‟Sherl!” With a shout, Morgan barged into the detective's room in the inn unceremoniously. ‟Where's the photograph? I figured it out!”

Unlike the other rooms of the inn, the one where the detective and doctor stayed was immediately a mess. Amongst a pack of luggage strewn over the the floor, there was also a hammock that hung between the nearest bed frame and the wardrobe. Within the hammock was Sherl, legs spread over the edges laissez-faire. A straw was dangling out the side of her mouth, making a wave every time she chewed on it.

‟Are you... munching on gravesticks?”

The detective lazily turned her head. ‟Give me a moment while I think of an excuse for why I'm eating this.”

John's voice came from somewhere in the room. ‟She's getting high!”

Morgan looked around, confused. ‟John? Where are you?” From the floor behind the furthest bed, a hand shot up and waved, causing her to question further, ‟What are you doing on the floor?”

As if on cue, Sherl spat a ball of gravestick fibre in John's general direction, however, from the angle, the projectile simply bounced off his bed.

‟She can't hit me from there.”

Sherl raised a lazy fist and shook. ‟I'll get you yet.”

Morgan intruded, ‟I've got to hand it to the two of you. You've really kept how unkempt you are from the public.”

Sherl winked. ‟Thank you.”

John added, ‟It wasn't a compliment.”

‟Oh.”

Morgan sighed and closed the door behind her. ‟Get up, it's time to work. Where's the crystal?”

John finally sat up, waving the crystal in his hand. ‟Here. What's going on?” The doctor got to his feet. ‟And also, can it wait? I just finished the surgery with Lethel.”

‟It can, but we shouldn't,” Morgan told him as the man circled around to her, ducking under Sherl's hammock. ‟How is Lethel?”

‟She's alive. One of the claws hit a vein, but thankfully the cold bed slowed her blood flow enough for us to patch it. Now we just have to wait and hope her body gets enough strength to recover. Merylin is with her right now.”

Morgan nodded before taking the photograph crystal from him and held it above the table. ‟Take a look at this.” She channelled her magic into a small dark fire and held it over the crystal, adjusting the image.

Sherl let out, ‟Oh...” then, her eyes widened as she swung out of her hammock. ‟Oh! Very smart. That means that the photographer didn't use the dark magic wand for self defence. She used it to capture a separate photo on a different spectrum of light to save on crystals.”

‟You don't have to explain it,” Morgan replied, deadpan. ‟I already figured it out.”

‟It's for John.”

‟It's not,” John panned back as he snuffed out the table's candle to better see the photograph's light.

On the table is a black-lighted image of Lethel's dye garden with one difference between it and the white-lighted one. Lethel's hut is seen in the corner, slightly poking into the frame.

Sherl deduced, ‟She probably used this to adjust the framing of her subjects.”

‟So this crystal is a bust,” Morgan snuffed out her light in disappointment. ‟Where are the other photograph crystals?”

‟They're at the town hall,” John replied.

‟Let's not waste time, then.”

‟Wait!” Sherl shouted.

Morgan stopped in her tracks as the detective leaned into her. The woman cupped the knight's face in her hands, gently caressing the rugged edge of Morgan's face.

Sherl's eyes stared daggers into Morgan's. ‟You're actually a very pretty monster, you know that?”

‟You're still high, aren't you?”

‟Very.”

Morgan sighed and pushed the detective away. ‟John, sober her up and meet me at the town hall.”

The doctor nodded. ‟Understood.”

Morgan left the pair behind as she rushed her way through the inn to the exit. The innkeeper was absent of their post, with a placard asking to ‟RING BELL FOR SERVICE” in their place. She exited the building with little fanfare into the winds of early morning. Far into the horizon, she could see the head of dawn peeking out over the distant tree line. There were early murmurs from the homes around her as the villagers began to stir.

It was then she realized fatigue creeping up on her. She had not rested since delivering Lethel to the doctor, though she did managed a change to a fresh set of clothes. For a moment, she weighed the option to delay the investigation until she rested, or at the very least until Sherl fully passed her gravestick high.

Lethel's blood on her hands flashed into her mind, and she could feel it sliding down her dried back as if fresh.

Morgan took a deep breath, waking up by inhaling a lungful of cold oxygen. With a stomp of her feet, she travelled towards the town hall.

As the building came into view, she noticed it was still lighted on the inside. She wondered if they opened early, or had the people within still not left since the murder of Jacob the receptionist. She entered without further thought.

Immediately upon entry, she was called. ‟Lae Morgan?” She looked up to the second floor to find Mayor Soira staring down on her. ‟What are you doing here at this hour? Please tell me it's good news, like getting rid of those snakes.”

‟There's been a break in the case. Where are the crystals and wand of the photographer?”

Soira looked confuse. ‟I just stored them in the archive. We're quite short-handed and messy since Jacob was murdered. What's happening?”

Morgan explained, ‟The crystals show a different image when exposed to dark fire. We think there might be clues to our culprit on it.”

The mayor gave a shocked look, as if he was trying to piece the information together in his head. ‟I see.” Then his tone turned serious. ‟Please wait in the back then, Lae Morgan. I'll have them out of the archive for you.”

She nodded her thanks as the podgy man disappeared into the floors of the upper levels. Morgan then made her way to the back room, the same one where she had investigated the murdered drakin writer's belongings.

The knight took a seat in the chair at the head of the long table. Her body was tired, but her mind still ran. With a sigh, she closed her eyes to take a moment's rest. Yet, she could not sleep, not even nap. She was painfully aware of her surroundings, the insomnia of thoughts having grasp at her tightly.

With meditation techniques taught to her by senior knights, Morgan breathed in an attempt to relax. Her feet scratched the insides of her shoes, feeling the soles. Her hand gripped the edge of the chair, caressing the grooves into memory. Still, her mind could not focus on the moment, wandering back to the case.

She was still missing something. Something obvious. She wished Sherl was here, preferably not high off her tits, so that they could bounce ideas. She wished she were more awake. Perhaps then her brain could piece things together.

‟Lae Morgan?”

The voice caught Morgan, not for it's appearance, but for it's lack of an entrance. Standing at the table now was Soira, holding the belongings of the photographer stacked neatly atop the victim's suitcase.

The mayor asked, ‟You seem tired. Is this time sensitive? Perhaps you should return to your room for a rest.”

The knight shook her head. ‟I'll do it after this. It should not take long.”

Nodding in understanding, the mayor then continued, ‟Well, suit yourself. I'll be heading back myself. The morning staff should be here soon. Please inform them of my departure.” The politician bid the knight farewell, leaving her alone in the room.

With another deep breath for oxygen and energy, Morgan stood up and got to work. She snuffed the cryst lamp in the room, drew the curtains closed, and kept only the door slightly ajar. With only the light from the hall outside peeking through the doorway, she lit her dark fire in the shadows and started scanning through the photo crystals.

One-by-one, the crystals proved her theory. Each of them contained an alternate image of what had been taken on normal light, just with slight alteration in framing. But nothing stood out of the ordinary for her. Perhaps she was just too tired and her eyes glazed something over. Did she make a mistake? Perhaps she should give the crystals another check.

While wondering if she should look through the crystals once more to be thorough, she realized her own magic circuits were glowing on empty. Holding onto the dark fire for the extended period had indeed been draining.

Then, she remembered the photographer's wand was made for dark fire magic. It laid atop the case so she picked it up.

Her heart froze. It was empty. How? If a magic user used the wand, it replenished itself, as it simply amplified their natural magic to run a pre-enchanted spell. The only way it could run out is if a non-magic user activated it.

The door to the room was violently pushed opened. ‟Sherl!” John Watson shouted upon entering. His eyes scanned the dark quickly. ‟She isn't here?”

‟No,” Morgan confirmed. ‟What happened?”

Clearly out of breath and adrenaline pumped, John explained, ‟She... she went out to catch some air and she disappeared. I thought she might have came here.”

Already worried, she asked, ‟So why the panic?”

John raised his arm, and in his hand was Sherl's pipe and the innkeeper's ‟RING BELL FOR SERVICE” placard, snapped in half.

The doctor, with the situation dawning on him, muttered, ‟I think someone took her.”

In that moment, it all clicked in Morgan's head.

‟Damn it. I know who the killer is.”