Karl drew in a ragged breath, the kind that carried more frustration than air. Nothing made sense anymore. He hadn't trusted Leo at first—that much was true—but Eileen… she was a different matter entirely.
He straightened, the cold authority returning to his stance.
"Veronica—drop the barrier. Tyler—get those chains off him. The three of you, gear up. You've got thirty minutes to meet me at the outer gate."
No one hesitated.
"Yes, sir."
"Bring your weapons," he added, voice sharp as steel. "We don't know what's waiting for us out there."
The chains clattered to the floor, and Leo rubbed his wrists as the others moved with mechanical precision. Belts clicked. Guns loaded. Boots struck the marble in rhythm. Within minutes, the quiet turned into a soldier's symphony of readiness.
"Leo," Tyler said as he adjusted his holster, "Eileen and I have something to tell you—after we survive whatever the commander's dragging us into."
Leo narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Tyler only smirked and clapped his shoulder. "Later, partner. Move out."
Eileen was already waiting, leaning against the doorframe, her hair casting a soft shadow across her face.
"About time," she said with a teasing sigh. "You two always find a way to be late."
They followed her out, boots echoing down the stone corridor. Outside, by the gate, Veronica was mid-argument with Karl. Their faces were hard, unreadable—until they noticed the team. Then, just like that, Veronica's expression shifted, slipping on a perfect smile like a mask.
"So," she said, voice cool and composed, "you finally made it. Let's move."
The drive was silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional scratch of Karl's lighter. Smoke curled toward the roof of the car, blue and ghostly. No one spoke. No one dared to.
When they finally stopped, Leo's voice broke the stillness.
"Where are we, sir?"
Karl stepped out, the iron gate groaning as he pushed it open.
"The family cemetery," he said. "This is where the dukedom buries its own. Follow me."
They moved through the mist. The air grew heavy, the world narrowing to the sound of gravel beneath their boots. Karl stopped before a single grave, its name carved deep into the stone:
AMELIA LUMIÈRE
"Tyler. Leo," Karl said quietly, without turning. "Shovels. From the carriage. Start digging."
The two men exchanged a look that said everything.
"Oh, not again," they muttered in unison.
The night swallowed their voices whole؟
Both men dug in silence, their shovels biting into the damp earth until a dull clang broke through the night. They froze. Something solid lay beneath.
Leo tightened his grip on the handle, shoving the shovel down once more until the wood splintered through the coffin's surface. A jagged hole appeared. Curiosity—reckless, insistent—pulled at him. He leaned closer, trying to peer inside.
"Hey—enough!" Tyler grabbed his arm, yanking him back. "Haven't you learned anything? You keep charging into things like you're immortal."
"Both of you, step aside," Karl barked. His tone cut through the tension like a blade.
He descended into the grave himself, brushing the soil away before forcing the coffin open. The hinges groaned in protest. Inside lay the brittle remains of a woman—what was left of her. The stench of decay rolled out, thick and nauseating, but no one dared turn away.
Karl stared down at the bones, then glanced at Leo. "You're telling me this corpse spoke to you?" His eyes narrowed. "You must be mistaken."
Leo met his gaze, jaw tightening. "I told you what I saw. Whether you believe it or not isn't my problem."
Karl's expression darkened. "Watch your tone, boy."
Their standoff was broken by Veronica's low, trembling whisper. "This… this isn't my lady."
Karl turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
"This body doesn't belong to her," Veronica said, stepping closer to the coffin. Her composure was gone, replaced by a strange certainty.
"Explain," Karl demanded.
She knelt, running her gloved hand over the bones as if reading a secret language written in ivory. "The height—too short for the late duchess. And look here—her fingers, the bones are smaller. There's a scar on the sternum… a clean break, like from a blade. Whoever this woman was, she was stabbed. See the mark?"
Karl's voice wavered. "You're sure of this?"
"I served Her Grace since I was fourteen," Veronica said, her tone firm. "I would know her bones anywhere. This… this is not her."
Silence fell heavy over the grave.
"Then where," Karl said quietly, "is the real duchess?"
"She's here," Leo murmured.
Karl turned to him, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"
Leo's eyes drifted toward the far end of the cemetery. "I can feel her."
He raised a trembling hand, pointing toward a shadowed figure seated at the edge of the fog. A long cloak hid the stranger from head to toe.
The sound of heels echoed faintly—slow, deliberate—drawing closer across the marble path.
When the figure finally stopped before them, a voice—soft, almost tender—broke the silence.
"It's been a long time since I last saw you, my son," she said, pulling back the hood.
A cascade of brown hair, streaked with silver, caught the moonlight.
Karl's breath caught in his throat. "Mother…? No… that's impossible."
Karl stood motionless, unable to decide whether the ground beneath him was real. His mother—his dead mother—stood a few paces away, breathing, speaking, her eyes carrying that same warmth he had buried years ago.
"Why?" The word tore from him in a whisper. "Why did you pretend to die?"
Amelia's gaze lingered on him, her expression tender yet weighed by sorrow. "You know nothing of what truly happened, my son. Nothing at all."
Karl took a sharp breath, anger creeping into his tone. "You let us believe you were gone. Father—he'll lose his mind when he finds out you're alive!"
A faint, sad smile curved her lips. "Your father already knows."
Karl's eyes widened. "He knows?"
"He knew from the beginning," she said softly. "It was the only way to keep you safe, Karl. Everything I did—every lie, every silence—was to protect you."
Her voice faltered, and for a moment, the commanding woman he remembered was gone. What stood before him was a mother carrying the weight of her choices.
Then her gaze drifted past him, toward Leo. Something in her expression broke. She reached out, gently holding his face between her palms. Her hands trembled as her tears caught the light of the lanterns.
"I can't believe it…" she whispered. "You're the last thing Yora left us. You were just a child when all of this began. Too young to be tangled in our curse."
Her thumb brushed against his cheek, and she lowered her gaze, tears slipping free.
Karl's voice came again, quieter now. "Then tell me—why stay hidden? Who are you afraid of?"
Amelia stepped back, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Her tone turned solemn, her eyes distant. "The Queen," she said. "She wants me dead. I know things that could burn this empire to ash. If I speak them aloud… none of us will survive."
She turned to leave, her figure half-swallowed by the drifting fog. Then, as if remembering something, she stopped and looked back at Leo. Her voice cut through the stillness—soft, yet laced with command.
"Don't let the Imperial Guard find out what happened in Linholm Cemetery," she warned. "If they do… they'll take your head before they even ask why."
Her cloak fluttered once as she disappeared into the mist, leaving only silence—and the scent of cold earth and ashes.
Leo's breath shook as he turned to Tyler and Eileen. The weight of what had just happened pressed down like stone.
He met their eyes, his voice low, steady, but shadowed by unease.
"For God's sake… what just happened there?"