Chapter Text
“Welcome aboard the Marechaussee Phantom, Lumine!”
A man with a deep, husky voice spoke first. His gray hair was slicked back in an attempt at order, though the unruly moustache betrayed a certain weariness. His cheerfulness seemed practiced– perhaps genuine once, but now much more a habit than a feeling. Even so, Lumine could sense the scrutiny behind his grin as he looked her over, weighing her before she’d even spoken.
The blonde offered a sheepish smile and an extended hand. “It’s my pleasure, Mr…?”
“Leon.” He gave with a rumble of amusement, shaking her hand firmly. His grip was strong, the kind that came from years of paperwork and too much coffee. Featuring toward the maze of cluttered desks crammed into one small office, he added, “Forgive the mess. We sort through a lot, but you’ll get used to it. Some say it adds character.”
Oddly enough, it did feel… welcoming.
Leon continued as he led her further inside. “We’re a small branch of the Marechaussee Phantom, you know. Most of the big-name divisions are composed of Melusines– fine workers of course, very sharp instincts. Never spilling a drop of coffee.” He chuckled, his own mug trembling faintly in his hand. “But we get by. Plenty of work for the human sort, too.”
He stopped by a desk stacked with papers. “This here’s Raymond. Mighty fine at sorting through chaos… if he remembers to look up.”
The young man barely glanced her way, giving a swift flick of his hand before returning to his notes. His eyes were pale, haunted almost.
“And that’s Yvette,” Leon said, turning to a woman balancing a precarious tower of files. “She’s mighty fine at linking loose ends in cases.”
“Oh, stop it…” She laughed softly, though a blush ran through her cheeks as she turned toward Lumine. “It’s an honor, Miss Lumine. We’ve heard all about your case with your brother. Honestly, had us riveted! We’re so glad you found him in the end.”
The air in the room seemed to thin.
Lumine’s smile stayed polite, but her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. “He’s my family after all, I had to pull that knucklehead out of his shady business somehow.”
The old man cleared his throat and moved on rather quickly. “Right, right. And lastly, this one here’s Lyney. Been with us for ages. Boy’s got talent, but refuses to climb the ladder.”
Lumine‘s gaze landed on him… and lingered.
Lyney was too put-together for this place. His clothes were crisp, smile was smooth to match. His posture was too refined for someone in such a modest branch. A contradiction wrapped in charm. And those eyes…. Pupils round, dark, and unnervingly large seemed to watch her with feline curiosity.
“Ah~ The pleasure is all mine, Miss Lumine.” He said, standing to give a graceful bow. “I can’t wait to see what fun you bring to our little nest. It’s been rather stale lately.”
Leon gave a gruff chuckle. “That’s one way to put it. Now then, Lumine. Get your desk set up. Sort your things. And– what case brought you to Fontaine, if you don’t mind my asking?”
The blonde dawned in white hesitated, gaze drifting over the empty desk that would soon be hers, tipping her head one way… then the other, as though measuring the room.
“I’m rather keen on unmasking the Weasel Thief.”
Silence.
A pen clattered to the floor, Raymonds, followed by a strangled laugh. Then the rest joined in, soft giggles bubbling through the office.
“What?” Lumin asked, voice firm. “I’m serious.”
Lyney leaned forward in his chair, a hint of pity (or amusement?) on his lips. “My apologies, but the Phantom Weasel turned herself in earlier this year. Closed case, in fact. We were the ones who brought her in.”
The others chimed in, sharing theories and tall tales, laughter spilling through the room. Lumine offered a small smile, though her mind raced.
They could laugh all they wanted.
Because sitting at her desk, sorting through her papers, this newcomer knew something they didn’t.
The Phantom Weasel, who had “turned herself in,” was a convenient scapegoat. A story wrapped up too neatly, with too much satisfaction from those who claimed credit for solving it.
Lumine had reviewed the confessions. The evidence logs. Witness statements. Heck, even the “Weasels” relations. They were all too clean. No conflicting testimony, to untraceable leads, it was eerie in fact. But tidy endings were rarely true.
And among the cheerful laughter echoing around the cramped, coffee-scented room, the real Weasel was sitting right here. Maskless. Unsuspecting. She had traced every lead back to this group…
Her perfect list of suspects:
Mister Leon.
The old leader. A man whose best years had long been swallowed by the bureaucracy he served, his desk told his story alone. Faded commendations pinned beside yellow case files, coffee rings making the ghosts of long nights spent chasing recognition that never came.
Lumine could see the hunger behind his genial smile: the bitterness of a man who’d given his life to the system and been quietly buried by it. Perhaps he began bending the rules to prove his worth again. And perhaps, somewhere along the line, bending became breaking.
Creating a criminal… the Phantom Weasel, the perfect ploy. A case big enough to make his branch indispensable to the Marechaussee Phantom. A case that made him indispensable.
But when the real Weasel’s capture failed to grant him the praise he expected, would he have let someone else take the fall to protect his little empire?
Raymond.
The ambitious youth. Barely out of training and brimming with sharp intellect yet sharper resentment.
She’s read his file before arriving: top of his class and a dream to join the Palais Marmonia. Yet here he sat, buried under dust and small-time cases.. Fontaine’s forgotten corner.
The flower-adorned detective, she’s seen that ambition before. The kind that festers in quiet places, feeding off frustration until it becomes something else entirely… if he could pull off one headline-worthy arrest, just one story that would make the Palais take notice, he’d have a ticket out.
And what better opportunity than the myth of the Weasel Thief? A case steeped in glamour, and if he couldn’t find her, well, perhaps he could make her.
The pen he dropped earlier felt oddly like a nervous tic to Lumine. It wasn’t just clumsiness. It was guilt. Buried beneath years of practice.
Yvette
The kind soul. The dependable one.
She smiled easily and was one to always remember a birthday, people like her were never suspected of anything, and that’s exactly why Lumine had Yvette in her sights.
Unbeknownst to most, Yvette was from Fleuve Cendre. A terribly scarce town where families often sold keepsakes for even a loaf of bread. It wasn’t green that drove Yvette, but survival. She’d do anything to keep her position and perhaps more to protect her family's stability. If orchestrating small-scale crimes kept her division relevant, then she could justify it as a noble sin.
Lumine rather empathized with the story she’d cooked up for Yvette.
And then there was Lyney.
The child prodigy turned local legend.
Every record of him read like a fairytale: The orphan boy who cracked cases before he was twelve, the genius whose instincts rivaled seasoned detectives! But success, especially young success, was cruel. It left no room to grow… only room to fall from their peak.
They called him brilliant but left him to stagnate in obscurity. By the time Lumine had joined, his smile was well rehearsed, his charm effortless— and by archon those eyes. Too large, too attentive, sure to miss not even the smallest detail.
A man like that didn’t stay idle forever. He built his identity around making magic happen and solving impossible cases. So what happens when the cases stop coming?
You make one.
The Weasel Thief… enigmatic and elusive… a perfect mirror to his lost glory. And when the time came to close the file, all he had to do was conjure a confession from someone desperate enough to take the fall.
It was deceptively theatrical. Just like him.
Each of them had a motive. Each of them had means.
Lumine leaned back in her chair, letting the soft creak fill the silence between laughter and shuffling papers. Her mind whirred, clicking through theories, filtering in and out facts like each phase of the moon.
For now, at least, her plan was simple: blend in and observe until she had enough evidence to unmask the real weasel. She hadn’t noticed the time slipping by until the room had gone quiet. The clock ticked past nine, and shadows stretched across the floor.
When she looked up, only one figure remained.
Lyney.
He stood at her desk, framed by the amber glow of a single lamp. The light caught in his big, glassy eyes, leaving small flecks of molten gold in his voidable pupils. He didn’t move, only watched, arms loosely folded behind his back like a magician waiting for his cue.
Lumine’s pen stilled. The quiet between them was too heavy to ignore.
She slipped the last folder into its divider and exhaled through her nose. “Apologies?” she asked, tone dry enough to cut glass.
“Oh, not at all,” Lyney said, voice low and unhurried, as though savoring every syllable. “I was just thinking I should walk our new recruit home. Fontaine isn’t always kind after dark… Wouldn’t want anything to happen to a lovely lady like you.”
Was he joking? His lips curved, but there was a spark of sincerity beneath the teasing tone that made her hesitate for a beat too long.
“I can take care of myself,” Lumine replied, matching his smile with one sharper, colder. “What, are you the one in need of a chaperone?”
That earned her a quiet laugh. His chuckle was smooth, almost far too comfortable for someone who’d just been insulted. He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, then slouched slightly, feigning defeat. “.....Yes,” he admitted with theatrical sorrow.
Pathetic man. Lumine thought.
And yet, somehow she found herself standing, brushing dust from her skirt, and falling into step beside him.
The streets of Fontaine were silvered with mist from how humid it was, the street lamps painting halos across the cobblestones. Their footsteps echoed together, soft and out of rhythm with one another. His unhurried, hers brisk, like two separate songs trying to share a measure.
Lyney adjusted his gloves absently, then spoke. “So, Miss Lumine,” He began, voice lighter now and teasing at the edges. “What made you apply to our little division? You could’ve aimed much higher with your reputation.”
“Hmmm.” She tilted her head, giving him a sidelong glance. “So could you.”
“Oh?”
“If I recall,” She said, letting the words dribble out with quiet amusement, “You were rather famous once, Fontaine’s child detective, wasn’t it? Solving cases before you even enrolled for a position. Why haven’t you aimed higher?”
His steps faltered. A small, almost imperceptible twitch crossed his brow before he smoothed it over with a smile too practiced to be real.
“Ah,” He muttered, “I see you’ve done your research.”
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he stopped at a corner where a cluster of children played marbles under the lamplight. His gaze softened. “Here. Watch closely, Miss Lumine.”
Before she could ask why, he crouched beside the children, drawing from his pocket a small rubber ball that gleamed like a pearl under the streetlight. “Ten more,” he said, “If you can guess which hand I catch it in.”
The kids erupted in laughter and playful shouts as he tossed the ball into the air, and it disappeared in a blur, his hands moving too quickly for even Lumine to follow where it had gone. Lyney held both fists out…
“The right!” One of them yelled.
He opened both hands. Empty.
Gasps followed and then delighted giggles as he reached into his coat pocket to produce the ball once more, bouncing it gently before pressing it into a child’s palm.
“Keep it,” He said, “A prize for your clever eyes.”
The children beamed, scattering back to their game, and subbing the rubber ball in for one of their marbles.
Lumine watched him quietly. For all her irritation, she couldn’t ignore the way his posture changed when he was with them. Less calculated. More human. The charisma remained, but no longer felt like a barbed performance.
“So?” She asked at last, “What was that supposed to mean?”
Lyney straightened, tucking his gloves into his pockets. “It means,” He said simply, “That I like working among the locals. Solving the little mystery that no one else bothers with. I don’t need grand recognition. Just impact on real people going about their day.”
His voice carried an easy sincerity that made her chest tighten with reluctant doubt.
He turned his head toward her, then smiling… not his charming stage-worthy smile, but something smaller. Quieter. Just Lyney. “Besides,” He added, “It’s nice, isn’t it? Seeing someone’s eyes light up when you make their world a little less dull.”
She didn’t answer right away. The mist had settled thicker now, curling around the lights in ribbons. Her boots clicked against the stone while she searched for something to say, something that would reassert the comfortable distance between them…
But nothing came.
Her theory for Lyney being the Weasel falters, cracked by a trick and a smile. That bothered her more than she wanted to admit.. Or maybe, if she was honest, it relieved her.
Because there was something both unsettling and comforting about Lyney: A man whose sleight of hand was harmless, whose deceptions entertained rather than wounded. A man whose charm she didn’t trust but couldn’t quite ignore.
Still, she kept her expression cool as they walked along, the hum of Fontaine's canals filling their silence.
When they reached the stairs that led to her quarter, he slowed. “You live this way, don’t you?”
She blinked, surprised. “How’d you–”
“Magic!” Lyney joked before explaining, “You kept glancing every few streets. Classic tell.”
“Show off.” Lumine huffed. “And here I thought you’d given up detective work.”
“I said I wasn’t ambitious. Not that I’d forgotten how to use my eyes.”
There it was again, that spark, that infuriating mix of arrogance and warmth that made her pulse quicken before she could smother it.
“Goodnight, Madam Lumine,” He said, dipping his head with an elegant bow. “Don’t stay up too late, fretting about little old me’s journey home.”
“I won’t.” She shot back, but the faintest twitch of amusement betrayed her.
And with that, Lyney walked off into the fog, his figure dissolving into the shimmer of the lights as if they were a spotlight, leaving her with nothing but the faintest echo of his laugh.
And though she told herself it was irritation twisting in her chest, Lumine couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was something else…
Something more dangerous.