Morning sunlight spilled across the courtyard in gentle streams. The world looked peaceful again, but Evelyn felt the storm that still lingered beneath the calm. She woke earlier than usual, her thoughts running circles faster than her feet could follow.
Her dreams had been strange. She had seen her father standing at the edge of the sea, the wind pushing at his cloak. He turned to her and smiled, proud and kind, before the waves rose and swallowed his figure. When she opened her eyes, her pillow was damp with sweat, and her chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
She washed, dressed, and tied her hair back beneath her guard's cap. Her reflection in the small mirror showed nothing unusual, but she still whispered her name under her breath. "Evelyn Ashford."
It felt unfamiliar to say it aloud. She had buried it for years, hidden beneath the safer name of Ash. Now that the Duke had spoken it so freely, it no longer sounded like something shameful. It sounded like home.
When she stepped into the hall, the house was quiet except for the soft clatter of servants preparing breakfast. She followed the scent of roasted bread and coffee until she reached the outer corridor that overlooked the garden. The morning air was cool, and the sky was beginning to brighten with pale gold.
Captain Wren stood near the fountain, giving orders to two young recruits. His tone was brisk, but his eyes flicked toward Evelyn as she approached. She saluted.
"Good morning, Captain," she said.
He returned the gesture, though his expression seemed curious. "Morning, Guard Ash. The Duke has gone to the palace with the evidence. He left instructions that you rest for the day."
"Rest?" she repeated, slightly startled. "Is that an order or a suggestion?"
"An order," Wren said, though his mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "You earned it. Not many survive a warehouse fight with smugglers before dawn."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "Thank you, Captain."
He nodded once and turned back to his recruits. She watched him for a moment, then wandered toward the far end of the courtyard where the herb garden met the servants' wing. The air smelled of mint and wet soil. Bees hummed lazily around the rosemary bushes.
For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to simply breathe.
Yet the peace did not last.
By midday, the estate was buzzing again. Messengers came and went. Guards checked weapons. The palace had received the maps and ordered increased patrols along the river. But there was also talk, the kind that spread faster than ink on parchment.
Evelyn noticed it when she entered the main hall. Two servants paused in conversation as she passed, then bowed quickly. A pair of junior guards lowered their voices when she approached the armory. None of it was cruel, but it carried the unmistakable weight of curiosity.
They knew something.
She continued her duties as if she had not noticed. She checked the stables, reviewed the perimeter logs, and inspected the armory shelves. Everything was in order, yet her stomach felt uneasy.
When she finally returned to her small room, she found a folded note on her table. The handwriting was unfamiliar, sharp and elegant.
The Duke trusts easily. Be careful whose shadow you stand in.
There was no name. Only a faint scent of ink and sea salt.
Evelyn frowned and read it twice. The words chilled her more than they should have. She looked out the window automatically, but the garden below was empty except for the gardener trimming vines.
Her instincts prickled. Whoever had left the note had been inside her quarters.
She tucked it into her sleeve and went straight to the Duke's study.
The door was half open when she arrived. He was standing by the window, speaking quietly to Captain Wren. Papers lay spread across the table beside him, covered in maps and royal seals.
When he noticed her, he lifted his gaze. "Guard Ash. I told you to rest."
"I did," she said. "Then I found this."
She placed the folded note on the table.
Wren read it first and frowned. "Who would send something like this?"
Evelyn kept her voice steady. "Someone who knows too much. They were in my room."
The Duke unfolded the paper, studied the ink, and turned it toward the light. His expression remained calm, but the faint crease between his brows deepened. "Sea salt and iron," he murmured. "This ink was mixed with harbor soot. Whoever wrote this came from the docks."
"Another smuggler?" Wren asked.
"Perhaps," the Duke said. "Or someone who does not want us to follow the trail further."
Evelyn felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "It could be someone from within the household," she said quietly. "There are servants who came from the harbor district. They might have seen the letter of transfer."
The Duke folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his coat pocket. "I will have Wren question the staff discreetly. You are to keep your door locked tonight."
She nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."
When Wren left to carry out his orders, silence settled again between them. The Duke looked at her, and the quiet stretched until it became something deeper.
"You look unsettled," he said.
"I have been called many things," she replied. "Unsettled might be the truest of them."
He allowed a small smile. "Do you regret coming here?"
Evelyn hesitated. "No. I regret only that I cannot seem to stay invisible."
"You never were invisible," he said. "Even when you tried to be."
The warmth in his tone caught her off guard. She lowered her gaze. "I am used to being overlooked. It feels safer."
"Safety is overrated," he said softly. "And you have already chosen the harder path."
She met his eyes. "Because of my father?"
"Because of who you are," he said. "Flynn Ashford was a man of principle, but it is his daughter who carries that principle forward. I can see him in you."
Her throat tightened. "You read his name aloud as if it still belongs in noble halls."
"It does," he said firmly. "He served this kingdom with honor. His memory deserves more than silence."
Evelyn exhaled slowly. "You speak of him kindly. Most would not."
"I speak of truth," he said. "And truth has a way of surviving lies."
She could not find an answer. Her heart thudded too loudly in her chest.
He reached for one of the maps, unrolled it, and tapped a section near the old pier. "The smugglers were not moving only weapons. There is mention of a second ledger, hidden somewhere near this dock. It might name those who funded them. If Flynn Ashford's signature was ever forged again, it will be there."
Her eyes widened. "Then my father's name is still being used."
"Yes," the Duke said. "That is why you cannot walk alone in the harbor for now. Whoever sent that note knows your identity. They will see you as a threat."
Evelyn's voice steadied. "Then let me go with you when you search."
He looked at her sharply. "No."
"With respect, Your Grace," she said quickly, "I found the hollow floorboard in the last warehouse. I can recognize the pattern of their hiding places. You need me."
He studied her for a long moment. "You are not a soldier, Evelyn. You are one person against an entire network."
"I am my father's daughter," she said quietly. "He fought for the truth even when it cost him everything. I will do no less."
The Duke's jaw tightened. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Very well. But you follow my orders exactly. No improvisation."
She smiled faintly. "I never improvise."
"That is a lie," he said.
"Perhaps," she admitted. "But only small ones."
For the first time that day, his expression softened into something that almost looked like concern. "You are too bold for your own safety."
"Someone has to be," she said.
He sighed, half amused and half resigned. "You remind me of the reason I stopped giving orders to stubborn people."
"Because they do not listen?"
"Because they make me care," he said quietly.
The words silenced her completely. Her pulse skipped, and she felt the strange warmth she had been trying to ignore return in full force. She looked down quickly, pretending to study the map.
"I will prepare for the mission," she said.
He gave a short nod. "Meet me at dawn. And keep that note. It might matter later."
She turned to leave, but before she stepped through the doorway, his voice stopped her.
"Evelyn."
She glanced back.
"Flynn Ashford would be proud," he said softly. "Not because you fight, but because you refuse to let fear decide who you are."
Her throat ached, and she could only nod. "Goodnight, Your Grace."
When she reached her quarters, the note still burned faintly against her palm. She locked the door, then placed it under her pillow. Outside, the wind rose again, carrying the smell of salt and rain from the river.
She sat on the edge of her bed, thinking of her father's smile, the Duke's voice, and the promise of dawn.
For the first time in years, she did not feel alone in her fight. Yet she also knew that peace like this never lasted long.
Somewhere in the distance, a ship bell rang twice. A warning before the tide turned.
Evelyn lay down, eyes open, ready for whatever morning would bring.