Fennel Farm was modest but sprawling — swine pens, sheep pastures, and acres upon acres of wheat and corn stretching toward the horizon.

  Jupiter’s file had been thorough. I had memorized nearly all of it.

  Nine farmhands.

  Well — technically eight.

  Mr. Fennel still counted himself in the official tally, though the file noted he was too old and unwell to do any real labor. Some Mellite regulation required a minimum number of registered hands to maintain livestock licensing. On paper, he worked.

  In reality, he didn’t.

  The farm wasn’t doing well. Behind on loans. Behind on feed payments. If projections were accurate, it wouldn’t survive another decade.

  The labor force consisted of two family groups: the Fennel children and the Grouths — a family joined by marriage, though the file hadn’t elaborated.

  One name had caught my attention immediately.

  Harry Grouth.

  Former Red Post.

  Jupiter’s first squad.

  Discharged for theft.

  I had never spoken to Harry myself, but I’d heard the name enough. My father had ranted about him for months after the incident — about trust, about shame, about how the Post handled their own. Word had traveled beyond Melrose, too.

  Most who left the Post did so quietly. Some simply weren’t cut out for militia life. A few went absent without leave.

  Harry was different.

  He was made an example.

  As we walked the dirt road toward the farm, an itch of uncertainty crawled across me — not for myself, but for Jupiter.

  I had never asked him how he felt about Harry.

  But I imagined the man probably held little love for the Red Post.

  And I wondered how much of that resentment had Jupiter’s name attached to it.

  The farmhouse came into view — larger than I expected. Several barns rose behind it, rivaling even the Thatcher barn back home. The fields stretched wide and tired-looking, soil churned from overuse.

  The smell of fertilizer drifted thick in the air.

  Unpleasant.

  But honest.

  It wasn’t the warm sweetness of a bakery. It wasn’t incense and stone like a cathedral. It wasn’t pine and moss like the forest.

  It was earth. Labor. Survival.

  And strangely—

  It made me smile.

  This was different.

  This was real.

  Several figures came into view as we approached the farmhouse.

  They were gathered around two rough wooden tables — makeshift things, worn from years of use but still sturdy. Most were sitting, a few standing. They drank from copper cups and ate what looked like thick cornmeal mash.

  Jupiter cleared his throat as we approached.

  “Afternoon, everyone. I’m Jupiter Nouns. We were requested by Chandy Fennel?”

  The farmhands froze.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the group like a curse had settled over the land.

  One woman began to rise, but another man stood before she could.

  He walked toward us slowly — casual, but with a deliberate edge of aggression.

  Harry.

  “Didn’t know they were sending you, Nounsy,” he said, drawing the name out deliberately.

  Testing him.

  “Grouth,” Jupiter replied without hesitation. “Hope you’re doing well.”

  There wasn’t a hint of malice in his voice.

  Jupiter extended his hand.

  Harry looked down at it and smirked.

  “Good thing you lost that hand,” he said. “Shaking hello would be a bitch.”

  The farmhands burst into laughter.

  Then, to my complete surprise, Harry stepped forward and wrapped Jupiter in a rough hug.

  My eyebrow shot up. I struggled to keep my mouth from falling open.

  “You shiny armpit,” Harry muttered as he pulled him close. “Would’ve made a better meal if it were you.”

  He pulled back, looking Jupiter over.

  Jupiter grinned.

  “No need to pull out the steps for me, Grouth.”

  Harry let out a frustrated grunt.

  “Will you cut the Grouth shit?” he snapped. “Never sat right with me then, hate it even more now.”

  Jupiter nodded easily.

  “Very well. Harry. Could you introduce me to Chandy?”

  Harry slapped Jupiter’s shoulder and gestured toward the tables.

  The whole interaction was bizarre.

  But that was Jupiter.

  His irritatingly good-natured persona had a way of disarming people who should’ve hated him. I suspected he must have helped Harry somehow when he left the Post.

  I made a mental note to pry that story out of him later.

  Harry hopped up onto the edge of one of the tables and began introducing the group.

  I recognized every name from the file.

  Finally, he gestured toward the woman who had tried to stand earlier.

  “Chandy Fennel.”

  She rose and approached us properly this time.

  “Hello, Red Post,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Thank you for helping us.”

  “No problem at all,” Jupiter replied. “I’m Lieutenant Jupiter Nouns, and this is Benethasia Plad — a ranger apprentice assisting me.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Harry perked up.

  “Plad?”

  He looked me over more carefully.

  “Holy crap… you the baker’s daughter?”

  The question bothered me on several levels, but I kept my posture firm.

  Jupiter stayed silent, letting me answer for myself.

  “Yes,” I said calmly. “My father is the baker. But don’t worry — kneading dough isn’t my specialty.”

  Chandy perked up immediately.

  “Does he need wheat?” she asked quickly. “We could send shipments. We’ve got plenty.”

  There was a note of desperation in her voice.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “My father handles his business. I try to handle my own.”

  I saw Harry give a small nod.

  I didn’t know if he had ever heard my father curse his name, but the look he gave me said he was judging me on my own merit.

  And that felt… surprisingly good.

  Jupiter stepped forward again.

  “Mrs. Fennel,” he said gently, “if you don’t mind, could you walk us through the attacks from the last two months?”

  The woman was short with dark hair pulled back tightly. Even before she spoke, the anxiety was obvious in her posture. Her file had mentioned she handled most of the farm’s bookkeeping as well.

  Judging by the strain on her face, it was a losing battle.

  “The farm hasn’t had an easy few years,” she began, wringing her hands together. “We had several seasons of poor crops, which pushed us into raising livestock. We were never truly a livestock farm before, but we needed another way to make ends meet.”

  She swallowed and continued.

  “For a while it worked. Wool and pork sales kept us afloat. But it hasn’t been without its challenges.”

  She hesitated.

  Jupiter nodded gently, inviting her to continue.

  “In the beginning we had problems with coyotes and wolves,” she said. “We spent a lot of money on a magi to put up wards around the pastures. After that we had no trouble for over a year.”

  Her eyes drifted toward the fields.

  “Then we started noticing sheep missing. At first just one or two… but then it became a dozen.”

  That didn’t match the report.

  The original file said cattle, not sheep. And the number had been closer to twenty missing, not twelve.

  Unless something had changed in the last day or two.

  “Our stockades are old,” she continued, “but there’s no way the animals could escape. We thought someone might be stealing them, so we started keeping watch.”

  Her voice faltered.

  “That’s when Guardo died.”

  She fell silent.

  Harry spoke up from behind her.

  “We stopped the watch after that,” he said flatly, looking directly at Jupiter.

  The report about Guardo’s death had been thorough.

  Nighttime incident. A single strike from what appeared to be a makeshift axe. Deep enough to nearly split the shoulder. No signs of struggle. No defensive wounds. No footprints found near the body.

  And it happened close to the farmhouse.

  They found him the next morning.

  Jupiter’s voice softened.

  “I know this is difficult,” he said. “But could you tell me anything about Guardo?”

  He glanced around the group.

  “Anyone,” he added. “Not just Chandy.”

  I recognized the tactic immediately.

  Bruno Tilden.

  I had seen him do the same thing countless times when speaking with grieving families. Don’t corner one person with the burden of memory — open the floor, and let the truth come forward naturally.

  People shared more that way.

  And most importantly—

  They shared what they hadn’t planned to say

  A moment passed before a scrawny man finally spoke.

  “He hated the mornings,” he said with a chuckle.

  Several of the others laughed quietly.

  Another man — tall and broad-shouldered — spoke next.

  “He never wanted to be a farmhand,” he said. “But he wouldn’t go against what his father wanted.”

  That caught my attention.

  Guardo’s last name in the report was Minor.

  Curiosity got the better of me.

  “Guardo was Mr. Fennel’s son?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Chandy replied. “My half-brother. My father never married his mother, but he had a child with her.”

  If there was any tension from that old infidelity, it didn’t show.

  Jupiter stepped smoothly into the opening I’d created.

  “Did Guardo have anyone who might want to hurt him?”

  Harry answered before anyone else could.

  “In Mellite? Nobody.”

  He shrugged.

  “He didn’t break many rules, but he did manage to get on the bad side of the magi from Vestual Towers.”

  My eyes widened.

  Jupiter spoke before I could.

  “Guardo was studying magic?”

  Harry nodded.

  “Well… unsuccessfully,” he said with a rough laugh, though there was pain behind it. “He was only there a few months. It was a bit advanced for him.”

  “He did learn a few minor tricks,” Harry continued. “Not real spells, mind you. Mostly small things.”

  He snorted.

  “He was obsessed with the idea of getting taller. Poor bastard.”

  That detail lingered in my mind.

  “Has anything else gone missing?” I asked.

  Chandy hesitated.

  “Maybe,” she admitted with a small shrug. “Guardo had been selling off many of his belongings recently, so his room was mostly bare already. We had people coming through to buy things.”

  She looked uneasy.

  “But the gold he earned from those sales… we can’t find it.”

  “We’re worried he hid it somewhere on the farm,” she continued quietly. “If he did, we may never find it.”

  There was sadness in her voice — but also worry.

  Not just for her brother.

  For the farm.

  “Could you show me where the attack happened?” I asked.

  Jupiter looked at me with a curious smile.

  Harry pushed himself off the table.

  “I’ll take you,” he said.

  We nodded, and Jupiter thanked the group — very much in Bruno’s style.

  We didn’t have to walk far.

  Right in front of three small farmhouses, on one of the porches, a cluster of candles burned low. Some had already died out, the rest would follow within the hour. A few sticks had been placed around the supposed site of the attack.

  A crude memorial.

  I began examining the area when a voice called out from one of the houses.

  “Who are these two?”

  Harry answered before either of us could.

  “Just paying their respects, Pa.”

  There was a pause, then a weak nod from the shadowed doorway as the old man disappeared back inside. I couldn’t see him clearly, but he had clearly seen us.

  Jupiter knelt down to examine the site.

  I did the same.

  Faint stains of dried blood still marked the boards of the porch. The body had already been buried according to the report, but a vague outline still remained where Guardo had fallen.

  Jupiter’s eyes began to glow gold.

  I took the opportunity to do the same in my own way, slipping quietly into Forest Sight.

  The spell was becoming easier every day. I practiced it at least five times a day now, no matter where I was.

  The world shifted into its familiar muted tones.

  I studied the boards carefully. The blood pooling was still visible in the pattern of the wood. My chest tightened slightly. From the way his family spoke of him, Guardo sounded a lot like me.

  Someone trying to become something others didn’t expect.

  Unfortunately, nothing about the blood looked unusual.

  Jupiter hovered his hand over the stain, concentrating.

  So I stood and widened my search.

  The houses themselves were poorly kept — not neglected, just worn from too many years of hard work and too few hands to care about luxuries.

  But something caught my eye.

  The porch railing.

  In my Forest Sight, something there glowed faintly.

  I walked over and leaned closer.

  It took a moment to see it.

  A small tuft of hair — or fur — wedged into a crack in the old wood.

  Carefully, I pulled it free.

  Then I focused.

  Channeling the hair into my tracking spell.

  The ground suddenly bloomed with irregularities — dozens of faint disturbances. Too many to easily read. Footsteps, animal prints, overlapping movement.

  But one pattern stood out.

  The trail led toward the cornfields.

  I smiled.

  Then I let the magic fade before Jupiter looked over.

  The world returned to normal color as I slipped the hair quietly into the pocket of my shirt.

  Jupiter stood and looked at me.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  He frowned slightly.

  “Let’s check the fences and gates,” he said. “After that we can probably head back.”

  His tone carried a hint of frustration. Without witnesses, investigations like this often ended before they really began.

  We walked past the edge of the cornfield toward the farm’s fencing.

  It was old but solid — likely several decades in place — a long, winding barrier that surrounded the entire property.

  Jupiter waited until we were well out of earshot of the houses.

  Then he looked over at me.

  “So,” he said.

  “What are your thoughts on this?”

  “It's exciting,” I said with pride. “I feel awful for the family and their situation, but I’m excited to have the opportunity.”

  Jupiter chuckled.

  “Benethasia,” he said with playful patience, “I meant the case.”

  If there had been any blood outside of that moment, I might have died from embarrassment.

  I cleared my throat and tried again, forcing confidence into my voice.

  “The family seems desperate,” I said. “Sad, and hoping that answers will somehow fix their problems.”

  He nodded in agreement as he tugged on an old wooden gate. It held tight.

  “And the attack?” he prompted.

  “If it is goblinkin,” I continued, “it doesn’t sound like them.”

  He kept inspecting the fencing while listening.

  “Goblins or hobgoblins usually announce their presence quickly,” I explained. “They might have the skills to use stealth, but they rarely have the patience. Tribal pride gets in the way.”

  Even as I said it, I felt a small knot of guilt.

  The world had changed a lot in recent generations. Most of the old prejudices had slowly faded, but they still lingered in stories and assumptions. Tales of goblin chieftains, orc warlords, and gnoll butchers still clung stubbornly to the culture.

  The tribal races had been fighting an uphill battle for years because of it.

  Even repeating those stereotypes out loud made me uncomfortable.

  I knew how exhausting that burden could be. I had seen it in R.S. and in Tuggy’s family more than once.

  “Gladthight?” Jupiter asked, pulling me back to the present.

  I shook my head.

  “We’d see far more tracks,” I said. “They have strict rules about hunting alone.”

  I paused.

  “At least… that’s what R.S. told me.”

  Jupiter nodded again.

  “Maybe it wasn’t goblinkin at all,” he said simply.

  He scanned the farmland around us. We were far enough away now that the farmhands were only distant shapes.

  “Could be an angry trader,” he continued. “Or a shopkeeper who didn’t get his cut. Just because the weapon was a makeshift axe doesn’t mean anything.”

  We stood there quietly for a moment, both looking out across the fields.

  Then Jupiter sighed.

  “High Ranger didn’t teach you a fix to my problem spell, did she?”

  “Afraid not,” I laughed.

  “But Tee Tee obeys sometimes, so that’s close enough.”

  Tee Tee chirped from my satchel, hearing his name even through sleep.

  Jupiter continued walking along the fence line.

  “Aye,” he said in an exaggerated storyteller voice, “Lord Tee Tee, the key to our mystery.”

  The voice was awkward for him.

  It made me smile.

  He was relaxing around me.

  Well…

  It did make me smile.

  Because I also knew something else.

  The moment Jupiter fell asleep tonight…

  I would be coming back to solve this myself.