Tristan's office was not, by technical considerations, a real office. It was not a fact he liked to acknowledge, but Quinn, airily oblivious, made a point of brashly announcing the observation the moment they marched through the front door.

"Isn't this just your house?" they asked, trampling over the doormat with trainers caked in far too much dirt for the middle of spring.

"It is my house," he said as calmly as he could, though his fist curled, fingers itching. "My office is the first door on the left. Take your shoes off."

Quinn groaned like a petulant child, but fortunately succeeded in obeying the simple instruction. Behind them, Otto removed his shoes in a slightly more adult manner and slipped past them, a placid smile on his face as his gaze raked over the front hall's beige walls and ageing wooden floorboards. They creaked as he set foot on them, and he made a poorly-muffled sound of surprise. He cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it. "This is a lovely place. Very homely."

"It smells of damp," Tristan said curtly, checking his watch. Half past one. People really did slow up everything.

Expression politely neutral, Otto tentatively sniffed the air. "I can't smell anything."

"I can," Quinn chirped and skidded on mismatched socks to the office's doorway. At least they knew how to be honest sometimes.

Otto awkwardly shuffled after them, with Tristan lingering to straighten the doormat and grimace at its newly acquired mud stain before he reluctantly followed after. Quinn had already plopped themself into the single armchair near the back of the room, heels brought up onto the seat as they splayed themself illogically sideways, their hoodie tossed over the chair's back to leave a stripy pink-and-white t-shirt exposed. Otto remained standing and hovered uncomfortably in the corner. They were both watching Tristan with expectation of entertainment of some kind, he could only guess, but he didn't have time to work out the proper logistics of accommodating guests. The two were there in the room, presences like thick, sensory fog to muddy the dusty emptiness, and he could only hope that was enough to make his play.

Turning his back on them, he sank into his familiarly worn desk chair. It filled him with a certain amount of satisfaction to see his own laptop perched on his desk -- grey and emblazoned with the symbol of some unimportant brand he'd forgotten the name of, not the blinding cartoonish white of Tigertronics. He flipped the device's lid up, typed in twenty-six characters of a carefully coded password, fished Kordyn's USB drive out of his pocket and plugged it into the laptop's port.

He stiffened. Quinn and Otto appeared either side of him in unison, crowding in close enough to brush his shoulders. He waved them back. "Not that close, please."

Only Otto moved, though not nearly far enough. Pinning his sigh behind his clenched teeth, Tristan constructed mental blinkers as much as was possible and shrank his focus to solely the laptop's screen, arms retreating inward as he swiped his finger over the touchpad.

The USB's name merely consisted of a < character and the number 3, placed next to one another to form a second crudely-drawn heart.

"Ooh." Quinn whistled, though the thin sound trailed into a chuckle that popped right in his ear. "I know what you're thinking."

With a single tap of his finger, the contents of '<3' appeared on the screen. Just one folder, unnamed. "What am I thinking, then?" He didn't brave the inconvenience of looking away.

"You think Kordyn has a secret lover."

"And why is that?"

They snorted, elbow digging into his shoulder blade as they leaned on him. He gritted his teeth. "Tristan," they sang, "stranger to love as I expect you are, I would hope you know what a heart symbol means. It's not difficult."

"It isn't," he said, "but I wanted to check that you were aware."

They gasped dramatically. "Is that a slight on my love life?"

"It's a slight on your intelligence."

"What does a lover have to do with this?" Otto asked from behind, confusion a whirlwind in his voice and edged by silty wariness. "That sounds like something private we shouldn't be prying on."

"See?" Tristan splayed his hands over his keyboard, gaze flicking one way and then the other to capture them both. "People need things explaining to them. You see the basics, but what I suspect is more specific and far more relevant to our circumstances."

He clicked on the folder. A slow second passed before a single file revealed itself, named typed with scratchy urgency: KJ - READ ASAP. Tristan cringed; capital letters always felt like a shout through the screen. Entirely unnecessary. Still, he steeled himself, for once content with the silent patience of his two companions, and clicked again.

A simple text document loaded, written in the awfully cheerful font of Comic Sans.

KJ,

I'm sorry if all this secrecy scares you. It's scaring me a little, but you're braver than me, so maybe you'll be okay. She told me it's important that no-one else finds out.

Basically, I need you to go to my family's house tomorrow night, at 7PM sharp, for dinner. There'll be some other people there, but you just need to act natural for a few hours until it's all over.

I'm supposed to stay away until the morning, but I'm really worried about this, K, so I'm going to come at midnight. Find a way to sneak out the back door and I'll wait for you.

We're going to get away, KJ. You and me, like we wanted. I have a way now. At midnight, find me, get in my car and we'll run.

I'll explain it all properly when we meet, I promise. Oh, and wear something nice tomorrow night, something fitting to an escapade. Maybe that sleeveless golden dress? I love that one on you.

Loving and missing you always,

SD <3

"Those initials..." Otto spoke with barely a breath, low and wavering with the theory now dawning upon him. He shook his head in Tristan's periphery.

Such strings of reluctance didn't hold Quinn back. "Seth Dawson?"

"That would be very relevant," Tristan murmured.

Otto inhaled sharply. "How old is Kordyn? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-seven." Tristan scrolled to the bottom of the document's page, but there was nothing more hidden there. It truly was just a letter of invitation, simple and yet not, with something hidden within those short paragraphs. He steepled his hands and leaned closer to the screen.

"Are you sure that's realistic?" Otto pressed. He was beside Tristan's shoulder again, bending down to read alongside him. Tristan glanced up to see the thinly-veiled disgust tucked behind the forced politeness in his expression.

He inclined his head. "You've seen the way she dresses."

Otto's gaze narrowed, dagger-like and hypocritical. "That's not an excuse to judge her."

Tristan lifted his shoulders in a small shrug and went back to studying the screen.

"Love comes in all shapes and sizes," Quinn said, voice lilting side to side in the barest song. They propped themselves against the desk chair's arm. "I don't judge."

"It still doesn't feel right to me." Otto pointed a finger at the third main body paragraph, tip very nearly grazing the display of I'm supposed to stay away. Tristan tensed, but bit his tongue; Otto was already continuing his offered thought. "Seth painted himself as the one who organised the whole thing. It's his house. Why would he stay away?"

"He was already planning on breaking that rule." Tristan's eyes wandered to the rest of the sentence, frowning, fingers drumming as his thoughts whirred. "Though it's possible his meaning was merely to stay away from Kordyn. As far as we saw, he acted as if he'd never met her."

"Acting is what he did," Quinn said. "It fits."

It did, but something felt off. Nudging the laptop aside, he tugged a square scrap of paper from the pile and scrambled for a pen. He flicked the lid off and scribbled as he spoke, thoughts flowing in the same precise tide as black ink. "Unless we look at the first paragraph." He paused, waiting for either of them to comment, then sighed into the silence and looked up. "She. Seth didn't set us up. Someone -- most likely the same female voice we heard -- ordered him to do this. If this person can save my career, and get Quinn into school, and know something about Otto's brother, then it stands to reason that they could help Seth and Kordyn to run away together."

He finished writing and stood, ducking past Otto in order to head for the far wall. Otto caught his arm. His eyes were bright blue in indoor light, and had become whirlpools, thoughts racing in circles behind them. "That's what she said to you?"

"It is." Tristan tugged himself free and dodged underneath his arm to grab a pin from the container on his desk. "If you'd like to divulge exactly what you were offered regarding Raphael, then that would be very helpful."

He reached his board and pinned the scrap of paper beside Kordyn's name, then stepped back to scan across it. Constance's paper shone from the top left corner, drowning in a sea of ghostly emptiness, accompanied by nothing at all. The only one left unaccounted for.

"It's not as clean as that, though." Otto's hard footsteps slapped against creaking wood panels. "Seth is dead, and Kordyn is still here."

"Nor have any of us gotten what we wanted." Tristan spun to catch both him and Quinn in an analysing stare. "I'm guessing?"

Otto shook his head. Quinn chose to ignore him, distracted immediately by the note board. They rushed forward, grinning away. "You know, maybe I take back what I said. You must be a stellar detective if you have your own board. And pins! All you need now is some of that red string."

Otto jolted, as if this was the first time he'd noticed the board. How easy it was for people to overlook what wasn't pointed out to them. "You put yourself on there?"

"It would be wrong not to." Hands sinking into his jacket pockets, paper carefully creased between his fingers, Tristan started to pace. There really was a strange thrill in this, a delightful bubbling that raced through his veins. A life he hadn't tasted for a long time sprouted sweet in the musty air. "Now, if Seth died and our lives remain unfixed, then that implies something went wrong. Perhaps this isn't what Kordyn wanted at all. Perhaps, instead of meeting him at the agreed time, she killed him."

He turned in enough time to see Otto shudder. "I don't know. That doesn't sit right. If they were in love, why would she kill him?

Tristan stared back. "Matricide is statistically common amongst murder cases. Love easily spirals into hate." The folded paper stroked his knuckles, and he frowned. "Even so... Maybe you were right originally, Otto, and he wasn't supposed to show up. Perhaps he broke that rule in a big way. Our mystery caller took issue with that and shattered the whole operation, and made him pay for it in blood." Another step took him back to the board, and he surveyed it, drawn to suspect number one. "Which leaves only one of us with that mystery label."

Quiet settled. He watched Otto lick his lips, rubbing absentmindedly at his arm as his gaze plodded slowly over the board's notes. "You..." He shook his head, voice ragged. "You can't really think that Constance..."

"I found her first by Seth's body. She drank no wine." The pieces slotted together with smooth edges, connecting a picture he could've seen sooner without today's latter distractions. "She made a point of handing my gun back to me, as if it were planned that way. And she's the only one who's succeeded in avoiding me."

Otto gritted his teeth, eyes sparking with the beginnings of what might've been anger. "She's a kid."

"Kids can be cruel when they want to be." Shadows balanced on Tristan's tongue and mingled with those words. He turned his face aside, catching sight of his own misty, sunlit reflection sliced into the window pane. Eyes like hard amber stared back at him, half-hidden by askew glasses and the messy brown strands of hair that had slipped down. Since when had his hair become so unruly? He ran a self-conscious hand through it, aware of Otto watching him like a laser beam, the catch in his breath as he readied a response ringing like a sharp bell.

Quinn leapt in before the reply could be spoken. "Sorry to interrupt all this excitement, but do you mind if I nip to the toilet?"

Tension wound in Tristan's muscles, tightening his jaw, but he shoved it back and spun around to gesture to the staircase in the hall outside. "Upstairs. On the right."

"Thank you kindly." Quinn delivered a swift bow and then swept away, leaving a strangely sudden discomfort cracking in the air.

Otto was the lightning charge at the centre of it. He stepped forward, the defensively razored harshness he'd equipped tempered by a padded softness. Forced or not, it was difficult to tell. "Tristan," he said, voice quiet and shaky, "are you covering for something?"

A scratchy jolt sprinted through Tristan's veins, his heart skipping as he jolted away from the window. Surprise whirled. He forced it from his expression, maintaining a blank stare as he lifted his head to meet Otto's skylight gaze. "And what would I be covering for?"

Rather than answer, Otto laid a hand on his shoulder, and ice washed over his skin, cold and hard as solid rock. "It's alright if you need help." He was practically whispering now, form hunched inward like he was hiding. "I might know what you're going through. I can--"

Tristan ripped himself free. "I don't need help."

His heart was louder than he'd like, splintering his thoughts until he struggled to keep them straight. There was something itchingly familiar about this, though there was no reason for it to be. Perhaps he'd looked at his own reflection for too long and brought it back. Perhaps all this inward talk of ghosts and school and shadows was twisting it all into something it wasn't, something he couldn't cope with.

But he could cope. As long as Otto stopped looking at him like that, like he was glass cracked in the heat. He wanted the thrill back. Would people always intrude to ruin his games?

But the look persisted, and so did the itch up his spine. His fists curled. "You don't need to be afraid of my judgement," Otto continued. "I swear, I'll help get you out. But you have to walk away."

Tristan wished his thoughts were neat again so he could puzzle out the strangeness of those words, the meaning behind them, but they'd dissolved into mere noise all of a sudden, so loud he could barely hear them. He wished he could press his hands to his ears and wait for it to quiet. "I said I don't need any help," he snapped. "I know what I'm doing. You can leave if you like." Please, leave.

Something like pity scrunched Otto's expression. He reached for Tristan's arm again. "Tristan--"

Tristan didn't notice his hand move until it hit the empty spot on his desk, fingers curling over nothing, over the space his gun should be. Otto's gaze jumped to it, and the glint of darkness that spawned there suggested he recognised the motion. A frown dug claws into whatever emotion had dwelled there previously.

"Leave," Tristan repeated, though his voice had lost its sharpness. It drifted like a minute breath of wind.

Murky silence danced around Otto in a cloud. He straightened, eyes narrowed, the seconds dripping by. Tristan couldn't make himself move. He wasn't sure he'd feel safe to until the room was empty again.

"I'm back!"

It took a moment longer than it should have done before he registered Quinn's voice. They burst through the doorway, then immediately skittered back a step, like there was some invisible thickness in the air that bounced off them like a shield. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Otto said -- a terrible lie -- and turned. "I was just leaving."

"So soon?" Quinn's lips pulled downward, a thin, put-on sadness that quickly leapt back into a grin. Gripping the doorframe, they swung back and forth. "But I just found something interesting."

"In the toilet?" Tristan couldn't help but ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!" They plucked their phone from their hoodie's pocket and waved it aloft. "The police just went public on Seth's murder."

Otto froze instantly, but Quinn laughed, flicking a dismissive hand his way. "Don't worry, the five of us aren't anywhere to be seen." Their oceanic eyes performed a flying leap from him to Tristan, gleaming with some hidden depths. "The Dawsons just arrived back in the country. They're holding a, ah, public-ish funeral the day after next to allow the town to mourn." Spiky pink bangs swept over their eyes, they turned their gaze back to their phone, swiping it. "Everyone is going to be there."

A squirming of fireworks thrummed to life in Tristan's stomach, and he welcomed it, digging deep to catch hold of those sparks. They nipped at his anxiety, stamping it back. "Everyone who knew him," he murmured.

"Exactly." Quinn beamed. "Fancy crashing a funeral?"

"Wait." Panicked, Otto glanced between them and Tristan. "You can't possibly be considering--"

"I'm going," Tristan said to cut him off, shooting a hard, determined stare back. It seemed the tension hadn't entirely dissipated; taut darkness still wound his tongue.

"Tristan, if any of us are seen there, it'll look--"

"And I'll go alone," he added. He lifted his chin in challenge to the taller man. Otto might've wanted to hold him back, to take away his game, but he would not yield. The game was his, after all. He didn't need help.

"Aw, come on," Quinn whined in protest. "Not even your partner?"

"I don't have a partner." Folding his arms, he leaned back against his desk. "Otto claims that us interacting is suspicious, and I think he's right. You should both leave, and I will handle this myself."

Otto's jaw visibly clenched. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's your idea, good or not." Tristan jerked his head towards the door. "Leave."

Pinned-back annoyance twitched beyond Otto's gaze. Nerves buzzed around Quinn as they crept forward, nudging his arm. "Hey, what'd you say to him?"

Closing his eyes, Otto let loose a tight sigh. "Nothing." Finally, he turned his back, heading for the door. "Come on, Quinn. He's right."

Confusion clearly lurked in the many words lodged in Quinn's throat, but for once, they said nothing and let themself be let out. A hesitant goodbye tingled on Tristan's tongue, but he couldn't seem to translate it to sound. By the time he opened his mouth, the front door slammed, and he was alone.

He slid into a sitting position sagged against the desk's corner and shut his eyes, drowning out the world. He never should've let either of them in. Even for the rules, for whatever he was instructed to play, he couldn't tangle himself with people.

He would finish this himself, as it was supposed to be.

Pulling the blood-marked paper from his pocket, he stared blankly at it, waiting for calm's folds to overtake him once more. He had notes to make, a funeral to plan for, a doormat to clean, but for now he simply revelled in the silence.

He didn't need help. He was fine. He always was, always.

Chapter Wordcount: 3238

Total Wordcount: 20947 (20k word bolded)

And the plot thickens!! Maybe. There's certainly some plot things going on somewhere, and Tristan has some ideas. Are they right? Who knows.

Also I think someone needs to convince him that he needs therapy. Or at least some friends maybe.

- Pup