered. "You always were the reasonable one. That is why the rest of us bleed while you shake hands."
Harriet coughed lightly, forcing a smile. "Maybe…. we could all just relax a bit? It is morning. We are not in a tavern."
Bihal turned to him sharply. "You outsider! Do you even know what is happening here?"
Harriet blinked. "Only that someone's painting the town red with your family's blood."
Liam sighed and waved a hand. "Enough. Both of you. Harriet's right. We will figure this out. The Jester's not after me. He's after the name Shaw. He's playing a lineage game. One by one, he's thinning us out."
Ben muttered, "Then he will come for us next."
Liam leaned back, eyes heavy. "That's what I expect. But not before the election. He wants a stage. And we will give it to him."
Outside, Tom glanced at the mansion's tall glass windows and thought he saw a reflection move that wasn't his own.
The sun hung directly above the city of Attur, its light sharp enough to turn the marble streets into mirrors.
Banners of different colors flapped from balconies, children waved sticks pretending they were flags and the market bells rang endlessly.
All pointing to one thing.... Election Day.
The clock struck twelve. In just three hours, Liam Shaw would stand again on the State Hall balcony to fight for the King's chair.
The same post he lost last year by a mere seven votes. People still murmured about it, rigged ballots, bribed nobles and a last-minute speech that split the crowd in half.
This time, he couldn't afford to fail. Not with his family name under threat.
Albert leaned against a lamppost near the riverside road, his waistcoat neat, hat tipped forward to block the glare.
Harriet came from behind, munching roasted chestnuts.
"You are early," Albert said without looking.
Harriet grinned, brushing his coat. "Hey, you are still dressed like an undertaker. Don't you ever wear color?"
"Color attracts trouble." Albert replied dryly.
"Trouble already likes you, mate." Harriet smirked, then his expression softened.
"Anyway, it is election day, right? Maybe this time our dear Liam wins, and I finally get a paycheck worth the risk."
Albert gave a chuckle but his eyes traced the river's slow, glittering current. "You think the Jester will show up?"
Harriet's grin wavered. "With our luck? He's probably already fitted a bomb somewhere under the Hall."
They both went silent for a moment. The wind rustled through the riverside trees, scattering light across the ripples. Then Harriet suddenly snorted.
"What?" Albert asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I just remembered." Harriet said, laughing, "the first time I met you, I thought you were some philosopher. You were sitting in that cafe, all serious, reading a menu upside down."
Albert sighed, half smiling. "You were trying to flirt with the waitress by quoting weather patterns."
"She liked confidence, not accuracy." Harriet said, shrugging. "You could learn that."
They both laughed quietly, that rare kind of laughter that lightened the tension without really healing it.
After a pause, Albert asked, "You ever think…. you are useless sometimes?"
Harriet tilted his head, squinting. "Oh, constantly.
In fact, I am brilliantly useless."
"I'm serious." Albert said. "Everywhere I go, people either run away or die. I'm not exactly someone who builds.… friendships."
Harriet's grin returned, softer this time. "You know, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."
Albert frowned. "Why?"
"Because," Harriet said, stepping closer, "you are already doing it. You are talking to someone who'll probably die beside you someday, my dear undying cockroach. That is friendship. Just with fewer smiles."
Albert blinked. "That's not how riddles work."
Harriet winked. "Wasn't a riddle. But here's one anyway." He leaned in dramatically. "What walks beside the lonely yet never says a word?"
Albert thought for a moment. "A shadow?"
Harriet tapped his chest lightly. "No. A friend who listens."
For a few seconds, the two just stood there, the crowd's cheers from the town square echoed behind them.
The sound of drums began to roll from the direction of the State Hall. The election stage was being prepared.
Harriet stretched and sighed. "Well, brother, time to go pretend we're bodyguards and not magnets for chaos."
Albert smirked. "Let's hope the Jester's too lazy to vote today."
"Or too proud to lose." Harriet said, tossing the last chestnut into the river.
The current carried it away, glinting under the sun just like the two of them, wandering toward the next storm, side by side.
Albert leaned back, balancing himself on one leg, staring at the clean sky.
"You ever notice...." he said, "that every case smells the same in the end? Coffee, sweat and bad decisions."
Harriet didn't look up from the grass. "That's just you. You spill coffee on everything and call it atmosphere."
A faint grin tugged at Albert's mouth. "You love it. Makes the office feel alive."
"Alive isn't the word I would use." Harriet replied, relieving the smooth air. "More like slowly decomposing."
Rain tapped against the river like impatient fingers.
"You are limping." the Albert said at last.
"It's nothing."
"That's what you said about your shoulder. And your ribs. And that concussion that nearly turned you into a vegetable."
Harriet shrugged. "That is the bar, right? Just wandering and living?"
A sigh came in reply at first. "One day that bar's going to bury you."
"Yeah," he said softly. "But not today."
Albert looked at him. His eyes were tired but sharp. "You didn't have to take the hit back there."
Harriet tilted forward, planting all legs on the floor. "Someone had to. You were exposed."
"I had it under control."
"You always do." Albert said. "Right up until you don't."
That earned a short, humorless laugh. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you."
They shared a look. Years of trust compressed into a second.
"Remember our first case?" Harriet said. "Dead informant, missing weapon and we were dumb enough to split up."
"Don't forget you got locked in a freezer." the other replied.
"You forgot the key, anyway."
"I came back."
"Six hours later."
"But I came back."
"You ever think about quitting?" Harriet asked quietly.
The answer came without hesitation. "Every morning my dead cells worships by heart to stop beating."
"Nice, it is."
"It is," he recalled. "Someone has to do the job right. Might as well be us."
Harriet nodded. "Brothers in bad choices."
"Brothers." the other corrected.
A smooth breeze ran over them as they stayed their for a longer time.