Shadow In The Silk

The next morning brought a quiet stillness that wasn’t exactly peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle, like the silence before something falls. Not that I was superstitious—just observant. That’s my job.

After the whole mark-burning episode and Ivan’s charming “I’m watching you, but not explaining anything” gaze, I figured it was time I got proactive. No assassin worth their blood keeps playing defense for too long.

I needed intel. Not suspicions. Not gut feelings. Actual facts.

Time to work my way into this house. Subtle. Smart. Smiling.

God, I hate smiling.

I started with James.

He was predictably hard to crack, and by “hard,” I mean he could out-stare an interrogation lamp without blinking. Still, I offered to help him polish silver in the drawing room. Harmless enough.

“Did you work here long?” I asked, scrubbing at a candlestick.

“Yes.”

“Didn’t ask for a novel, but thanks.”

He looked at me with the same expression you give dust—acknowledging it exists, but not much more.

I tried again. “You must’ve seen all kinds of people pass through. Anyone interesting?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. Nobody? Not even a suspicious guest with bad fashion sense?”

James paused. His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Bad fashion is the norm.”

Okay. I got half a smirk. That’s basically friendship in butler terms.

Merlin was easier. Too easy, in fact. She cornered me in the hallway with a cup of violet-colored tea and said, “This will help you sleep deeper.”

I took it because refusing meant she’d probably sprinkle sage in my socks. She was the kind of person you humored or ended up cursed. Not that I believed in curses, of course. But I wasn’t about to test my luck.

She chattered about herbs and “energies” and something about the way moonlight tasted different in summer. I nodded and gave polite “uh-huhs” while memorizing the hallway layout and the placement of the antique sword on the wall. Just in case.

Merlin leaned in at one point and whispered, “The house likes you. I can tell.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered or filing a harassment complaint?”

“Both.”

I spent the afternoon exploring, under the guise of delivering folded linens or rearranging decorative vases. Ivan’s mansion was absurdly large. The kind of place designed by people who never had to clean their own floors.

The library became my favorite place. Not because of the books—though some were in languages I didn’t even recognize—but because it held clues. Old photos. Faded records. Dusty shelves with stories no one wanted told.

That’s when I saw it.

An old portrait, half-covered by a velvet curtain. Something made me stop. I pulled the cloth back.

The photo was black and white, clearly ancient. But the people in it… looked familiar.

There was James, younger but still expressionless. There was Merlin, somehow looking exactly the same. And—standing in the center, arms crossed, eyes intense—was a man who looked exactly like Ivan.

But this picture had to be a century old. Maybe more.

“What the hell…” I whispered.

No dates. No names. Just the faces.

I took a picture with my phone. The screen glitched. Briefly. Just once.

I saved the image anyway.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Not because of dreams—though I’d had plenty of those since arriving. They were always full of strange symbols, forests, glowing eyes—but no, that wasn’t it.

I couldn’t sleep because something was moving.

I crept to the window, silent as breath.

There, outside, moving between the trees like he belonged to the forest itself, was Ivan.

Barefoot. Shirtless. Moonlit.

His posture wasn’t his usual rigid, proper stance. It was loose. Animalistic.

He stopped, tilted his head back, and just stood there, breathing in the night like it was sacred.

I ducked down instinctively. My heart pounded—not from fear, but from… recognition.

This wasn’t just some rich recluse.

Ivan was hiding something.

And I was getting close.

The next morning, I played it cool. Sat at breakfast. Ate toast. Acted like I didn’t watch my boss do yoga with the trees last night.

Ivan entered the dining hall. Our eyes met.

The mark flared.

This time, it didn’t just burn—it thrummed. Like a heartbeat echoing down my spine.

I kept my expression neutral. Polite. Submissive.

“I trust your room is to your liking?” he asked, voice smooth like honey over broken glass.

“Very. The ghosts are excellent company.”

He gave me a look that was part amusement, part curiosity.

“I doubt you scare easily,” he said.

“You’d be surprised. Waking up to Merlin floating outside my window might do it.”

“Merlin floats?”

“Mentally.”

He almost smiled.

Progress.

Later, I sent another encrypted report to the High Table:

Subject: Mansion Staff - Possible Anomalies

James: Ageless. Appears in photo dated approx. 100 years prior.

Merlin: Same.

Ivan: Present in photo. Unchanged appearance. Possible familial resemblance?

Mansion emits abnormal EM field in library sector. Phone glitches documented.

Ivan observed outside at night, shirtless, barefoot, nonverbal. Possible trance state or ritual behavior?

No physical threats detected yet. Continuing surveillance.