“I don’t…” She cleared her throat, forcing her voice steady. “I’m not sure we’ve got anything on breaking that kind of transfer. Isn’t that more of a lawyer thing? Probate, maybe? I think there’s a way to reject a bequest? I feel like I read?—”
“I can’t,” Splice cut in. His voice was flat, but something brittle ran under it. “The claim activated automatically. And nowit is hurting Mycor. I do not know why, but he is sick, and it is tied to this.”
Something inside her gave a low twist, like a root seeking water. The cursor blinked at her, patient, merciless.Blink. Blink.Her thoughts scattered like loose tarot cards, her brain warring between want and the humiliation of his previous rejection.
“Uh…” She caught her lip between her teeth. “We could… look at cross-references? But if I keep it broad, I’ll be in the stacks until Solstice.”
From the next aisle, Marvin trundled by with his squeaky cart, offering a timid thumbs-up before vanishing again. The absurd normalcy of it made her stomach lurch.
She needed Splice to leave, now, before she did something catastrophically stupid, like haul him behind the map case for a very public snogging—or worse, clumsily blurt out her whole rotten mix of wanting and hurt in front of everyone.
“I was told you have access,” Splice said. His tone was low, and for the first time there was something that might have been panic threaded through it. “Access where others cannot go. I thought…”
He hesitated, choosing the words with painful precision. “Herald of the Solstice Flame. Mr. Lyle said that title matters.”
Goldie frowned. “I… have keys to the municipal archives,” she said slowly. “But I can’t just go rummaging willy-nilly. And I don’t know why City Hall would keep anything relevant to?—”
“Not even related to the Green Holdings?” he pressed. His eyes locked on hers, sharp and oddly pleading.
The thump came again under her feet—louder this time, closer.
She darted a look down the hall. Ms. Kephra peered around the corner, glasses shimmering like two tiny, benevolent moons. Goldie gave a tiny, frantic wave that was eitherhelpordo notcome closer; Ms. Kephra, sensibly, retreated. Goldie wasn’t sure if she was frustrated or relieved by that.
“I mean, I can look,” Goldie blurted. “If that would—I mean—I can put in a request, see what’s public, and?—”
“Please,” Splice said. His words landed in her like a hook.
She swallowed. “Leave me the particulars. Any dates, anything you have. I’ll see what I can legally access and how quickly. No promises.”
She pressed her knees together under the desk and pasted on a brighter smile to hide the heat.
Under the desk, the floor seemed to breathe.
Splice’s shoulders eased. “Thank you.”
He reached for the scribble pad, wrote a few neat lines, and slid the page across the desk. “This should narrow your search. I will contact you again.”
Goldie nodded, not trusting her mouth to form anything that wouldn’t come out as a moan. Splice turned and walked away, the faint rustle of vines trailing after him like the world’s most unsettling ASMR.
The moment he turned the corner, she collapsed into the chair, both palms slapping over her face. Her body was still singing with heat and static, every nerve ending rioting like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the moment was over.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Goldie fished it out and glanced at the screen.Unknown number.Normally she would’ve let it roll to voicemail but, still frazzled by the encounter with Splice, she decided to welcome the distraction and thumbed it on.
The voice that came through was tinny and professional.
“Ms. Flynn? It’s Detective Oseki. Do you have a minute today? I’d like to clarify some things on your timeline. Can you come by the station?”
Goldie stared at the note in her hand. “Yes. Um… I get off at three. Is that too late?”
“Not at all,” Oseki said, her voice smooth. “We appreciate it, Ms. Flynn. We’ll see you then.”
“Bye,” Goldie said blankly, and hung up.
She stared at her phone. No new notifications, no messages. Just the sparkly swirls of her wallpaper, suddenly too bright, too loud.
Nell appeared at her elbow. “Hey. You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Goldie said, her voice small. “I have to go to the station after work. They want to ‘clarify my timeline.’”
