With a slow nod, she sealed our course, and together, we stepped into the unknown—allies in a game where the pieces never stayed still.
As we neared Amir’s estate, the sun dipped below the horizon, draping the world in the cool embrace of twilight.It was five o’clock.The city pulsed with its affairs, oblivious to mine.
I pulled my hood lower, letting the heavy fabric cast deep shadows over my face as Mary and I approached the grand wrought-iron gates.My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but my steps remained steady.Mary clutched the woven basket in her arms, playing the part of a dutiful servant delivering a token from Lord Alexander with grace.
The gatekeeper barely spared us a glance.The guise was too ordinary, too unremarkable, to warrant suspicion.
The first hurdle was behind us.
I met Mary’s gaze, a silent exchange of understanding.
Leaning in close, my voice barely more than a breath, I murmured, “Straight to the kitchen.Keep them busy.I need at least twenty minutes.”
Mary gave me a small nod, her lips pressed into a tight line.As we slipped through the servants’ entrance, a wave of warmth enveloped us, thick with the scent of baking bread and simmering spices.The kitchen bustled with movement, but Mary stepped forward with ease, her voice carrying just enough authority to command attention.
I lingered in the shadows of the still room adjacent to the kitchen, where the air carried the faint, familiar smell of herbs and sweet preserves.The space was cluttered, but not in a way that spoke of neglect—it was the organized chaos of purpose.Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of jams, jellies, and dried herbs, their colors dimmed by the flickering oil lamps that spilled soft light from the kitchen.
A large wooden table dominated the center, its surface strewn with mortar and pestles, glass bottles, and muslin cloths for straining.It reminded me of my alchemy cottage—where science and secrets intertwined.In one corner, copper pots bubbled gently over a low flame, steeping some remedy or tonic, their fragrances twining together—lavender, rosemary, and the faintest trace of currant preserves left to cool.
This wasn’t a room of grandeur but of quiet craftsmanship—a retreat from the kitchen clatter, where skill and patience reigned over haste.
I inched closer to the doorway, straining to hear.
“This is a gift from Lord Alexander,” Mary said sweetly, lifting the basket with a graceful tilt.“For the master of the house.”
The cook, her hands dusted with flour, turned to her with interest.Her face brightened at the mention of Lord Alexander.“Oh, what a fine gift!Thank you, dear.I’ll see that Lord Hassan receives it.”
Mary hesitated for half a breath before pressing on.“Is he here?Lord Alexander asked that I present the gift to him personally.”
From my position in the shadows, I caught the briefest flicker of her glance—quick, subtle, intentional.
The cook waved Mary deeper into the kitchen, and I watched as she seamlessly fell into conversation.Within moments, the staff was fully engaged—discussing pastries, Lord Alexander’s good fortune, anything but me.Their focus was elsewhere.
That was my cue.
Keeping my head low, I slipped past the kitchen unnoticed, my steps light against the stone floor.My pulse thrummed in my ears, a rhythm of urgency.Amir had taken something from me that could unleash immeasurable damage in his hands.I couldn’t let that happen.
When I stepped beyond the kitchen’s warmth, the silence became suffocating.The vastness of the house swallowed me whole; it was quite unnatural, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.The distant clatter of pots only underscored how hollow the space was.
Where were the footmen, the butlers, and the endless parade of attendants expected in a house of this stature?The kitchen had been running with a skeleton crew, and the rest of the estate felt… abandoned.
Did Amir truly live in this barren expanse?
My fingers grazed the polished wooden banister as I ascended the stairs, each step slow and stealthy.The air thickened as I climbed, heavy with the weight of dust and absence.
The upper halls mirrored the desolation below—not a single candle flickered, nor a voice carried through the air.Shadows clung to the walls, stretching long and eerie in the dim evening light.
I moved swiftly, methodically.The flower had to be here.
But dread twisted in my gut as I searched, opening drawers and scanning shelves.It was nowhere.
Desperation gnawed at me like a starved creature.
The emptiness chased me from room to room, each search yielding nothing but my mounting unease.
Until I reached the dungeon.
My breath hitched.
