LOGINNobody spoke after I read the line out loud. The lamp hissed softly, and the sound seemed to fill the whole training room."Who made him wait?" Damian repeated. He took the oilcloth from me and held the edge to the light. "This wasn't here when you first showed me.""It was folded under the edge. I also didn't see it until the lamp moved.""Or it appeared when it was meant to." Ryder leaned closer. "Ink that fresh on cloth that old. Whoever wrote it handled this packet after it left the vase.""That's impossible," I said. "It never left my sight.""It left your hands once." Ryder's eyes met mine. "When you hid the letter behind the towels."My stomach tightened. "Someone searched my bathroom.""Or someone came in while you were with Damian in the hall." Ryder kept his voice low. "Which means someone walks through your room as easily as you do."Cassius lowered himself onto the bench like a man whose legs had made a decision for him. "Four years," he said. "My father wrote that he carr
Cassius arrived at the training room before either of us, standing near the wall of pads with his hands clasped behind his back like a man waiting outside a courtroom. Damian came in a minute later, dressed in his usual dark shirt, and stopped when he saw his father there."You asked for this meeting," Damian said. "I'd like to know why it needs a locked door.""Lock it," Cassius said quietly.Ryder turned the bolt. I stood beside the bench with the oilcloth bundle in my hands, my mouth dry. This was the moment I had promised, and now that it was here, every careful sentence I had practiced felt too small."Sit," Cassius told his son. "Please."Damian did not sit. Instead, he folded his arms. "Say it.""Helena came to me three days ago with questions about my father," Cassius began. "I answered what I could. And since then, we have found things that I should have found eighteen years ago, and I would prefer you to hear them from me rather than hearing them from a stranger.""What thin
I stood over the vase for a long time before I touched the packet. The lilies filled the room with a thick, sweet smell, and the gray ribbon lay across my palm like something alive.“I would have called on Ryder to come check this out,” I told the empty room.But Ryder was on patrol until evening, and I could not leave it sitting there. So I carried it into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the edge of the tub. The ribbon came loose with one tug. Inside the oilcloth was a single folded letter, with yellow at the edges, and nothing else.The handwriting was shaky, like an old man’s hand. It began without a greeting.If you are reading this, it means that I am dead, and you have come looking. I did not give the order that burned that house. I only signed a paper I was told was a treaty of protection, and I was told that I did not need to read it. I have carried what followed for four years and I cannot carry it any longer. Forgive me, Cassius.My hands shook so hard the paper ra
Cassius stayed on his knees in front of the open drawer for a long time, the loop of gray ribbon hanging from his fingers. I did not speak. Some silences belong to the person inside them."My father is dead," he said at last. "And that is a plain fact, because I stood at his grave.""I know.""Then the panel was opened by a man who learned of it some other way." He rose slowly and set the ribbon on the blotter. "Think, Helena, who could have watched me hide it?""Nobody, if you were alone," I said quietly."But I was never entirely alone. A house this size has eyes in the walls." He pressed two fingers to his forehead. "The day I closed that room, a man helped me carry my father's papers down. Two were the staff, and the family physician. And Logan, who had come to pay his respects."He said the name without weight, the way a man lists a name among others, and I kept my face still. The old woman's voice was in my head: do not flinch."The Elder was there," I said carefully."Yes, he w
Cassius took the notebook from me with both hands, just the way a man might take something that could break. Afterwards, he read the page without a word, and I watched his eyes move down the figures once, then back to the top, slowly."Four hundred," he murmured. "Six hundred and a thousand." He touched the red word in the margin with one finger. "Where did you copy this from?" He asked."A ledger. It was left in a locked room, on the desk." I answered."Left," His tone stayed level. "By whom?""I don't know because the room was empty when I found it.""And the room?" He asked.I had decided how much to say for the night. "A study above the east stairs, I think it was your father's."He sat very still, and the clock on my mantel ticked three times before he spoke again. "That room has been shut for eighteen years. And I've kept the only key.""Then someone else has a copy," I said."Or someone has a key that was never mine to count." He set the notebook on his knee. "You went there al
Ryder kept his palm over the lamp's dead wick for a full minute before he spoke. Nothing moved in the corridor. The only sound was my own breathing, too loud in the little room."Whoever lit it left," he said at last. "Through the window, or past us before we climbed. Either way, we're alone.""The window was latched from inside.""Then they left before it was latched, and shut the door afterwards." He relit the lamp with a match from his pocket. "A careful person, or a person who knew a second way out."I went back to the desk. The wet ink was drying at the end of the pen. I touched the ledger's edge and drew my hand away. "Do we take it?" I asked."If we take it, someone will know that we took it." Ryder paused. "And if we leave it, someone will know that we left it. It's like we're being asked a question, and we can't refuse to answer.""Then we choose what the answer looks like," I said."Meaning?" Ryder asked."I'll copy the page," I said, pulling a small notebook from my sleeve,







