CHAPTER 92: A FAMILIAR FACE

Outside the diner, Aveline burst through the door, her cloak billowing in the wind like a banner in battle. Her boots struck the pavement with purpose, eyes narrowing as they locked onto a lone figure standing just ahead—another cloaked individual, the fabric of his garment visibly soaked and sagging, dripping with residual water magic.

"Tsk," the man clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed, his voice rough and grating with irritation. "I was just tasked to watch you three..."

He slipped a hand inside his cloak, fingers tightening around something unseen.

"But it seems like you’ve forced me!" he snarled—and in a sudden flash of movement, he hurled a dagger directly at Aveline.

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she chuckled—low, amused—as her hand snapped up with impossible timing. Two fingers caught the spinning blade mid-air with a metallic clink, stopping it cold.

"Is that it?" she asked with a smirk, letting the blade dangle lazily between her fingers.

Before Aveline could revel any further in her flashy display, Marcus pushed open the diner’s door and stepped out, a look of tired amusement on his face.

"Alright, enough showing off, sis," he called out, arms crossed and a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Now that he’d sized up their ’attacker,’ he didn’t seem particularly worried.

Aveline rolled her eyes. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the dagger flying back at the cloaked man.

"I’m not a pushover, you cretins!" the man growled, tossing another dagger from beneath his cloak. The two blades met mid-air with a sharp clang, cancelling each other out.

"Now! Time for you two to—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Cynthia stepped out of the diner, her expression cool and bored, both arms already raised. The damp patch on the attacker’s cloak rippled like disturbed water.

"Yeah, I won’t allow that," she said flatly, her fingers dancing in the air.

"What!?" he barked, eyes widening in alarm as the water in his cloak began to stir violently. It swirled, twisted, and expanded outward in a circular wave—before snapping inward, binding his arms to his sides with the very fabric meant to protect him.

"Shit..." he cursed, knees slamming into the ground as he was forced down. He writhed, cloak now a constricting mass of his own undoing.

"What’s the matter?" Aveline asked, tilting her head mockingly. "Suddenly shy?"

Marcus tilted his head, letting out a small, unimpressed laugh.

"He seems awfully weak for someone sent to spy on us..." he remarked, lifting a hand and forming a mock pistol with his fingers.

"Bang."

A compressed burst of air erupted from his fingertip. The shockwave burst just inches from the restrained figure’s face, the impact ripping back the attacker’s hood with a loud whoosh.

Red hair spilled out.

Sky-blue eyes glared upward, wild with frustration.

Marcus blinked. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

It was Cecil—the same arrogant loudmouth who’d challenged Marcus to a fight on the very first day of the academy.

"You fucker..." Cecil spat, glaring between Marcus and the two women now surrounding him.

"You know him?" Aveline asked, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed as her eyes bored into Marcus.

Marcus gave a disinterested shrug. "Just some random bully. Not worth remembering."

"Shut up, bastard!" Cecil snapped, his voice rising with renewed fury. "I still remember when I punched you straight in the gut!"

"You looked like you were the one in pai—"

WHAM.

His insult was cut short by the sharp crack of a knee slamming directly into his stomach. Cecil’s eyes bulged as he spat saliva, folding in on himself.

Aveline stood over him, her expression dark and utterly unimpressed.

"You punched Marcus?" she asked coldly, stepping closer to his now-trembling form still bound to the ground. "Tch."

She reached down, grabbing a fistful of his red hair and yanking his face up until their eyes met.

"While I’d love to make you suffer for that," she said, voice like ice, "information comes first."

"I ain’t talkin’ shit!" Cecil spat defiantly.

Aveline’s head twitched just slightly—then tilted, dodging the incoming saliva with a calm grace.

She sighed. "Cynthia?"

Still standing calmly, Cynthia nodded with a lazy smile. One hand rested on her hip while the other twirled gracefully in the air.

"No problem," she replied, her tone light as if she were adjusting a faucet rather than tightening a magical restraint.

The waterbound cloak twisted further, constricting around Cecil’s chest and throat.

"AGHHH!" he gasped, the pressure stealing his breath.

"Y’know," Marcus added, "you really should consider a different line of work. Cloak-and-dagger doesn’t suit you."

"Speak," Aveline said calmly, her voice like a dagger against silk. "Who sent you?"

Before the interrogation could continue, Marcus stepped in, waving a hand. "Mind if I give it a try?"

’This should be my area of expertise...’ he mused inwardly, a dark grin curling at the edge of his thoughts.

Aveline gave him a dubious look. "You’re not exactly the interrogation type," she said, eyes narrowing with skepticism.

"Just let me do my thing," Marcus replied, brushing off the jab.

Aveline sighed but relented, releasing Cecil’s hair and stepping back. "Fine. But make it quick."

Aveline glanced at Marcus out of the corner of her eye, an unspoken question behind her narrowed gaze. She didn’t like being sidelined—but she trusted her brother. For now.

Marcus crouched down in front of Cecil, now gasping weakly, his face flushed from pain and magical compression. "Now then," he said, his voice calm and measured, "it’s been a while since I used this..."

He raised a hand slightly—just enough for Cynthia to catch the signal. The binds loosened a little, allowing Cecil to draw a painful, ragged breath.

Cecil let out a weak laugh, his voice still defiant despite the bruises. "What, you gonna threaten me? You didn’t exactly leave a terrifying impression the first time, y’know..."

He looked Marcus in the eye, grinning through the pain.

"You don’t scare me."

Marcus just smiled.

Tilted his head.

And said nothing.