Bridget’s stomach churned. “It looks similar to something I saw earlier.”
Using the handkerchief, Grenville carefully wiped away more of the grime, revealing the symbol in full.
The ink caught the light, uneven, deliberate, and Bridget’s stomach turned.
“That’s no accident,” Townsend murmured. “That symbol. It’s a message.”
Barrington exchanged a look with Grenville. “They left it on purpose. Someone wanted us to find it.”
Grenville’s jaw tightened. “Whoever he was meeting was afraid of what he was about to share.”
Bridget stared at the symbol, her mind racing. “Alastair must have known he was in danger. That’s why he was so secretive. But why now? Why during the chase?”
“To scatter everyone,” Grenville said. “It was the perfect opportunity to isolate him and leave a message.”
The symbol was small, no larger than a coin, inked with care. A stylized raven perched on a branch with its wings partially spread, as if caught midturn. Beneath it, a single word had been scrawled in tight, slanted letters:Watch.
Barrington stood slowly, his face grim. “We need to move the body back to Alastair Court. But we also need to find out what this marking means.”
Townsend exhaled sharply. “If it’s what I suspect… we’re dealing with something far more calculated than a mere rivalry or personal grudge.”
Bridget swallowed hard, her resolve hardening. “Then we need to figure out who he was meeting, and why this message was meant for us.”
Grenville met her gaze, his expression grim but determined. “We will. But we have to tread carefully. Whoever did this isn’t finished yet.”
With grim efficiency, they set to work, wrapping Mark’s body for moving. The footman stepped forward hesitantly, his face tight with unease as he assisted. No one spoke as they lifted himonto a makeshift stretcher. The scent of damp earth and blood clung to the air, thick and unshakable.
Bridget swallowed hard, her fingers clenching around the reins as they prepared to ride. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. As the party turned toward Alastair Court, the rhythmic thud of hooves against the softened ground carried them forward in a silence no one dared break.
Chapter Thirteen
The library atAlastair Court was quiet. The tension was unmistakable. Professor Tresham sat among the ancient books, but even he could not concentrate. Barrington stood by the desk, his expression unreadable as he held the note delicately between his fingers. Townsend looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he studied the scrawled words. Grenville and Bridget stood nearby.
Barrington carefully unfolded the parchment that he’d taken out of Alastair’s mouth. His eyes narrowed as he read the inscription: “For those who betray the Shadows, silence is eternal.” He exhaled slowly, recognition crossing his face.
“This is no idle threat,” he said grimly. “It bears the Order of Shadow’s seal, meant to silence and intimidate. I’ve seen it before.” He angled the parchment toward the firelight, revealing a faint symbol, a raven with wings spread wide inside a diamond. “They want us to know exactly who is responsible.”
Grenville crossed his arms, his jaw tight. “They didn’t just kill him. They made an example of him. The question is, why now?”
Townsend tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If Alastair was meeting someone to share something, the timing was deliberate. The Order of Shadows didn’t want to risk him talking.”
Bridget stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the symbol. “The Order of Shadows?”
Barrington nodded. “They’re not a legend. The Order of Shadows is a centuries-old syndicate that manipulates powerbehind the scenes of the aristocracy, politics, and commerce. Most never hear of them. That’s how they operate. Until now.” He met Grenville’s eye. “Which is why I sent for you.”
Grenville glanced at Bridget before speaking. “I suspected it was more than a courtesy visit,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t expect… this.” His voice lowered, shaded with something darker. “Not the Order.”
Bridget’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. This Order wasn’t some whispered threat. Alastair was dead because of them. Justice, not fear, pushed her forward. She couldn’t let his death be swept into silence. Not when the truth was close enough to touch.
A hush settled again, heavy with shared understanding.
The door creaked open, breaking the stillness. Marjory stepped inside, pale but composed, her gaze scanning the room before settling on Barrington.
“I thought I might find you here,” she said quietly. “Have you discovered anything?”
Barrington’s expression remained neutral. “We found this,” Barrington said, showing her the note. “It was on Alastair. Do you know anything about the Order?”
“Not at all.” Marjory’s eyes widened as she read the message, her hand flying to her mouth. “That handwriting…” She swallowed hard. “I—I’ve seen it before.” She looked at them, her eyes full of pain. “I don’t recall where.” Her voice was a whisper.
