Chapter 1: The Death in the Bell Tower

The town of Clearbrook basked in a rare shaft of morning sunlight, the cobbled lanes and neat stone houses immaculate as ever beneath the gaze of the Cloudstep Peaks. The spring frost had melted from the slate rooftops, lending a gleam to the old Church of St. Rillan at the town’s heart. Its bell tower, soaring above the clustered lanes, was a daily reminder of tradition. This morning, it was cordoned off with yellow tape and the sharp blue of Highlands Civil Guard uniforms. Detective Mira Lorne surveyed the scene from the north gate, her dark coat drawn tight against the lingering chill. Her tired green eyes flicked from the cluster of onlookers—most of them young, faces tense with a mixture of curiosity and fear—to the stolid bulk of the church’s façade. The crowd parted for her with a ripple of murmured respect. Marshal Reeve Donlan of the Highlands Guard met her just inside the nave. “Detective Lorne. SCU’s punctual as ever.” Mira tapped her pen to her chin, silent in her greeting before her colleagues assembled behind her: Yara Novik, tall and severe in tactical khaki; Elias Vann, hoodie peeking from beneath his standard-issue jacket, already sizing up the church’s wireless security; Dr. Ivo Grell, lugging a battered field pathology kit and trailed by a faint aroma of cloves; and Celeste Arbour, scarf-wrapped and already scribbling in her color-coded notebook. Marshal Donlan led them to the base of the bell tower. “Victim’s name is Sigvard Knoll. Local, but employed as a financial analyst for Hexadyne Waterworks over in Silverbarrow. He was a known whistleblower—just last week, he delivered files to the regional council about Hexadyne’s accounting practices.” Mira’s gaze lingered on the spiral of stone steps, the slow drip of water from ancient mortar. “The fall?” “Witnesses heard the bells at dawn. Then found him at the base—broken neck, massive cranial trauma. We’ve kept the scene sealed.” Yara took point, boots echoing up the winding stairwell. The team followed, each step punctuated by the hush of the nave below. The air narrowed into cold stone and faint incense. At the landing, a battered maintenance hatch stood ajar. Beyond it, the exposed parapet was streaked with blood. Elias set down his kit, deploying a drone for overhead surveying. “No scaffolding, no obvious tampering on the railing—at least, not on first pass.” Dr. Grell crouched by the bloodstain, fingers probing the grit. “Pattern’s directionality suggests a struggle near the edge. He went over backward, hands bracing at the last second.” He looked up, meeting Mira’s eyes. “He didn’t jump. And he didn’t trip.” Celeste circled the narrow space, head tilted. “Knoll was here for a reason. This isn’t a casual climb. Too early, too cold for sightseeing. Was he meeting someone?” Yara jotted in all caps: *PREMEDITATION*. “Any signs of a struggle inside?” “Dust patterns are off.” Elias pointed to scuff marks near the hatch. “Two sets of recent prints: Knoll’s and someone heavier, judging by the depth. The security sensors on the bell tower haven’t been tripped in weeks. Either someone bypassed them, or they came through with a key.” Marshal Donlan coughed. “Only five people have keys: the vicar, the groundskeeper, Knoll—he was a bell ringer before Hexadyne—plus two maintenance contractors.” Mira knelt beside a scorched mark on the stone. A faint shimmer lingered in the air, almost like static. She frowned, glancing at Elias, who raised an eyebrow. “Magtech residue,” he murmured. “Someone used a concealer patch—minor magic, to scramble surveillance or avoid motion sensors. But they left a trace.” Yara looked grim. “Whoever did this planned for concealment. And they knew how to avoid church security.” Mira closed her notebook. “Let’s talk to everyone with a key. And Marshal, make sure no one leaves town. This wasn’t just a murder—it was an execution.” Below, the faint tolling of the church bell marked the hour. In Clearbrook, the sound felt like a warning: secrets were about to surface. —

Chapter 2: The Keys to the Tower

The SCU’s mobile command van idled beside the tidy churchyard, its windows aglow with the soft blue of digital screens. Elias hunched over his terminal, scrolling through logs from the church’s aging magitech access system. “The last tower entry before this morning was three days ago—maintenance check. But the sensors glitched at 05:04 today, right when Knoll would’ve been up there.” Celeste busied herself with parishioner lists, cross-referencing names of bell ringers, clergy, and maintenance staff. “Knoll was an outsider to many after he blew the whistle at Hexadyne. He grew up here, but a lot of people felt he ‘brought shame’ to the town by airing dirty laundry.” Yara checked her notes, lips compressed. “Let’s line up our initial suspects. The vicar, Albin Fray. The groundskeeper, June Marl. The two maintenance contractors—Viktor and Nella Kroll. And anyone with a grudge from Hexadyne.” Mira’s gaze strayed to the window, where teenagers clustered by the fountain, whispering about the SCU. Some gave a hesitant thumbs-up, a gesture of support—Clearbrook’s youth, at least, viewed the SCU as necessary reformers. Marshal Donlan entered, hat in hand. “The family’s here, Detective. Knoll’s brother and mother. They insist on speaking.” Yara exchanged a glance with Mira—family interference was always a complication, especially in a town as close-knit as Clearbrook. In a side room of the parish hall, Sigvard Knoll’s mother, Helena, sat ramrod-straight, her hands white-knuckled on her purse. Beside her loomed Jonas Knoll, Sigvard’s older brother, a burly man in a blue-collar jacket. Helena met Mira’s eyes with brittle courage. “My son was no criminal, Detective. He protected this town—he exposed the poison in Hexadyne’s accounts, even when it meant threats, smears, isolation. Are you going to let them bury him as a troublemaker?” Jonas broke in, voice thick with anger. “It’s obvious who killed him. The Hexadyne people—they threatened him for months. Or maybe it’s the vicar—always preaching about ‘keeping peace’ and not stirring up trouble.” Mira waited out the tirade, her silence drawing the family closer to the edge. “We’re investigating all possibilities. This was not an accident.” Helena’s composure cracked. “He was meeting someone at the tower—he said there was proof, that he’d finally nail them. He never told us who.” Yara’s tone was gentler than usual. “Did he mention anyone following him? Or anything unusual?” Jonas shook his head. “Just that he couldn’t trust anyone. Not even old friends.” As the Knolls departed, Mira’s pen hovered over her notebook. “Family’s grief is real. But they’re quick to point fingers. We need to keep them out of the press and away from the suspects.” Celeste whispered, “Family loyalty can muddy truth, even as it protects it. Let’s tread carefully.” Elias’s voice piped up from the van: “Surprise—someone tried to wipe the security log at 05:10. Used a magitech pulse. Amateur job. I can reconstruct the deleted entry, but it’ll take hours.” Yara cracked her knuckles. “We start with the vicar. He knows every shadow in this place.” Outside, the bells chimed noon. The investigation had only just begun. —

Chapter 3: The Vicar’s Alibi

The vestry was suffused with pale sunlight and the faint aroma of beeswax polish. Vicar Albin Fray, a stooped man in his sixties, greeted the SCU with a mixture of nervousness and pride. “I serve this community with an open hand, Detective. I knew Sigvard since his choirboy days. His loss wounds us all.” Mira held the vicar’s gaze, her pauses drawing out the moment. “You hold a key to the tower. Where were you at dawn?” Fray’s hands trembled. “I was here, preparing for morning prayers. The groundskeeper saw me at 05:15. I never left the nave.” Yara, blunt as ever: “Any reason someone might want to frame you?” Fray’s eyes flickered. “Some believe I resented Sigvard, but I told him the church couldn’t take sides in Hexadyne’s dispute. He felt betrayed. We argued last week. But I would never harm him.” Celeste, circling the small office, spotted a stack of letters addressed to the vicar—some with threatening words scrawled across the envelope. She pointed. “Community divides run deep. Did anyone threaten you after Knoll’s disclosures?” Fray nodded. “Anonymous notes. ‘Keep your mouth shut or the bells will toll for you.’ I dismissed them as fear, not malice.” Elias entered, quietly sliding a tablet onto the desk. “Vicar, the magitech log shows your key was used at 05:02. But the system was scrambled at 05:10. Did anyone borrow your key?” The vicar paled. “No. I keep it here—” He checked a wooden drawer, fumbled, then froze. “It’s… gone.” Yara’s jaw tightened. “How long since you checked?” Fray shuddered. “Late last night, after vespers. The last I saw, it was in its slot.” Mira closed her notebook with a soft click. “Someone had access to this room, and your trust. We’ll need a list of everyone who entered last night.” The vicar nodded, defeated. “I’ll do my best.” As the team left the vestry, Yara muttered, “He’s either a liar or the world’s worst custodian.” Celeste countered, “No, just a man out of his depth. The real killer is watching us, counting on such confusion.” Back at the van, Elias grinned. “Magitech clue came through. The system was scrambled with a ‘Shroud Patch’—hexed to erase all but the last access. Whoever did this knew just enough tech and magic to be dangerous, but not enough to cover their tracks.” Mira’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s find out who in Clearbrook can get their hands on a Shroud Patch.” —

Chapter 4: The Groundskeeper and the Contractors

June Marl, the church’s groundskeeper, was a wiry woman in her fifties, with dirt beneath her nails and a stubborn set to her jaw. She greeted Yara and Dr. Grell outside the garden shed, a wheelbarrow brimming with mulch at her side. “I was on the east lawn at dawn, same as every day. The vicar waved to me from inside—didn’t see Sigvard, though. Kids skulk around sometimes, daring one another to climb the tower. But not this morning.” Yara asked, “Any strange visitors lately? Anyone asking for access?” June shrugged. “Plenty of townies are restless after Sigvard’s whistleblowing. Hexadyne people slink around, sometimes late at night, watching the church. Local council’s split—some want to praise Sigvard, others want to hush it up.” Dr. Grell, gentle for once, probed, “You ever see anyone near the vestry after hours?” She hesitated, glancing at the church’s stained-glass windows. “Last night, after vespers, I saw Nella Kroll—one of the maintenance twins—come out of the nave, looking jumpy. She’s always been a little off.” Yara’s pen flew across her notepad: *Nella Kroll—odd behavior, night before.* Back at the van, the team pulled up files on Viktor and Nella Kroll. Local siblings, mid-twenties, both certified for minor magitech repairs. Nella had a record for petty theft, Viktor for minor assault, both fiercely loyal to each other. The interviews were scheduled back-to-back in the parish hall. Viktor Kroll, broad-shouldered and sullen, bristled at Yara’s questions. “I fixed the bell’s magilock three days ago. Didn’t step foot inside since. My sister was with me all night—she’ll tell you.” Nella, slim and twitchy, wrung her hands. “I went to the church last night to check the lighting fuse—groundskeeper’s request. Saw the vicar in the nave. I didn’t go near the vestry.” Celeste, watching from the corner, asked, “Ever handle Shroud Patches in your work?” Nella shook her head. “Never. We’re not authorized for magitech on that level.” Viktor interjected, “If you’re looking for people who dabble with patches, try Knoll’s old friend—Milla Rasev. She runs the electronics shop. Used to help Sigvard hack security systems back in school.” The Krolls’ mutual alibi seemed rehearsed, but their unease was genuine. As they left, Mira whispered, “They know something, but not everything.” Yara agreed. “Time to see what Milla Rasev’s hiding.” —

Chapter 5: Magitech Shadows

Milla Rasev’s shop was squeezed between a bakery and a cobbler’s, its windows crowded with old radios, blinking circuit boards, and the faint shimmer of magitech wards. Inside, the air buzzed with ozone and the clatter of tools. Elias’s eyes lit up as he scanned the cluttered space. “Smells like home.” Milla, a trim woman in her early thirties, grinned wryly at her old schoolmate. “Come to browse, or to interrogate?” Mira’s tone was soft but unyielding. “We’re looking into the death of Sigvard Knoll. We know he trusted you.” Milla’s smile faded. “He was a good man. Brave and foolish. Hexadyne made his life hell after he exposed them. He came to me last week, wild-eyed—wanted a Shroud Patch. Said he needed to gather proof.” Elias leaned forward. “Did you give him one?” She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I warned him—it’s only for short bursts, leaves a trace. He said he’d use it at the tower, to meet someone without being watched.” Her voice broke. “I told him to be careful.” Celeste paced, voice cryptic: “Did he say who he was meeting?” Milla shook her head. “Not by name. But he was agitated—kept muttering about an old debt, someone he used to trust.” Yara pressed, “Any enemies? Someone with a reason for revenge?” Milla shrugged. “Plenty. But if I had to guess who hated Sigvard most, it’d be someone from the old Hexadyne crowd—maybe the project manager, Dalen Vivec. The man lost his contract after Sigvard’s report.” Mira made a note. “We’ll need to speak to Vivec. Thank you, Milla.” As they left, Elias whispered, “Red herring or real lead?” Celeste murmured, “Sometimes the victim’s allies are the most dangerous suspects. But I think Milla’s grief is genuine.” The SCU’s case board began to fill: the vicar, groundskeeper, the Krolls, Milla, Dalen Vivec—and, lurking at the center, Sigvard himself, haunted by old debts and unfinished business. —

Chapter 6: The Hexadyne Connection

The SCU set up in the church’s side office—command laptops arrayed amid hymnals and donation ledgers. Yara coordinated with Marshal Donlan, who arranged for Dalen Vivec to be brought in from Silverbarrow under discreet escort. Vivec arrived midday, his sharp suit mismatched with the rural setting. He was defensive from the outset. “I lost everything when Sigvard ran to the council. My job, my pension, my reputation. But I didn’t kill him.” Mira observed him in silence, letting the unease stretch. “You threatened him after the audit, according to several emails.” Vivec glared. “Threats? I was angry. Anyone would be. But I was at a regional council session in Silverbarrow at dawn—check the logs.” Elias checked his terminal. “Confirmed. He signed in with magitech ID at 04:56. Couldn’t have made it to Clearbrook in time.” Yara didn’t let up. “Who else at Hexadyne had access to Shroud Patches?” Vivec shrugged. “Almost any senior technician. But most of them blame Sigvard for their layoffs. If you want a name, try Darcy Pell—she was Sigvard’s supervisor, but they were close once. She had the most to lose from his testimony. And she hated him for going public.” Vivec’s alibi was airtight, but his anger lingered. Mira watched him depart, pondering the double edge of his motive—loss and betrayal. Celeste murmured, “Sometimes revenge wears the mask of grief. But Vivec is too loud, too obvious. The real killer is quieter.” Elias’s screen beeped. “I’ve reconstructed the deleted log—the last tower entry before the scramble was with the vicar’s key, but the movement pattern is off. Whoever entered made a point of not being seen by interior cams.” Yara cracked her knuckles. “Let’s talk to Darcy Pell.” As dusk gathered, Mira felt the slow-burn tension mounting—a killer lurking amid the shadows, and a truth still hidden just beyond their reach. —

Chapter 7: The False Confession

Celeste arranged the meeting with Darcy Pell in the vestry’s side office. Darcy arrived alone, her posture stiff, eyes red-rimmed. She barely sat before blurting, “I did it. I killed Sigvard. Arrest me.” For a moment, the room froze. Only the ticking of the parish clock filled the silence. Yara stared. “You’re confessing to murder?” Darcy nodded, voice hollow. “He destroyed my career, our friendship. I met him at the tower at dawn, argued, pushed him in anger. I’m ready to pay.” Mira’s eyes narrowed, tapping her pen to her chin. “Walk us through every step. From when you arrived in Clearbrook.” Darcy swallowed. “I drove in after midnight—stayed at the old inn. Sigvard messaged me last night, begged me to meet him at the tower. We fought—he accused me of conspiring with Hexadyne. I—” Her voice shook. “I lost control. I pushed him.” Yara’s tone was ice. “How did you access the bell tower? Which key?” Darcy hesitated. “He opened it for me.” Celeste, quietly: “Security logs show only one key was used. You would’ve had to pass four cameras and two pressure wards. How did you avoid them?” Darcy faltered. “I—I don’t remember. I was angry, not thinking—please. I just want this to end.” Elias, fingers flying across his keys, mouthed silently to Mira: *She’s lying.* Mira’s voice was soft but deadly. “You’re protecting someone, Darcy. Who?” Darcy broke down, sobbing. “I can’t—I promised. Please, just let me take the blame.” Yara leaned forward. “We don’t close cases on confessions. We close them on truth. If you want to honor Sigvard, tell us what really happened.” Darcy buried her face in her hands, silent. Back in the van, Elias shook his head. “Her digital trail’s clean until 07:00—she only entered town after the murder. Someone’s putting her up to this.” Celeste, eyes far away, whispered, “A false confession is a desperate shield. The killer is close to her—close enough to demand her sacrifice.” Mira stared at the church tower, the bells now dark against the evening sky. The real hunt had begun. —

Chapter 8: Family Ties and Red Herrings

News of Darcy’s “confession” swept through Clearbrook faster than the spring river. The Knoll family, emboldened, demanded arrest and public justice. Headmistress Adra Wynn offered the SCU her guarded optimism, urging them to “not let local sentiment cloud the facts.” That evening, Mira walked the streets alone, the town’s quiet purposeful air masking undercurrents of suspicion. She paused outside the Knoll family home, where Jonas Knoll stood smoking on the porch. He watched her warily. “You get your killer, Detective?” Mira shook her head. “Not yet. I know Darcy didn’t do it.” Jonas bristled. “You think I had something to do with it? My own brother?” Mira’s silence drew out his anger—then, unexpectedly, his grief. “Sigvard wasn’t easy. He made enemies here, not just in Silverbarrow. People stopped calling, stopped helping us at the market. He kept saying he’d fix it, but…” She waited. Jonas’s face twisted. “He told me to stay away from the church last night. Said he needed to meet someone from the past. I thought he meant Darcy. But now—” Mira pressed: “Did Sigvard ever mention the Krolls?” Jonas frowned. “He and Viktor were close, years ago. But after the Hexadyne mess, something changed. Viktor’s sister, Nella—she always had a crush on Sigvard. Maybe more. Didn’t he tell you that?” Mira filed the detail away. “Why did you defend Darcy so quickly this morning?” Jonas’s eyes widened. “Sigvard made me promise—if anything happened to him, I was supposed to protect his old friends. He was scared, not just of Hexadyne, but of someone he’d wronged.” As Mira left, Jonas called after her, “Don’t let them bury him as a traitor.” Back at the van, Mira relayed the conversation. Celeste traced old school records, finding a broken friendship between Sigvard, Viktor, and Nella—one that soured just as Sigvard left for Hexadyne. Yara muttered, “Double motive: revenge for betrayal, and maybe a romantic grudge. We need to put pressure on the Krolls. One of them is hiding the truth.” Elias’s tech report pinged: “Final magitech analysis. The Shroud Patch was installed by someone left-handed. Nella Kroll is left-handed. Viktor is not.” Mira’s gaze sharpened. “Let’s bring Nella in—alone.” —

Chapter 9: The Kroll Interrogation

Nella Kroll arrived at dusk, her face drawn, hands trembling. Yara and Mira sat with her in the parish office, the atmosphere tense. Mira broke the silence. “You were in the church last night, Nella. We know you accessed the vestry, and took the vicar’s key.” Nella’s eyes widened. “I—what proof do you have?” Elias’s voice came through on the comms. “Shroud Patch residue matches the signature from your work badge. And you’re left-handed—the installation traces fit.” Nella slumped. “I just wanted to talk to Sigvard. He owed me an explanation.” Yara pressed, “Did you meet him at the tower?” Tears welled in Nella’s eyes. “He asked me to bring the key. He said he had to clear something up from the past, something about the Hexadyne files. I thought—maybe he meant to apologize. I waited for him. But when he arrived, he was cold—said he couldn’t trust me, or Viktor. That I had known about Hexadyne’s coverup the whole time.” Her voice cracked. “We argued. I grabbed him, tried to make him listen. He pushed me away, called me a traitor. I—” She shuddered. “He stumbled near the edge. I reached for him, but he fought back. I lost my grip. He… he went over.” Yara’s voice softened. “Did you mean to kill him?” Nella shook her head. “No. I loved him once. But I hated him, too. He ruined our lives—Viktor lost jobs, our family was shunned. I wanted him to admit what he’d done. But in that moment, I just wanted it all to stop.” Mira’s tone was gentle. “Why did you frame the vicar? And why ask Darcy to confess?” Nella wiped her face. “I panicked. I wiped the logs with the patch, left the key in the vestry. I called Darcy—told her Sigvard had left a note blaming her. I thought if the blame went to Hexadyne, Viktor and I could move on.” Celeste entered, her voice soft: “You had two motives, Nella—revenge for the past, and for the love you thought Sigvard owed you. But you also wanted to save your brother.” Nella nodded, broken. “He’s the only family I have left.” As the confession faded, Mira glanced at Yara—relief and regret mingling in her eyes. The truth was never clean in Verrowind. —

Chapter 10: The Emotional Reveal

The confession rippled through the SCU, each member processing the fallout in their own way. Yara stayed with Nella as she called Viktor, her hands shaking. “I’m sorry, Vik. I tried to protect you. I made everything worse.” Viktor’s shout echoed through the phone—anger, then raw grief. “I would’ve taken the blame for you, Nella. You didn’t have to do this alone.” Outside, as dusk fell, Mira stood at the base of the bell tower. Headmistress Wynn found her there, the town leader’s posture regal but tired. “Will this heal Clearbrook?” Wynn asked. Mira shook her head. “Maybe. But more likely, it’ll divide things further.” Wynn looked away, voice soft. “The Rivermaid of Clearbrook—our old legend—says truth protects those who dare to speak it. But the cost is always high.” Mira thought of the lost whistleblower, the ruined friendships, the weight of secrets. “Truth doesn’t heal. It only reveals. Healing is up to the living.” Back in the van, Elias stared at the data logs, exhausted. “Another case, another family torn apart. Sometimes I wish we could fix more than we break.” Celeste, voice melodic, reminded him, “Without the break, nothing changes. The river only flows when the ice cracks.” Yara returned, her face hard but her eyes shining with the effort of holding back emotion. “Ready for the arrest, Mira?” “Let’s finish it,” Mira replied. —

Chapter 11: The Unraveling and the Frame

The arrest was quiet, almost anticlimactic. Nella Kroll, shackled but composed, was led from the parish office as the bells tolled midnight. The townsfolk watched from shuttered windows, the air heavy with loss. As the SCU packed their gear, Marshal Donlan approached. “You did good work. But you’ve made enemies, too. The Kroll family has deep roots here.” Mira nodded. “The truth is all we can offer. What the town does with it isn’t up to us.” As the van rolled out of Clearbrook, the SCU debriefed in hushed voices. Celeste summarized, “The killer framed the vicar, then lured Darcy into a false confession, hoping to split blame between outsiders and old rivals. But the double motive—revenge and love—pulled the thread loose.” Elias chimed in, “And the magitech clue—the Shroud Patch—was the linchpin. Without it, we might have taken the confession at face value.” Yara, reflecting, added, “Family almost derailed the investigation. Not just the Knolls, but the Krolls. Everyone’s loyalty blurred the facts.” Dr. Grell, silent throughout, spoke softly. “Every family has wounds. Some never heal.” Mira stared into the dark, her voice barely a whisper. “We serve truth, even when it damns us.” As the van disappeared into the night, the bells of Clearbrook rang one last time—a mournful tribute to the cost of justice. —

Chapter 12: Aftermath and Internal Tensions

The SCU returned to Greyhaven, the weight of the case heavy in their minds. In the drab squad room, internal tensions resurfaced. Chief Inspector Hessel, their distant provincial superior, summoned Mira and Yara. “You’re making waves out there. Locals are furious about the arrest. Some say you should’ve let the vicar take the fall—would’ve kept the peace.” Yara bristled. “We don’t choose scapegoats. That’s not our job.” Hessel’s gaze was cold. “Your job is to solve cases and keep the province quiet. Next time, remember both.” After the meeting, Mira lingered in the empty hallway, her thoughts swirling. Her mind returned to the Knoll and Kroll families—how easily grief curdled into blame, how quickly a town’s purpose could twist. Celeste, passing by, murmured, “Justice is a bell: it only rings when struck, and the sound carries far beyond what we hear.” Elias, shoulders slumped, caught up. “Does it ever get easier?” Mira’s tired eyes met his. “Not in Verrowind. But we keep going.” Yara, ever the Wall, clapped both on the shoulder. “On to the next one. We’re SCU. We make the hard choices.” As the team disbanded for the night, the echoes of Clearbrook’s bells faded into memory—another case closed, another fracture in the quiet surface of Verrowind. —

Chapter 13: The Last Toll

In the weeks that followed, Clearbrook struggled to absorb the truth. Some rallied behind the Knoll family, others defended the Krolls. Headmistress Wynn called a riverstone debate, inviting the SCU’s case file to be read into public record—a Verrowind tradition meant to heal wounds by airing every detail. Mira attended, sitting in the back as the facts unspooled. Youth groups led by reformist teachers praised the SCU’s work; older town elders grumbled about “outsiders meddling” and the cost of justice. As the debate ended, the town’s youngest bell ringer, a girl of fourteen, climbed the restored tower and rang the bell three times—one for Sigvard, one for Nella, one for the truth. In the echo, Mira heard not just grief or justice, but the fragile hope that truth—however painful—could light the way forward. She closed her notebook for the last time, the faded leather worn smooth by countless cases, and stepped into the dawn. In Clearbrook, justice had rung out, and for a moment, the valley was silent. —