The woman seemed to sense my discomfort. She cleared her throat gently and returned her attention to the ledger, flipping through pages with practiced efficiency.

"Agnes Marlowe," she murmured, scanning the entries.

"Yes, here she is. Arrived at age three. Left at age seven when Lady Catherine offered her a position." Her finger stopped on a line. "One of the few happy endings we had in those years."

"Do you know where she is now?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

The woman's finger continued down the page, then moved to another ledger, this one more recent, the leather still dark and supple.

"We try to keep track of former residents when we can," she explained. "Letters, visits, word from travelers. It's not perfect, but..." She found what she was looking for and looked up at me. "Agnes came back about two months ago. Briefly. She was looking for work."

My heart jumped. "Two months? Did she say where she was going?"

"She mentioned trying her luck in Greyford. Said she had experience as a personal attendant and thought the larger households there might have need of someone with her training." The woman closed the ledger. "I don't know if she found a position, but that was her plan."

Greyford.

Of course she'd go there.

"Thank you," I said, standing. "This... this helps."

The woman stood as well, studying me with those sharp, knowing eyes. "You care about her."

I met her gaze. "She deserved better than what she got from my family."

"Most people do." She walked me to the office door, then paused. "Your mother would be proud, you know. That you came looking. That you cared enough to try."

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and headed for the exit.

As I reached the front door, the woman called out one more time.

"Jin."

I turned.

She was holding the wooden horse from the shelf, the one I'd apparently loved as a child. She crossed the space between us and pressed it into my hands.

"Take it," she said firmly. "Consider it a very late birthday gift. From when you were too small to carry it yourself."

I looked down at the worn toy, its chipped paint and faded colors, and something in my chest cracked just slightly.

"Thank you," I managed.

She smiled. "Give Agnes my regards if you find her. Tell her she's always welcome here."

"I will."

I stepped out of the orphanage into the midday sun, the door clicking shut behind me.

The brightness stung my eyes, or maybe that was just the moisture still clinging to them. I wiped at them roughly with the back of my hand, clearing away the evidence of whatever the hell that had been.

At least I know now where I could look.

I stretched my arms over my head, working out the tension that had settled in my shoulders, and let out a long breath.

I am too tired to walk on foot now.

Not physical exhaustion, the walk to Millbrook hadn't been that demanding. But the emotional weight of the morning, of seeing Mother's portrait, of the memories that weren't quite mine but felt like they were... it had drained something from me that a good night's sleep probably wouldn't fix.

I made my way to the carriage station near the town square and booked passage back to the estate. The driver barely glanced at me as I climbed in, too focused on his next fare to care about one tired noble's son.

The ride back passed in a blur of countryside and fading afternoon light. I watched the landscape roll by through the window, not really seeing it, my mind elsewhere.

By the time the carriage dropped me at the estate gates, evening had settled in properly. The sky was painted in shades of deep purple and orange, the first stars beginning to appear.

I slipped through the gates with a nod to the guards and made my way toward the manor, keeping to the shadows near the walls.

I know I'll be punished for disappearing all day without telling anyone.

Father would have questions. Probably already had questions. The longer I could avoid that conversation, the better.

I moved quickly through the servant's entrance, up the back stairs, down the familiar corridors toward my room. The manor was quiet, dinner would be soon, which meant most people were either preparing or already gathering.

Perfect timing.

I reached my door, exhaled in relief, and pushed it open.

Thank god. Didn't encounter anyone.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me with a soft click.

Then I froze.

As I saw...

Cassandra sat on the edge of my bed like she owned it.

One leg crossed over the other with that effortless elegance she'd perfected years ago, the kind that made you feel like you were intruding even in your own space.

She wore a simple white chemise that ended mid-thigh, the fabric clinging just enough to suggest the curves beneath without revealing them.

Her silver hair hung loose around her shoulders in damp waves, catching the lamplight as she tilted her head slightly to regard me. I could smell her shampoo from here, something floral and expensive that she special-ordered from the capital.

Her bare feet were propped against the floor, toes painted in deep crimson, same as her fingernails, which drummed a lazy rhythm against her crossed arms.

Her discarded heels lay toppled near the bed frame, abandoned the moment she'd made herself comfortable.

But it was her eyes that held me in place. Grey. Sharp. Fixed on me with the kind of predatory focus that made my spine straighten involuntarily.

She recrossed her legs, the movement deliberate. Unhurried.

"Where were you?"

The question came out soft. Almost gentle. But I knew that tone, knew the razor's edge hidden beneath all that silk.

My mind raced through possible answers, cycling through excuses and half-truths before discarding them one by one.

Fuck.

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