Afraid of fire. That explained the gloves. Malachi nodded his acknowledgement, but his face was free of any clear judgement or sympathy.

"Ah? All the murders?"

He lifted his cup, letting the steam warm his face before he took a proper sip. The cream helped to cut through the taste of the tea itself, and he was grateful for it. Malachi's head tilted slightly to the side as he observed the constable with what appeared to be concern.

"I'm afraid I have heard from others that it can be a bit dangerous here -- I've run into a few thieves myself. Murderers, though? Are there many?"