The shadowless hours.

It was a childhood nickname for the first few hours of the day, in the Billows. With the Spire casting it's warm red light from the west, and the sun rising in the east, there was little room for shadows to hide.

It also meant those first few hours of the day could be uncomfortably hot. Sweat trickled down Samuel's neck beneath his already unbuttoned collar, the breath he pulled into his lungs through gritted teeth was more like soup than air, and heat seemed to push onto his skin and clothes from every direction.

And it didn't help that every forge and manufacturing site in the Billows was still working. The night shifts would hand over the equipment ovens still lit, and whatever cool air was left through the night was pushed out of the tiny shadows the narrow streets could keep.

Samuel scowled, and tilted his hat to keep the light of the Spire out of his eyes, letting his coat billow in the gentle breeze.

His home was only a short few minutes from the precinct, but by the time he arrived, he already wanted to dunk his head in a bucket of cold water.

His discomfort was a part of why he felt so happy to see his partner at the door, holding a tall glass of water in her hand.

"Figured you'd need it," Angela said, extending her arm towards him.

Samuel greedily took the glass in both hands and gulped it down. The water was nearly ice cold, and Samuel even enjoyed the short headache caused by the sudden shock of the cold.

"Thank you," Samuel said gratefully.

"My train felt like someone made a sauna out of dirt and sweat instead of water and hot rocks. I guessed even your short walk would be unpleasant today," Angela said, taking the empty glass from him and leading them inside.

"How long ago did you get here?" Samuel asked.

"Ten minutes. Just long enough to wonder if you had applied for a career change," Angela said. "And if you did, please take me with you."

"Ostal and Fraser. Wonder if we could start our own investigation firm," Samuel speculated, chuckling.

"You propositioning me, Sam?" Angela asked slyly.

Samuel coughed and looked away, his cheeks feeling hot. "I, uh, thought we should go and meet the parents, first."

"My parents? My, Mister Fraser, aren't we bold?"

"Amanda Destir. I want to get a sense of her backstory before we conduct the interview. Figured it shouldn't take the records department more than an hour," Samuel said.

"It shouldn't take that long," someone said from up ahead. Samuel glanced up to see Bertram leaning against a wall, digging out dirt from under his fingernails with a thin, long knife.

"I brought over everything the Bureau has on Silas Miller and Amanda Destir. As well as all of Starson Vontusk's notes," Bertram said as he pushed himself off the wall.

"Thank you, Berty," Angela said, clapping the shadow on the shoulder hard enough that he nearly dropped his knife.

"Ang, be careful. He does have those burns from yesterday," Samuel said.

"Glad one of you cares," Bertram muttered.

"We need his arms so that he can find where Amanda Destir's parents live. Otherwise, we have to dig through all that paperwork ourselves," Samuel added.

"Right. Sorry boss," Angela said with a laugh.

Bertram lead them to their desks, where a metal trunk had been unceremoniously dropped on top. The lid was open, and nearly overflowing with haphazardly piled papers.

"Ester and Cade Destir," Bertram said, as he fished through the pile as if there was some sort of organisation to it. Samuel doubted it, until Bertram drew out a sheet of paper and set it on the desk. "Here we are. Cade and Ester both work in Civil Maintenance. Building repair, pipe fitting, that sort of thing. They live in Riverwash, just two stops from the hospice."

"Convenient," Angela murmured.

"Hey, take a freebie when it's offered," Samuel said. He reached into his desk and set an old pad of paper in front of Angela. "Take a few notes about their background, then wait by the front entrance. I'll meet you there."

"Where are you going?" Angela asked.

"Have a couple of requests for the records department. I'll meet you there," Samuel said, as he turned away and walked down the hall.

Samuel smiled in relief that Angela didn't pry. He wasn't sure how comfortable she would be with what he was about to do.

A quick walk across the hall, weaving around various noisy conversations brought him to one of the few offices in the building important enough to be fully enclosed.

Records.

Samuel opened the door and stepped through, waving to the woman at the desk.

She looked up, and the reflexive frown she wore as she looked up faded into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. Her glasses slid halfway down her nose as she looked up, but she didn't bother to push them back. "Samuel Fraser. We've been expecting you."

"Really, Isabel?" Samuel asked, approaching her desk. "Captain asked you to make my requests top priority?"

"Yes, actually," Isabel Astrolae admitted. She hummed under her breath, and said "adroit as ever."

"Complements from you and Eudora always seem a little patronising," Samuel said as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "The two of you tend to be the smartest people in the room. No matter the room. Is Eudora sick?"

Isabel Astrolae and Eudora Yael were clerks, and their positions were permanent loans from the Bureau of Statistical Analysis. Having a career in being able to find useful information from usually hostile bureaus and agencies, their work has helped Samuel break through a few of his harder cases in the last few years.

"No, she's just in the back," Isabel said, gesturing with her thumb to the maze of shelves behind her. She then leaned forward and shoved her spectacles back up her nose a little. She then pulled a metal pen quill out of her hair and opened an inkwell. "So, Sam, what am I dropping everything else in my life for?"

"I need everything you can find on Clovis Hannover. Owns a tavern on the far end of the Billows called the Frosty Hearth," Samuel said.

"Got it. Clovis Hannover, Frosty Hearth," Isabel recited, writing on her pad. "Any particular reason I'm looking, to highlight findings of interest?"

"Look for any connection with rejects, or Rosemary and Milano Miller," Samuel said. "Rosemary Miller's a Parliamentarian.

"Eudora will be right on it. Anything else, Inspector Fraser?"

Samuel blinked. "You're not going to ask me why I'm looking into this?"

"I was instructed to keep my curiosity to myself," Isabel admitted. She leaned forward, and added "forcefully."

"Yeah, it's that kind of case," Samuel muttered, irritation slipping into his words. "Sorry if the captain was hard on you."

"You'll need to tell me about it when you wrap up this case and figure out what you're allowed to talk about," Isabel said, leaning forward as she tucked the quill back into her hair.

"You think I'll solve this one?" Samuel asked.

"I like your odds," Isolde said. "And I'm the one who compiles the case clearance rates for every inspector in the district. You're twenty-second in the City, by the way."

"Really?" Samuel was surprised to hear it. The Captain was fond of mentioning his clearance rate as a limiting factor in his career advancement.

"It's an imperfect assessment. Special Investigations is lower, but they have a bad habit of getting the weird cases. The odd thing is they weren't tapped for this case of yours."

"They probably refused," Samuel admitted. "We're doing this on behalf of Oversight."

Isabel's eyes widened, she leaned back in her seat and shook her head. "Samuel, should you have told me that?"

"Officially, no. But I have this feeling it might affect what you look for. Also, see what you can dig up on the Miller family, Evaluator Starson Vontusk, Reject Amanda Destir, and Reject Francis Pilchmer. Just in case Oversight isn't looking as closely as I want them to."

Isabel sighed. "Oversight's almost as bad as Research when it comes to sharing information. I'll do what I can."

"Thanks," Samuel said. He stood up and stretched. "Any idea when you'll have something for me?"

"Research, Oversight, and Parliament? If you asked anyone else, the answer would be 'never'," Isabel said smugly. "But from me? Later this afternoon."

"Thanks," Samuel said. "Be seeing you."

"Soon," Isabel said without looking up.

Samuel wondered about her reaction for a moment, as he opened the door. But the sight of someone knocking a desk over in the hall derailed his musings and put his feet into motion.

"What the burning hell do you mean there's nothing you can do?" Someone shouted up ahead. Samuel pushed his way through a growing crowd of people, occasionally having to steer someone out of his path by resting a hand on a shoulder.

It irritated him that he had to do it with a constable.

"Look," the man who had been sitting at the desk said from his seat, still not bothering to stand up. Samuel recognised him as a fellow inspector, Treach Reclor. Mean, even for orderlies who worked in the Billows, and a man very familiar with violence.

Samuel boxed with Treach when he wanted an education. Those lessons usually hurt.

"Health and Safety is a branch of Public Works. All of which falls under the Bureau of Civil Development. They're headquartered two hours from here, close to that stupidly tall spike of fire you might have seen before," Treach said, slowly. The man looked bored with the confrontation.

And Samuel could see why. The man who had upturned the desk was well dressed, thin, reedy, and a full head shorter than Treach.

"Burn you and your ash-stained face," the man cursed. "I work in Civil Development! I told you there's no record of an infectious disease warning in my building! My bureau doesn't have a reason for why I've been evicted and my possessions torched!"

"And I've already told you that I can't help you," Treach replied blandly. "Not my job."

"Your burning job is to assist citizens and investigate crimes! Which you don't seem to want to do!" the man said, and he tapped Treach in the chest with his finger.

A mistake. The biggest trouble the department had with Treach wasn't his temper. It was that there was no gradual buildup to his rage. He went from placid calm to violent at the drop of a hat.

Samuel managed to reach them just as Treach had taken the finger that had poked him in the chest, and bent it backwards. He pried the finger out of Treach's grip and shoved the reedy man away.

"Let's go," Samuel said to the man, spinning him around and steering him to the exit.

Samuel managed to lead the reedy man halfway to the front entrance before the man whirled around and stopped. "Get your hands off me!"

Samuel very deliberately set his finger on the man's chest and shoved hard enough to make him stumble. "Pick another fight with an inspector, and I'll lock you up just to keep half the precinct from beating you to death. If you have a problem, you have my attention for another fifteen seconds. After that, you wait in line at the front desk."

"Ash-bitten orderlies. Useless fops," the man muttered.

"Ten seconds," Samuel barked, and the man jumped.

"Fine fine. My home was ordered quarantined last night. They just had a crafter come by and torch everything I own. Every burning thing in my life is now ash, Inspector. And there's no record of any reason to do it!" the reedy man explained in a manic, unusually high-pitched tone that grated on Samuel's ears.

"Sounds like you stepped on some important toes," Samuel said.

"And that makes it okay?" The man asked.

"Of course not. It just makes it hard to deal with. You must know how the Bureaus are about outsiders prying into how they operate. My colleague nearly gave you an education," Samuel said.

"What an ass," the man began to say until Samuel cut him off.

"Say one more word about Inspector Relcor and I'll make him the case officer for any investigation we do about this," Samuel warned him. "Now, do you have any idea who authorised the torching of your home?"

"No. Just that it was authorised by someone high up in Civil Development," the man said.

"I see. I imagine the Crafter that torched your home would know. Did you catch a name?"

"Crafter Thael."

Samuel nodded, taking some paper out of his pocket and jotting the name down. "And who are you?"

"Darrick Vorlan, a clerk for the Housing Allocation department in Civil Development."

"Well Darrick, head back to the officer at the desk and fill out an incident report like you're supposed to. In the meantime, I'll hand this off to someone who's likely to be fairly sympathetic, and put in a couple of requests on your behalf before I get back to my job," Samuel ordered, pointing to the front of the building.

"That's it? You're not doing anything else for me?" Darrick asked.

"Nope. And if that's a problem, you can take it up with the complaints department," Samuel replied, grinning. "Which is the inspector who nearly removed all of your teeth."

"You're an ass," Darrick cursed as he walked away.

Samuel shook his head and walked back to the records department.

Something about that exchange bothered Samuel, and it had nothing to do with the clerk's lack of social graces. If there was anything that niggled at Samuel's suspicions, it was coincidence.

And Silas Miller's father is an important man within Civil Development.

Samuel opened the door to the nearby records department and strode inside without any fanfare. "Isabel, what is Milano Miller's position in Civil Development?" Samuel asked.

"Senior Architect. Currently Division Chief of Public Health in the Bureau of Civil Development," Isabel replied immediately.

"You just knew that off the top of your head?"

"Captain Vaska told me to be acquainted with your case, Sam," Isabel said.

"Okay. I have a new person of interest to add. Darrick Vorlan, a Clerk with the Housing Allocation Department, Civil Development. He was made homeless on order from his own Bureau, but there's no record of the reason for it. The Crafter responsible for executing the order, last name Thael."

Samuel paused, and added, "look for any connection between Darrick and the barkeep Clovis Hannover."

"An odd request," Isabel murmured as she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

"Just a hunch," Samuel admitted with a shrug.

"Anything else?"

"No. I just need to pen a note and send a courier to find Crafter Thael, to ask her about who gave her the order to torch the contents of Darrick's domicile," Sam said.

Isabel set a piece of paper in front of him and slid her inkwell in his direction. "I can have that sent along. Vaska authorised Priority: Grey, didn't she?"

"She did," Samuel said, as Isabel extended her quill to him. He took it and jotted down a quick note.

"I'll have that in a courier's hands as soon as it dries," Isabel promised.

"Thank you," Samuel said.

"Figured you could use the extra help right now. Stay safe, Sam."

"Thanks," Samuel said on his way out.