Page 43 of When 're Silent

“Detectives,” he greeted, his voicesmooth as silk. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Amelia seemed momentarily takenaback by the historian’s appearance, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Finnfelt a pang of jealousy as he watched her compose herself, extending a hand toThaddeuss.

“Mr. Trumble,” she began, her toneprofessional yet warm. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

"Please, call meThaddeus," he replied, his smile dazzling as he shook her hand. "Andit's my pleasure. Anything to assist the law enforcement in their noblepursuits."

As Thaddeus led them into hisstudy, Finn couldn't help but notice the way Amelia's gaze lingered on thehistorian's broad shoulders and lean frame. The room itself was a testament toThaddeuss’s passion for history—books lined every inch of wall space, mapsdotted with countless colored pins covered the remaining gaps, and ancientartifacts were displayed with reverent care.

“Please, sit,” Thaddeuss offered,gesturing to a pair of plush armchairs that faced his impressive oak desk. Asthey settled in, he leaned against the edge of the desk, his posture casual yetcommanding. “So, what brings two of Hertfordshire’s finest to my humble abode?”

Finn cleared his throat, determinedto prove his own worth in the face of this charismatic scholar. “We’reinvestigating a series of murders that seem to have a connection to an ancientsecret society known as the Temple of the Silver Sun. We were hoping you mightbe able to shed some light on their history and practices.”

Thaddeuss’s eyes lit up at themention of the obscure group. “Ah, the Temple of the Silver Sun. A fascinatingbunch, shrouded in mystery and whispers of revolution. I’ve come across a fewreferences to them in my research, but hard facts are scarce.”

As Thaddeuss delved into the loresurrounding the society, Finn found himself struggling to keep up with therapid-fire barrage of historical tidbits and academic jargon. He glanced atAmelia, who seemed entirely engrossed in the historian’s words, her pen flyingacross her notebook as she jotted down key points.

Feeling a bit out of his depth,Finn attempted to interject with a question of his own. “So, this ‘Secret Hand’figure—could it be more than just a title within the society? Could it be arole passed down through generations, even after the Temple itself disbanded?”

Thaddeus paused, considering theidea. "It's certainly possible. Many secret societies have hereditarypositions, ensuring the continuation of their traditions and beliefs. TheSecret Hand could very well be a mantle carried forward through time, even ifthe Temple itself has faded into obscurity."

Finn nodded, a small surge of pridewelling up in his chest at having contributed something valuable to thediscussion. However, his moment of triumph was short-lived as he reached for aleather-bound tome on Thaddeuss’s desk, intent on examining it more closely. Inhis eagerness, he misjudged the distance and knocked over a precariouslybalanced stack of papers, sending them fluttering to the floor in a chaoticwhirlwind.

"Oh, damn—I'm so sorry,"Finn stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment as he scrambled to gatherthe scattered documents. Amelia and Thaddeus moved to help, their handsbrushing against each other’s as they worked to restore order to thehistorian’s desk.

"No worries at all,"Thaddeus assured them, his smile genuine and kind. "Accidents happen,especially when one is caught up in the thrill of intellectual pursuit."

As they finished tidying up, Ameliaglanced at her watch. “We should probably get going,” she said, a hint ofreluctance in her voice. “Thank you so much for your time and insights,Thaddeuss. You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

"It was my pleasure,"Thaddeus replied, his gaze lingering on Amelia a moment longer than necessary.“If there’s anything else I can do to assist in your investigation, pleasedon’t hesitate to reach out.”

As they made their way back to thecar, Amelia couldn’t help but tease Finn. “You seemed a little intimidated inthere,” she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “I never thought I’d seethe day when the great Finn Wright was tongue-tied by a handsome academic.”

Finn scoffed, feigning indignation.“Intimidated? Please. I could rock a tweed jacket and bow tie way better thanany stuffy professor. In fact, I might just start wearing them to crime scenes.You know, to add a touch of class to the proceedings.”

Amelia burst out laughing, thesound echoing through the misty air. “Oh, I would pay good money to see that.Detective Finn Wright, the sartorial savant of the Hertfordshire Constabulary.”

Finn grinned, enjoying the easybanter that had become a hallmark of their partnership. “Hey, don’t knock ituntil you’ve tried it. I bet I could solve cases twice as fast if I had a pipeand a monocle to go with the ensemble. And you know, if that sort of thing doesit for you...”

Amelia’s phone buzzed sharply,demanding their attention.

Her expression grew somber as shelistened to the voice on the other end, and Finn felt a familiar sense of dreadsettling in his gut. When she ended the call, her eyes met his, the gravity ofthe situation etched into her features.

“There’s been another murder,” shesaid, her voice tight with a mix of frustration and determination. “Same M.O.as the others.”

Finn nodded grimly, the weight oftheir responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. As they climbed into thecar and set off towards the latest crime scene, he couldn’t shake the feelingthat they were racing against an invisible clock, the hands of fate spinningever faster towards an inevitable conclusion.

Finn knew they were now dealingwith an assassin, and the problem with assassins was that you never knew whenor where they would strike next.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The air was thick with anunsettling stillness as Finn Wright stepped over the threshold into ClaraTudor’s apartment. The luxurious trappings of her life were in disarray, amorbid tableau set amidst velvet and gold. The grandeur of the place did littleto mask the tragedy that had unfolded within these walls. He exchanged a gravelook with Amelia Winters, who gave a slight nod before they began to divide theexpansive space between them, each setting out on a silent quest for truthamidst the chaos.

Finn’s gaze traced the ostentatiouscontours of the room, his mind laboring to piece together the narrative of thecrime. The killer’s brazen act had left an eerie echo of regal demise; itwasn’t lost on him that Clara Tudor had met an end reminiscent of her distantancestor. Each detail seemed to pulse with significance, as though historyitself bled into the present, painting a foreboding picture of a murdererdraped in the cloak of the past.

“Another royal connection,” Ameliamurmured from across the room, her voice low but carrying the weight of theirshared realization. “The Tudors were the royal family for over a hundred yearsback in the sixteenth century.”

“Seems like the killer’s not shyabout sending a message,” Finn replied.

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