Luther’s POV

*****

Dean’s Office, 5:35 PM

"No, we didn’t see any traces of the killer," he answered the Dean’s question when the others were told to wait outside and he was left sitting alone with the man. "We came in here barely two minutes before you."

The Dean nodded once, glancing at the person standing at his right.

Professor Amelia.

The latter had her face glued to her iPad, seeming like she was reviewing something. "It’s just like you suspected, sir. The cameras were blacked out during the periods when you left the office for the cleaner and when the students came in."

Although the stench of blood and death still clung to the office, the dead body had been towed out of here. News about the murder didn’t spread like during Miss Benedicta’s case—thank the gods.

The last thing Luther needed after a stressful flight back here was to be welcomed with unwanted public attention.

So far, the Dean had interrogated everyone else. Just him left.

And the more he sat before the academy’s Dean and listened to him speak, the more uneasy he became.

"Miss Bloodoak mentioned something," Thorne tapped a pen on the desk slowly. He raised his head, those sharp eyes fixing themselves on Luther. "Right before I stepped in. About... me potentially being behind this murder."

Silence slammed into the room like an unwelcome guest.

Professor Amelia lowered her iPad, arching a brow as she looked between the Dean and the Alpha. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Luther’s jaw tightened. "She only said that out of fear. It’s not every day someone gets to see a dead body in their Dean’s office." His snark was clear.

There was no need to hide it when it was obvious that something horribly wrong was afoot here.

The corner of the Dean’s lips lifted with the ghost of a smirk. "Yes. I suppose you’re right."

’This guy smells like a problem.’ his wolf growled. ’Should we—’

’We aren’t doing anything without the others.’ Luther cautioned, fists clenching to keep the beast at bay. ’He’s still a powerful witch. With the Academy’s wards under his control.’

In other words, the man could probably put him down before he even shifted. He wasn’t about to test his chances. Especially when they were still uncertain if he truly was behind all this.

"Well," Thorne cleared his throat, sitting posture straightening. "That’ll be all for now. Sadly, I can’t proceed with the original conversation I wanted to have with you five before this unsightly incident. So..."

The man gestured once at the door, not bothering to say anything else. Professor Amelia wore a smile as she walked to Luther’s side.

"Come, Mr Hale."

But Luther didn’t move an inch from his seat. His eyes narrowed on the Dean, head stretching forward. "And that’s it?"

Thorne paused the opening of his laptop. "Pardon?"

"That’s it then? For your ’investigations’." Luther repeated, his words clipped this time. "You just ask a couple of questions, pretend like you’ve got everything under control and then move on as if nothing happened?"

Professor Amelia reached for his shoulder. "Lut—"

A glare.

All Luther had to do was give her one cold, piercing glare, his eyes flashing with a predatory light. He may not want to start a fight. But he was still an Alpha.

Naturally, Amelia inched backwards while the Dean began cooly.

"Your insinuations are dangerous, Mr Hale," he paused, letting the words sink in. "I intend to conduct further investigations into this murder. You aren’t aware—"

"Save me the bull crap." Luther sneered. "Investigations? Like you did with Miss Benedicta? Or the conveniently failed wards during the Vein Beast attack on her memorial?"

He saw the way Thorne’s jaw worked.

Just for a second.

Yet enough for Luther to know the man’s ice-cold composure was slipping.

"You think my administration stopped investigations on those incidents?" The Dean questioned. "Before you point fingers... check yourself, Luther. And those around you."

That made the Alpha’s brows furrow into a deep frown.

Check himself? Those around him?

Suddenly, the man lifted a hand. The door telekinetically opened behind Luther.

"That’s the exit." Thorne blurted. "Do not let me force you out."

Luther’s blood boiled—but he didn’t stick around to see if the man would do as he said. He rose from the seat, adjusting his jacket once.

After staring for a few seconds too long, he turned on his heels and waltzed out of the office. Sure enough, the door shut behind him as he got to the hallway.

The others waited some paces away from the office, leaning against a wall.

"Well?" Silas’ eyes brightened first.

"Did he ask anything new?" Atlas followed.

But Luther shook his head. "Just the same old stuff that he asked you guys."

They all sighed with frustration.

Except Azrael.

"I heard arguing," Vaelmont muttered. "What did you tell him?"

"I might’ve... pressed him a little," Luther admitted, scratching the back of his neck as they moved down the corridor. "About the murder. And Miss Benedicta. And the failed wards. Just—put it on the table."

Celeste stopped walking so abruptly that Atlas nearly ran into her.

"You did what?" She hissed.

Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose. "Luther. We talked about this. You can’t antagonise the one person who controls the wards, the staff, and half the damn records."

"I didn’t antagonise him," Luther shot back. "I questioned him."

"That’s the same thing," Celeste snapped. "Until we’re certain, we don’t corner him. We watch. We gather. We survive."

Luther opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Fine. Point taken.

"...He said something else," he muttered instead.

Both of them turned to him.

"What?" Atlas asked.

Luther exhaled slowly. "Told me to watch myself. And those around me."

That made Celeste’s expression darken. Atlas went still.

As they resumed walking, Luther’s thoughts drifted to Montecito. To a hallway. To shadows thickening. To Azrael, saying it so calmly it sounded like a joke:

"I’m a vampire."

He hadn’t believed him. Not fully.

But Miss Benedicta had died drained of blood. And now the cleaner.

His gaze slid sideways.

Azrael walked a step behind them, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place. Impossible to read.

Just as if he sensed the weight of Luther’s stare, Azrael turned his head.

They locked eyes.

Or... something like it.

Azrael didn’t smile or frown.

He just looked at him.

And for the first time since Montecito, Luther wasn’t sure he wanted the truth anymore.