Seraphina’s eyes didn’t leave mine. The low lamplight flickered between us, making the corridor seem more like a tunnel, closing in at both ends. Her voice was quiet, but it quivered with something fierce. ‘You don’t have to do this alone, you know.’
My hands trembled. I clenched them behind my back, digging nails into my palms until the sharp sting anchored me. ‘You shouldn’t have gone into the old wing,’ I whispered. ‘It’s not safe.’
She stepped closer. I could see the dust on her shoes, the fine trembling at the edge of her mouth. ‘I had to. I knew you were hiding something. Jisoo, I—’ She swallowed, her eyes welling with regret, or maybe determination. ‘I saw blood. On the edge of the boards. Tell me what happened.’
The memory pressed against my mind, insistent, but I forced it back. I shook my head, but she caught my wrist, gentle but unyielding. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘If you keep running, it only gets worse. Please. I’m not the enemy.’
A gust of wind rattled the window behind us. The whole house seemed to shudder, as if it too could feel the weight of what I knew. My voice was barely audible. ‘There are bodies, Seraphina. In the basement. I don’t know who put them there. But they’re real.’
Her grip tightened. ‘Then we call Harding. We do it together. You don’t have to carry this alone.’
But fear dug in deeper, an old familiar root. Harding would see me as the culprit. The cartographer who mapped every secret of the land, except for the ones beneath his own feet. I could see my life unraveling, every accomplishment undone with the pull of a single thread. The urge to bolt, to deny everything, gripped me.
Seraphina’s expression softened. ‘We’ll find out who did this. But if you keep quiet, you’re protecting them. Not yourself.’
For a moment, locked in her gaze, I allowed myself to hope. She was right—I didn’t have to face this alone. But her presence was risky, too. If she was found with me, if Harding suspected her of involvement… The risk twisted in my chest, sharp and cold.
A thud echoed from somewhere below. My heart seized.
Seraphina’s head snapped towards the sound. ‘There’s someone else here.’
The air in the house stilled, as if holding its breath. In the silence, another footstep creaked on the stairs. Not Harding—his tread was heavier; this was careful, precise. Arthur. He knew something, or he wanted to. And now, he was moving closer to the truth.
Seraphina’s hand slid from my wrist, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘What do we do?’ she mouthed.
The shadows outside my door stretched and shifted. Arthur’s silhouette flickered across the far wall. His footsteps halted, just out of sight, listening.
The next move had to be mine.