My Femboy System
Chapter 24: Smoke, Silk, and Suspicion

Chapter 24: Smoke, Silk, and Suspicion

The corpse, as corpses often do, had the indecency of bleeding all over my party.

Red on wood, red on lace, red on reputation.

The train’s festive glow dimmed to a flickering hush. Even the enchanted strings Miko had conjured had the good sense to choke themselves into silence. Guests huddled in corners like guilty shadows. The scent of perfume clashed with the coppery tang of murder. It was all so terribly gauche.

"A woman’s throat slit, a death threat tacked to her chest, and a killer who’s apparently got a flare for drama," I said aloud, pacing in front of the body. "And I thought I was the only one with theatrical flair aboard."

Miko knelt beside the body, his veil fluttering faintly with each breath. He examined the spiral-marked coin and the jagged script of the note. "Message was written with confidence. Arrogant hand. Someone who knew we’d take the bait."

"Do you think it’s a warning or an invitation?"

He looked up at me with that glimmer of trickster’s calm. "Can’t it be both?"

Paranoia began to percolate through the crowd like spiced wine gone rancid. A noblewoman near the back of the car shrieked, "What if they’re still among us? What if the murderer is one of us?"

Concerns became murmurs. Murmurs became voices. Voices became accusations. It didn’t take long for a rat-faced merchant to jab a finger at a thick-necked bodyguard.

"It’s him! He’s the killer—I saw him near the back earlier!"

"Oh, fuck off," the bodyguard snapped, his hand drifting toward his coat. "If I’d wanted to kill someone, it wouldn’t be the one woman who sells me rare tea leaves, now would it?"

Ah. How quickly civilization crumbles when trust is carved open like a throat at twilight.

I stepped forward, raising both hands with the calculated grace of a preacher who happens to run a brothel.

"Lovelies," I purred, "while I adore a little suspicion—it’s basically foreplay in my line of work—perhaps we could all refrain from killing each other until we’ve located the actual murderer? I assure you, I’m far more concerned with preserving your delicate lives than your reputations. Though, to be fair, neither are terribly valuable."

That won me a handful of nervous chuckles. Good. Let them laugh. Fear tightens the throat—laughter loosens it. I preferred them pliable.

Aurel appeared beside me, silent as a knife in moonlight, lips drawn in a grim line. "No one’s left the train since the murder."

"Which means our killer is still playing guest," I mused. "How thrilling."

And yet, a sickly knowing coiled in my gut.

That coin. That spiral. The note—"Leave this train before the hour turns thrice again."

It wasn’t a general threat. It was targeted.

At me.

Of course it was me. I had turned a sacred war machine into a theatrical love car and the subtle atmosphere of shadows into velvet laced debauchery. I was clearly interfering with the assassin’s goal to stay hidden.

Yet I refused to leave. I never left center stage.

"What if..." someone ventured nervously, "what if the assassin meant someone specific when they said ’leave this train’? What if they meant someone here?"

Another voice chimed in—thin, reedy, hopeful in its fear. "Someone causing trouble. Interfering with something."

"Oh gods," a merchantess hissed. "It’s him, isn’t it? It’s you. You hijacked the train. You stopped it. You started this whole...party. The assassin must be after you."

Dozens of eyes turned toward me, wide and brimming with primal need, the need to blame someone.

I gave them a scandalized look, clutched a hand to my chest. "Me? My dear patrons, if the assassin really wanted me gone, surely they would’ve killed me by now."

"But you’re the one they’d have a motive for!" another noble cried. "You’ve been stirring up everything! And we’re just...trapped here with you and your theatrics!"

"You’re one to talk," I snapped back with a honeyed edge. "Last I checked, it wasn’t me who came aboard with a suspicious number of luggage cases and a bodyguard twice your size."

The noble flushed red. Others looked between us, uncertain now.

I turned back to the crowd, tone softening like silk before it strangles.

"Listen to me, all of you. Clearly, this isn’t about me. It’s about chaos. Confusion. And if we let ourselves spiral, then the killer wins."

A beat. Then another. Then a hesitant nod from the front row.

Crisis, momentarily, averted.

I exhaled, then clapped my hands together with renewed cheer. "Alright. New plan, darlings. Everyone off the train."

A collective gasp echoed through the car.

"What?"

"You can’t be serious."

"It’s freezing outside!"

I nodded. "All the more reason to move quickly. We will disembark, one by one, and be counted. We’ll inspect every car, every shadow, every crevice. And if the killer’s hiding here, we will find them. Or they’ll find the open air far less hospitable than our lovely interior."

Aurel raised a brow. "You want to flush the assassin by...evacuating?"

"Precisely. Think of it as a divine game of hide and seek. Only, if you’re found, you get stabbed."

Miko gave a sharp nod. "I’ll take the front. Aurel takes the rear. We move them out two at a time."

As passengers were guided from the train and onto the rocky stretch of the Blackrush Pass. I looked into the milky gray sky. Snow was falling now and it was picking up fast. I stood beside the main car, counting each trembling soul with ceremonial gravitas. Cloaks were wrapped tighter, shoes crunched frost-bitten earth, and breaths fogged into the chilled air.

"Thirty-seven... thirty-eight... thirty-nine..." I muttered. "Forty. That’s everyone accounted for."

Except.

"The conductor," Aurel said, frowning. "He’s still inside."

We exchanged glances.

"Let’s go find our nervous little steam whisperer," I said, turning back to the train.

The silence inside was different now—stilled not by tension, but by something darker. Like the train itself had exhaled and was now holding its breath.

We moved in slow tandem through the cars—every bench overturned, every storage crate checked. Miko’s shadows slithered through the gaps. Aurel ran his hand along the wall with practiced suspicion.

Nothing.

And then—

Thud.

The conductor’s body crumpled out of the cab like a marionette with its strings cut. His head lolled back at an unnatural angle, eyes glassy, a thin stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. In his hand, a torn scrap of paper clung to his fingers like a dying secret.

Miko caught it. Read it aloud.

"He saw too much."

Aurel stepped beside the body, inspecting the wound behind the ear. "Silent kill. Precise. This wasn’t panic. This was routine."

My jaw clenched. The assassin had waited. Let us search. Let us count.

And only then, with exquisite timing, struck again.

Now we were stuck with a dead driver, a train full of panicking passengers, and the sneaking suspicion that someone was very much toying with us.

"We’ll need someone to take over the train," Miko said grimly.

"I’m not letting this many nobles back into the wild with a murderer on the loose," I agreed. "And if word gets out that the High Priest of the Velvet Cathedral threw a party so debauched it birthed a serial killer, my reputation may actually improve."

It took some persuasion and promises of eternal gratitude, plus a few suggestive looks from Aurel, before one of the crew agreed to man the engine. The train hissed, churned, and began moving once more—now with eyes in every corner and hands twitching toward hidden blades.

Back in the passenger cars, the party was dead. No music. No laughter. Just candlelight and eyes that wouldn’t meet.

I sat at the edge of a bench, one leg crossed over the other, sipping the same wine I’d served hours earlier. It tasted different now. Like ashes.

"They think I’m the killer," I murmured to myself. "In a way they’re not wrong, If I agree to step out now, all of this will be solved. But I’d be throwing away crucial advantages needed for the progression of the Velvet Court."

Even after all these years, my stubbornness knows no bounds I suppose.

Aurel returned from the rearmost car, shaking his head. "Nothing. Everyone’s accounted for."

"Which means the killer is either still among us," I said, "or they’ve hidden somewhere we haven’t thought to look."

"I’ll go regroup with Miko and then we can come up with another plan," Aurel said before promptly leaving me to drown in my sorrows.

Just then, the train hit a curve. The lantern above swung, casting shadows across the far wall.

And something—just for a flicker—moved outside the window.

I froze.

A shape. A blur. Pressed to the glass. Crawling.

I stood, wine glass shattering from my hand.

"What’s wrong?" the passenger behind me asked with a drained expression.

"Something’s on the outside of the train."

They turned. Too late. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

But I had seen it. Slithering just past the window like a serpent in milky fog.

Just then Aurel burst through the doors of my train car, clutching his chest and heaving uncontrollably, eyes almost breaking into tears.

"Miko’s missing!"