Della stepped quietly into the study after her father's calm voice beckoned her. The door creaked faintly as it shut behind her. An anxious current stirred in her chest, the kind that whispered of secrets ready to surface.
She dipped her head in greeting. "Father."
Fredrick raised his gaze from the letters on his desk. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low and steady.
"Why were you going through my things, Della?"
Caught off guard, she blinked. "I—I'm sorry, Papa." She folded her hands gently before her. "I didn't mean to pry... but did you find the stones?"
Fredrick leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in silent calculation. "Did you read the letter?"
"No," she whispered, though her gaze betrayed her curiosity.
He said nothing for a moment. Then, after folding his arms across his chest, he spoke with careful reserve. "I received a clue some weeks ago. I searched the location, but the stones were not there."
"Where was it?" she asked, taking a hopeful step forward. "Let me go, Papa. I might be able to sense them."
"No, Della. The trail has run cold." His voice was firm.
Her brows furrowed. "Are you hiding something from me?"
Fredrick met her gaze directly. "What would I hide from you, child?"
Silence stretched between them like a taut string. At last, he spoke again—measured, as if weighing each word.
"Since you are so eager... you may accompany me tomorrow. The place is called Black Bridge."
Della's heart stirred. "Thank you, Papa."
She offered a faint smile before taking her leave. But the moment the door clicked shut behind her, Fredrick turned back to his desk. With a sigh, he took a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in ink.
"To Lord Lucas," he murmured as he scrawled a message.
When finished, he folded the paper neatly and gave a sharp whistle. A raven perched by the open window ruffled its feathers and flew in, landing gracefully on the desk.
Fredrick tied the letter to the bird's leg. "Take it to West Hill."
The raven gave a low caw and disappeared into the black night, its wings slicing silently through the chilled air.
⸻
Far across West Hill, under the heavy quilt of stars, a woman walked alone.
Her brown cloak billowed slightly around her ankles, concealing her form. Only her worn black boots touched the cobblestone path, clicking softly with each step. The streets were long abandoned—it was well past midnight...and not a soul dared wander this hour.
Yet she walked without fear.
Her path ended at an old diner on the edge of the square. The building looked forgotten by time. Mold crept along its base, and the painted sign had long since faded. But within, the warm yellow glow of a single lantern beckoned.
She entered.
Inside, the place was silent. Behind the counter stood a gaunt man polishing a chipped plate with a rag that had seen better years. His movements were mechanical, lost in thought...until he looked up.
His tired eyes brightened. "Helen."
A smirk lifted one corner of her lips as she lowered her hood. Long black hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing a pale face too beautiful for her age. She looked like a vision of the night, deceptively young, with eyes that gleamed like cut obsidian.
"You still pretend to clean, Otto?" she remarked, sitting gracefully across from him.
Otto chuckled, revealing teeth stained yellow and grey. His balding head glistened in the lamp light, and his thick brows twitched with humor. "You know me. I keep up appearances. This place gives me coin... and peace."
Helen scoffed. "Peace?" She eyed the mildew-covered walls. "If these villagers knew who really ran this kitchen..."
"They don't need to," Otto replied, his voice tinged with a growl. "They come, they eat, and they leave alive. That's good enough."
Helen's expression darkened slightly. "Hannah was killed in Black Bridge."
Otto stiffened. His fingers clenched the plate tightly. "When?"
"Three nights ago. Fortunately, it wasn't one of those greenhorn council spies. Edward and Betsy took care of it. She didn't suffer."
"She should have been more careful," Otto muttered. But his voice trembled just enough to reveal the truth...he had liked Hannah. Perhaps more than he cared to admit.
Helen didn't press him further. Instead, she folded her hands atop the counter.
"Another ritual is coming. Finn said we'll attempt another locating spell soon. I don't know how long it will take."
Otto nodded slowly. "I've heard whispers. You should be careful. That Gavion heir... he's stirring trouble again."
"The pretty vampire with the loyal little human wife?" Helen chuckled. "Yes, I heard. He's back in Gavion causing ripples again."
"He doesn't act like the rest. And if what we suspect is true... he might already know about the stones," Otto said quietly.
"Perhaps. His cousin has quite the reputation too—your Lord Lucas."
Helen's eyes glinted.
"These vampires aren't to be underestimated."
Otto leaned forward. "You're staying in West Hill then?"
"Yes. I'll begin gathering the coven. We need to be ready."
⸻
Miles away, high in the west wing of a gothic mansion, a raven tapped sharply at the window.
The pane creaked open and Lord Lucas stepped into the starlight.
He wore no shirt—only black trousers and a long robe draped over one shoulder. The night air did not affect him. He reached for the letter tied to the raven's leg and unfastened it.
The bird flew off without a sound.
Lucas sat on the edge of his bed. The shadows of the room curled around him as if drawn to his presence. With vampire sight, he read the message clearly despite the absence of light.
Fredrick's words were brief, but loaded.
A meeting. A warning. A quiet summons.
Lucas closed the letter, expression unreadable. "Fredrick wants an alibi," he murmured.
He already knew much. He had done his own digging. Della, the girl who dared to speak against him, was no ordinary noble daughter. She had been found—adopted. There was more to her blood than the Harrisons knew... or perhaps, more than they admitted.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.
He was intrigued now.