𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑮𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆

                Chapter Fifteen
Inara

We drifted back toward the inn, the warmth of the earlier sun bleeding away as the evening cooled. The cobblestones beneath our feet gleamed with the last hint of twilight, shadows stretching out like long, dark fingers across the street. Aang walked beside me, his posture more relaxed now, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips after the strange meal we'd shared. For a fleeting moment, the tension between us had lifted, replaced by a rare, tentative sense of ease. But that moment had passed, slipping away like the dying light around us. Still, I was glad to see him looking so content.

As we approached the front desk, a sharp voice sliced through the air like a blade. I glanced up to see Aizen locked in a heated argument with a woman I hadn't seen before. She was middle-aged, with a face etched by years of disdain, her mouth twisted into a deep scowl. Her words were biting, drenched in mockery.

"For the last time, Aizen," she snapped, her tone dripping with exasperation, "you can't just use the guest towels as cleaning rags. They're for the guests. You know, the people who actually pay to stay here?"

Aizen sighed heavily, rubbing his temples with an exaggerated weariness, like he was a saint burdened by the world's stupidity. "It's called being resourceful, sister," he drawled, "you might try it sometime."

Sister. I exchanged a glance with Aang. So, that's who she is.

The woman's eyes narrowed into slits, her annoyance palpable. "I swear, you think you're so clever, but I'm the one stuck doing all the real work while you play detective," she fired back, her hands gesturing wildly. "Do you even know how to change a bed?"

Aizen caught sight of us approaching and seized the opportunity to escape. He turned to us with a look of mock surprise, his voice rising in forced cheerfulness. "Ah, there you are," he greeted, his smile tight, his tone thick with false politeness. "Just the people I wanted to see."

His sister huffed dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes rolling skyward. "Oh, don't let me stop you from pretending to be useful for once," she muttered, stepping away from the counter with a dismissive wave.

Aizen didn't acknowledge her, instead motioning for us to follow him into a small, dimly lit room off the side of the lobby. I shot Aang a quick look before stepping inside. The room was cramped and cluttered, papers and books strewn across every surface. A faint smell of ink and old parchment hung in the air, mingling with the scent of dust and neglect.

The door clicked shut behind us, and I didn't waste a second. "So, do you have any leads?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to keep my voice steady, indifferent.

Aizen leaned back against the desk, folding his arms with a lazy grin. "I do," he said, dragging the words out just a bit longer than necessary, savoring the suspense. "Two, in fact. The first one didn't pan out, but I'm working on the second."

Aang, ever curious, leaned forward. "What was the first one?"

Aizen's eyes flicked to me briefly before he continued. "Well, it's possible that someone else wrote that letter—someone other than your mother I'm not sure though m." He paused, clearly waiting for a reaction. I kept my face impassive, even as my thoughts began to race.

He went on, "but I found a lead on a woman who's a skilled writer. Known for doing all sorts of shady work, including forging handwriting. She might have some information, or she might have written the letter herself. But when I sent someone to talk to her, she refused to say a word—wasn't interested in cooperating at all."

Aang and I exchanged another look, a silent understanding passing between us. This woman was a loose thread that needed pulling, and we were just the ones to do it.