The next morning, I found myself wandering through the estate's corridors with no real destination in mind.

I'd woken early and spent the first hour after dawn doing what I'd told myself I wouldn't: looking for information about Agnes.

The estate's record books had been my first stop. Dusty leather-bound ledgers kept in the steward's office, meticulously documenting every servant hired, every transaction made, every mouth the Raith family fed. I'd flipped through pages of careful script until my eyes burned, searching for her name.

Found it, eventually. But the entry was sparse, unhelpful.

"Agnes Marlowe. Origin: Millbrook Orphanage. Appointed by Catherine Raith as personal attendant."

That was it. Nothing that would tell me where she'd gone after leaving the estate.

I'd asked a few of the older servants next, the ones who'd been here long enough to remember.

Some of them didn't know Agnes personally, she'd left before they'd been hired. The older ones remembered her vaguely, a quiet woman who kept to herself, always efficient, never caused trouble.

But where she'd gone after Father dismissed her? No one knew.

Or no one was willing to tell me.

From the original Jin's memories, I knew Agnes had been one of the older staff members, relatively speaking. Mother had brought her to the estate when she was just a child, maybe seven or eight years old.

Trained her personally. Treated her almost like... not family, exactly, but something closer than most nobles treated their servants.

Agnes would be around twenty-seven now. Ten years older than me.

And I had no idea where she was.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I stopped in the middle of an empty corridor. Morning light streamed through tall windows, painting everything in shades of gold.

So I guess I have no choice.

I turned and headed back to my room.

The worn travel chest sat in the corner where I'd left it, still half-unpacked from my return. I knelt beside it and pulled out my traveling cloak, dark grey wool, frayed at the edges but still serviceable. The kind of thing that wouldn't attract attention on the road.

I fastened it around my shoulders, checked that my coin pouch was secure at my belt, and grabbed my sword from where it leaned against the wall.

The manor was settling into its daily rhythm. I could hear distant sounds, servants moving through the halls, the clatter of breakfast being prepared in the kitchens, muffled voices from various rooms.

Father would be in his study by now. He spent every morning there, door closed, not to be disturbed unless the manor was literally on fire.

Cedric would be suffering through lessons with his tutors. He'd complained about it endlessly when we were younger, though he'd never dare say anything to Father directly.

Cassandra and Victor would be in the training grounds. They always were. Spent most of their time there, honing skills that had already surpassed anything I'd ever achieved before the Academy.

Victor especially, now that he'd been appointed Vice Captain of one of the divisions of the Ashfeld Knights, one of the kingdom's more prestigious military orders.

I passed a window overlooking the courtyard and glanced out. Sure enough, I could see two figures in the distance, moving through combat forms with practiced precision. Steel flashed in the sunlight.

Perfect. Everyone exactly where they should be.

I kept walking and made my way toward the main entrance, but I took the servants' corridors anyway, avoiding the main halls where I might run into someone.

The last thing I needed was Father demanding to know where I was going, or Cedric deciding he had more to say after yesterday's... encounter.

The back entrance was unguarded this time of morning, just a simple door leading to the gardens and, beyond them, the estate's outer grounds.

I slipped through and started walking.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-wet grass and distant woodsmoke. The sky was clear, pale blue stretching endlessly overhead. It would be a good day for travel.

My destination was clear in my mind... Millbrook.

The orphanage where Mother had found Agnes all those years ago. It was a long shot, Agnes probably wasn't there, might never have gone back, but it was the only lead I had. Someone there might know where she'd gone. Might have kept in touch.

Or they might tell you to fuck off for bothering them.

Either way, it's better than sitting around here doing nothing.

The gates came into view, iron and stone, flanked by guards. They straightened as I approached.

"Master Jin," the older one said, his weathered face carefully neutral. "Heading out?"

"Just for a walk," I said evenly. "Thought I'd explore the area. Been gone a while."

He nodded slowly, clearly not believing me but also clearly not caring enough to press. "Mind yourself on the roads. Been reports of bandits in the area."

Yeah. I noticed.

"I'll be careful," I said.

They pulled the gates open without further comment, and I walked through.

The road beyond was familiar, packed dirt worn smooth by years of travel, winding through gentle hills and scattered farms.

Millbrook wasn't far. It was maybe an hour's walk. Less if I pushed the pace.

I adjusted my cloak, settled my sword more comfortably at my hip, and started moving.

The walk gave me too much time to think.

About Agnes. About what I'd say if I actually found her.

What then?

I'd apologize. Tell her I was sorry for not speaking up when Father dismissed her, sorry for being a coward. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe it wouldn't.

But I had to try.

The road curved, taking me past a cluster of farms where early workers were already in the fields. A few glanced up as I passed, but most were too focused on their labor to care about one more traveler on the road.

Millbrook's outskirts appeared gradually, scattered houses becoming closer together, dirt roads widening into proper streets, the sounds of town life growing louder.

It was a small town, the kind of place that existed to service the surrounding farms and act as a waypoint for travelers heading to larger cities.

Though I remembered the orphanage. A square stone building on the edge of town, surrounded by a low wall. I don't how, but maybe older Jin's mother or someone else might have taken him there.

He would have been maybe a year or two, for me to remember the orphanage but not other things about there.

Not even the face of the mother...

I adjusted the cloak and started walking.

The road was mostly empty this time of day. A farmer passed with a cart full of hay, giving me a brief nod. A pair of merchants rode by on horseback, deep in conversation, barely glancing my way. I kept my head down, hood shadowing my face, just another traveler on the road.

The fields gradually gave way to scattered trees, then to proper forest as the road wound through the countryside. Birds called from the branches overhead, and the air smelled of pine and earth. My boots crunched against the dirt, finding an easy rhythm.

Eventually, I found the orphanage easily enough. It looked exactly as I remembered—or as Jin remembered—two stories of weathered stone, a wooden sign above the door reading "Millbrook Home for Children" in faded paint.

I stood across the street for a moment, staring at it.

My heart was beating faster than it should have been. Stupid, really. What was I even nervous about?

Then I shook my head and crossed the street.

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The entrance hall was clean but sparse, wooden floors worn smooth by countless feet, walls painted a pale yellow that had probably been cheerful once. Children's drawings hung in frames, stick figures and lopsided houses rendered in crayon.

Somewhere deeper in the building, I could hear children's voices, the sound of a lesson being recited.

A woman appeared from a side room, she looked like to be middle-aged, grey hair pulled back in a practical bun, wearing a simple dress and apron.

She looked me over with sharp eyes that had seen too many people making promises they wouldn't keep.

"Can I help you?" Her tone was polite but guarded.

I pulled back my hood. "I'm looking for information about someone who used to live here. Agnes Marlowe. She was taken in by my mother years ago, and I'm trying to find her now."

The woman's expression didn't change. "And you are?"

"Jin Raith."

Something shifted in her eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or wariness.

"Lady Raith's son?" she said slowly. "The younger one."

"Yes."

She studied me for a long moment, weighing something I couldn't see. Her fingers drummed once against her apron before she caught herself.

Then she sighed and gestured toward a small office off the main hall. "Come with me."

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