“Gods damn traffic.” growled Myra as the line of cars ahead of her might as well have reached another continent. She tapped on the steering wheel in the rhythm of some catchy song on the radio and stretched her head out of the window every now and again.

  Convinced she would be trapped there for an eternity, she glanced at the three boxes in the back seat and then checked the glove compartment in search of a new air freshener. She shuffled through forgotten bags of candy, broken sunglasses and lost bullet casings, but quickly gave up the search when she felt her phone vibrating.

  “Hey Ronns. I’m on my way to the office, but I’ll take a while.” She took the phone outside the window and let the sound of horns and frustration sink into the microphone. “You get the point.”

  “Where are you right now?” Ronns sounded from the other side, so fainly she barely understood him.

  “Ah, it's just beyond the Joster Underpass. Why?”

  “Great. Can you get to the Rivon?”

  “Perhaps. What’s up? And please don’t ask me to go to that chicken place. I don't care how crispy it is, I am not standing in line for half an hour ever again.”

  “That was one time, Tamon. Seriously now, we may have a new case. It's right on the border of our jurisdiction so the Captain wants us to take over as soon as possible." A murmuring sound came through, mixing with Ronns's words. It was feint but persistent and she could almost tell it was of someone holding a speech.

  "Why?" Because he's still at war with Marcil from the Seventh? Oh, for the love of the gods, he needs to let up."

  "Don't shoot the messanger. Listen, I'm stuck at this stupid conference with both of them, and they have very aggressive looks right now. Please don't put my life in danger."

  “Oh, fine. Speak, what is it?"

  "All I know is that something happened at a private clinic on the White Cat. They weren’t exactly clear on the circumstances, but apparently, a woman committed suicide.”

  “Suicide? That's it?” Myra took another look at the line, and it did not seem like it was going anywhere.

  “Don't take my word for it but there's probably more. Please get there before those punks from the seventh ruin everything, will you?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m going,” she said switching on the siren as if all she needed was the smallest hint of an excuse to break out of the line.

  A crowd of people gathered around the center of the largest intersection in Helden. Several uniformed officers tried to keep them from moving any closer and witness the contracted body of a young woman. Those that did manage to satisfy their morbid fascination quickly fell back, regretting the idea.

  Myra waved at the first of the officers she saw, ordering the crowd to shift to the side. Some did so without question, others took their time observing the proceedings of the criminal investigation.

  “Push them as far away from the body,” she said brandishing her brand new badge. “And I want their statements.”

  “Yes, detective. Oh, hold a second,” the officer said running off to the other end of the circle, where a group of students tried to take pictures.

  As the white lines on the asphalt opened up before her, Myra finally spotted the body in the middle. It was not what she’d expected. Most deaths that happen in the public places are quick, and even the most chaotic ones often leave a clean answer as to what had caused them. The death of the woman in the crossing seemed to be an exception from the rule.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Detective Tamon,” said a young officer running to meet her. “I’m officer Leif Harres. I was the first one to the scene along with officer Teol,” she pointed to her colleague who struggled to secure the crime scene with a roll of red tape.

  “How long ago was that?” asked Myra feeling a slight numbness in her index finger. She crunched it several times, and checked the time on her phone.

  “Half an hour at most. We were on the standard patrol a few blocks away when we got the call. Someone reported a woman stole a canister of liquid nitrogen from their clinic over there,” se pointed to the other side of the street where a large board advertised affordable plastic surgery, ”and ran into the street. The eye witnesses confirmed she was screaming before she collapsed. Apparently it happened quicker than anyone could react.”

  “She drank it?” Myra staggered, crouching over the body. She could not help but notice the smell of her strong perfume and the freshly painted nails that did not belong to a body so devoid of life. It wasn’t just the agony that remained frozen on her face, but a kind of emptiness as well. The skin around her mouth was cracked in long red lines, down to her throat.

  Touching the middle of the woman’s neck with a pencil, she concluded it was frozen solid, with the tissue severely burned from the inside. The blood in the half-open jaw remained on the edges without a single drop spilling out. The woman was frozen in the moment of absolute agony.

  “From what I can tell, she did it to herself. I haven’t had a chance to see as many dead bodies as you have,” added Harres, “but I don’t think you see this every day.”

  “Never, actually.” Myra stood up circling the body, carefully observing it from all sides. To her eyes it appeared she was a business woman in her thirties, an employee of one of the many companies around the White Cat. Her clothing was elegant and chosen with care and her hair still retained the perfect glow, but an empty canister of liquid nitrogen beside her did not fit that picture. “Specially not for a public suicide. Are you sure there was no one else with her?”

  “So far there's no evidence of… Detective, why are they here?” asked Harres, slightly backing off, as if she’d seen a ghost.

  Keeping her head peeled to the ground, Myra continued to observe the victim. It took a moment for her to realize that Harres wasn't talking about detectives from a rival team.

  “We meet again,” a familiar voice said. She lifted her head just enough to notice the edges of a blue velvet coat.

  “You are not the forensics team,” she returned with an obvious hint of disappointment.

  “Still hard on the welcomes, I see,” said Estinar with a big, persistent smile. “You can go, now,” he waved his hand at Harres. “Go do your job.”

  Harres took a brief look at Myra, before taking a few strides away from them.

  “This crowd makes it hard to think.” said Ori, entering the circle. His presence seemed to sway the reaction of the crowd from a pleasant delight that Estinar had brought to whispers and murmurs. They disbanded their curiosity and replaced it with quiet disdain.

  “Why are you here?” Myra finally said. She stood like a dam, protecting the case from the complicating factor.

  “Magic.” Ori returned shortly. He did not bother trying to examine the body but instead looked around it as if the buildings and the eyes of strangers held all the answers he needed.

  She frowned, shoving her hands inside her pockets, the way she did at the first sign of trouble. The sudden influx of spite made her face fill up with blood and give a decent spectacle to the crowds. “I was here first, magic or not.”

  Ori stepped in closer, but having already learned the right lesson from Estinar, he did not overstep himself. Too many eyes were watching, and the game was as old as magic.

  “We both know this dance is pointless, Detective Tamon, and yet you still insist on doing it,” Estinar cut in. His voice was almost as cold as the woman's frozen mouth, revealing some other nature and for the first time, he was not playing his role. But, as seconds went by, he fixed his posture and returned the gleam to his eyes. "The smartest thing we can do now is take the body out of the spotlight."

  “I just don’t like the unnecessary mystification you people like to bring to my crime scenes. And I'm quite certain you are once again intruding, because I didn't invite you, nor does this look like a crime of magic.”

  “We're here because this is not the first instance of such a death,” Ori said as if intentionally interrupting them. “It’s been done before, and I'll spare you a lot of trouble by telling you this is not a suicide. You are wasting you time arguing the opposite.”

  Despite having a lot to say in protest, Myra could not ignore the sight of the pale contorted hand beside her, not while the cameras flashed around it nor while it slowly disappeared inside a black plastic bag. Her thoughts got stuck on that inevitable idea that death could creep up on anyone even in broad daylight, even if they planned to have a very good day.

  "If you know so much already, would you care to tell me why someone decides to drink liquid nitrogen?” she finally spoke as they drove the body away, and the people began to scatter.

  “Wait and see," Ori returned in an unbothered tone as if the case was already over.