“Intriguing.”
“Pasha Hassan, despite its abandoned facade, the place is active,” Ilyas pressed on.“Jars.Tools for mixtures.Fresh-cut plants and flowers.Whoever tends it isn’t just passing through—it’s a healer’s or an alchemist’s sanctuary.”
I straightened, and the decision was made.“Then it warrants investigation.Leave it to me.”
The room barely had time to settle before rapid, delicate footfalls echoed up the staircase, each step creaking in frantic succession.
Every man in the room went rigid.
Then—the door burst open.
It slammed against the wall with such force that the wood groaned, the crack of impact shattering the silence.
My hand went to my dagger, instinct kicking in before my mind registered the blur of silk, the tumble of wheat-blond hair?—
Elizabeth.
Disheveled.Breathless.Eyes wild with something unspoken.
“Leave us.”
The words were barely out before my men obeyed, slipping from the room without hesitation, vanishing like shadows at dusk.
“Elizabeth!What has happened?”
My voice was a low growl, rough with concern, not anger.
She was frozen in the doorway, her breath shallow, her blue dress reduced to tattered remnants.The delicate embroidery, once pristine, was now smeared with dirt and something darker.What had formerly been a symbol of refined elegance—her Caraco jacket—slipped from one shoulder, the lace edging torn and undone.
“Lord Hassan...”Her voice trembled, struggling to hold onto the last remnants of formality.But the weight of fear crushed the words before they could fully take shape.
I stepped forward, my touch light as I held her shoulders.Beneath my fingers, I felt the tremor of her body—small, violent quakes betraying the horrors she carried within her.
“Please, call me Amir,” I murmured, my tone gentler now.“There’s no need for formality here.”
She swallowed hard, her breath hitching as if fighting to hold herself together.
“I need to talk to you,” she whispered.
I let my hands slip from her shoulders, trailing down until they closed around hers.They were cold—trembling like small birds trapped in a storm.I held them gently, as if that could still the fear I felt pulsing through her skin… or mine.
“What happened?”My voice was quiet now, careful, afraid that too much force would shatter her fragile composure.
She hesitated, then exhaled shakily.
“Something happened at… at… at Lord Winston’s.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut as if trying to lock the memory away.But her body betrayed her—the way she stiffened, and her breath hitched unevenly.
The stillness that overtook her was more than fear.
It was petrification.
“What did you see?”I asked, my voice gentle, my thumbs stroking the tops of her trembling hands.A feeble attempt to ground her, to siphon away a sliver of the terror attached to her like a second skin.
Her eyelids flew open, panic stark in the depths of her gaze.
“It’s something I can never unsee!”
