The gardens behind Vane Manor were a maze of trimmed hedges and flower beds filled with dead flowers.
The afternoon mist crawled between the drenched leaves, creeping across the moss-covered stone paths and gravel. Weathered statues stood scattered among the bushes, figures of ancient gods and forgotten warriors, their faces corroded by acid rain and years of neglect. The oratory the duke had mentioned stood at the center of the maze, a small chapel of white marble with a domed roof and a wrought-iron door that creaked in the wind.
Aken walked in silence, his eyes sweeping over every corner, every shadow, every fold in the hedges.
Clark followed behind him, his hands in his pockets and his hood pushed back. His yellow eyes gleamed in the gray half-light like two coins of tarnished gold.
"Beautiful place," Clark remarked, kicking a loose stone. "If you like cemeteries disguised as gardens."
Aken didn't answer. He crouched beside a flower bed and ran his fingers through the damp soil. There were marks. Not footprints. The rain of the past few weeks had erased any clear tracks. It was something subtler. A patch of disturbed earth near the base of a statue, as though someone had dug there and then hurriedly covered it back up.
"Here," Aken said.
Clark approached and looked over his shoulder.
"Did someone bury something?"
"Or someone tried to hide the fact that something was buried."
Aken wiped his fingers on his trousers and stood up. The two of them headed toward the oratory.
---
The wrought-iron door gave way with a long groan when Aken pushed it open. The inside of the chapel was small, with dark wooden benches and a stone altar at the far end. A single round window let in a faint, diffuse light that barely reached the corners.
Melted candles lay on the altar, but none were lit. The smell of old wax and dust dominated the air.
Aken stopped in the center of the chapel and slowly turned on his heels, taking in every detail. The benches were neatly aligned. The altar was clean. Nothing seemed out of place.
"If she came here that night, she left nothing behind," Clark said, leaning against the door. "Or someone cleaned up afterward."
"Or she never made it here."
Aken knelt beside one of the benches and ran his hand underneath it. His fingers found something, a piece of fabric caught on the wood by a loose nail. He pulled it free. It was light blue silk, embroidered with delicate flowers.
"Is this hers?"
Clark approached and examined the fabric.
"Vanessa wore blue quite often. Her mother mentioned it." He slipped the piece into his pocket. "But this proves nothing. She could have come here to pray every afternoon."
Aken stood up and looked at the altar.
"The duke said she was carrying a prayer book."
"And?"
"Where is the book?"
Clark fell silent.
They searched the chapel. Nothing. No book. No trace that anyone had been there that night.
By the time they stepped outside, the sky had grown even darker, and the mist had risen, swallowing the statues and hedges.
---
The investigation continued inside the manor.
Aken and Clark divided their tasks. Clark went to the stables and the servants' quarters. Aken stayed in the noble wing, where silent corridors were lined with portraits of the Vane ancestors, their painted eyes seemingly following his every movement.
He spoke with the housekeeper, a tall, thin, middle-aged woman who answered questions in monosyllables and kept her eyes fixed on a point above Aken's head.
"Lady Vanessa was beloved by everyone," she said in a flat voice. "She never caused any trouble."
"Did she have friends among the servants?"
"No. The young lady maintained the proper distance."
"Has anyone new been hired in the past few weeks?"
The housekeeper hesitated. It was a blink, an almost imperceptible instant, but Aken noticed.
"A few. The duke dismissed some of the old staff and brought in new people from Alfra."
"Why?"
"It is not my place to question the duke's decisions."
"But you did question them."
She raised her chin, her thin lips pressed tightly together.
"Questioning is not my job, sir. Obeying is."
Aken let her go.
---
In the servants' corridor, Aken found a young woman kneeling on the floor, scrubbing it with a cloth. Her hair was tied beneath a faded headscarf, and her eyes were swollen from crying in secret.
Aken stopped beside her.
"Have you worked here long?"
The girl looked up, startled. When she saw Aken's face, his red eyes and pale skin, she recoiled slightly but didn't flee.
"I-I have worked here since I was twelve, sir."
"Did you know Lady Vanessa?"
The girl nodded, and her eyes filled with tears.
"She was kind. She treated everyone the same."
"Have you noticed anything strange in the past few weeks?"
The maid glanced around as though afraid someone might overhear.
"The young lady had been acting differently. Quieter. She stopped going to the village."
"Why?"
"I don't know. But she was afraid."
Aken crouched to her level.
"Afraid of what?"
"I don't know, sir. I only know she stopped going out alone. And..." The girl swallowed hard. "She started locking her bedroom door at night. She never used to do that."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I told the housekeeper. She said it was all in my head."
Aken stood up.
"Thank you."
The girl went back to scrubbing the floor, but her eyes remained wet with tears.
---
Aken found Clark in the rear courtyard, near the stables. The yellow-eyed Hunter was sitting on a crate, eating another apple.
"You have a serious problem with fruit," Aken said.
"It's healthier than wine."
"Depends on the wine."
Clark chuckled softly and tossed the core to a scrawny dog prowling around the stables. The animal snatched it and disappeared behind a barrel.
"Find anything?" Aken asked.
Clark wiped his hands on his trousers.
"The stable boy told me he saw Vanessa heading into the gardens that night. Said she seemed calm, as usual. But he also said that shortly beforehand, he saw one of the new servants, a fellow named Marek, leaving the noble wing through the back door."
"Marek."
"The same man who was holding the pitcher in the great hall."
Aken nodded slowly.
"Where is he now?"
"Disappeared."
"How?"
"Nobody knows. The housekeeper said he asked for the morning off and never returned. The other servants don't know where he lives. They don't know where he came from. All they know is that the duke hired him two months ago, along with three others."
"And the other three?"
"They've disappeared too. One by one. Over the past few weeks."
Aken looked toward the manor, at the gray towers rising against the leaden sky.
"They're being removed."
"Or they're running away," Clark said. "Same difference."
They fell silent for a moment. The cold wind swept through the courtyard, carrying dry leaves across the ground.
"There's something else," Aken said, taking the diary from inside his tunic. "One of the pages has been torn out."
Clark took the notebook and leafed through it until he reached the torn edge.
"What do you think was written there?"
"Something Vanessa didn't want anyone to read."
"Or something someone didn't want us to read."
Aken put the diary away.
"And the female Hunter who came with you?" he asked, changing the subject. "Where is she?"
Clark stopped chewing.
"She left."
"Left?"
"Before I met you at the Guild. We were both sent to investigate. I was looking into the vampires, while she was tracking a mutant with red eyes that appeared in the northern region. When she found out I was getting involved with the Levis, she said she didn't want to get caught in the middle of mercenary company politics. She packed her things and headed north."
"Without saying goodbye?"
"She's never been one for goodbyes."
Aken fell silent for a moment.
"You trusted her?"
"As much as I trust you."
"That doesn't answer the question."
Clark smiled sideways.
"No, it doesn't."
---
Night fell over Vane Manor like a shroud.
Aken and Clark were given two rooms on the first floor, near the guest wing. The remaining servants served a simple meal of bread, cheese, and watered-down wine, then disappeared into the corridors without exchanging a word.
Aken ate in silence, sitting at the table near the window. Clark was in the adjoining room, but not a sound came from there.
Outside, mist covered the gardens, and the statues looked like figures lurking in wait.
Aken was finishing his bread when he heard it.
A low sound. Distant. Like a whisper coming from very far away, yet passing through the walls as though it were made of air.
He stopped.
The sound came again.
Aken rose slowly and walked to the door. He opened it without making a sound.
The corridor was empty. The torches on the walls burned with weak flames, casting trembling shadows.
At the far end of the corridor, near the window overlooking the gardens, stood a silhouette.
A small figure in a light blue dress, with loose blonde hair falling over her shoulders.
Aken froze.
The figure didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't blink.
It simply stood there, staring at him with colorless eyes, eyes that seemed made of mist and longing.
Then it turned and disappeared through the wall.
Aken remained motionless for a long moment.
The corridor was empty once more.
Silence swallowed everything again.
He slowly closed the door.
From the other side of the wall, Clark's voice came muffled through the wood.
"You saw that too?"
Aken rested his forehead against the door.
"I did."
"Spirits," Clark said with a sigh that mingled exhaustion and resignation. "I hate spirits."
---
Aken didn't sleep.
He sat on the bed with his back against the wall and his sword beside him. Vanessa's diary lay open on his lap, its pages blank after the torn edge. The piece of blue silk rested on the bedside table.
Near midnight, he heard footsteps in the corridor.
Light. Quick. Controlled.
He rose without making a sound and opened the door a crack.
A figure passed through the corridor, carrying a lantern covered with a cloth. The man wore a dark livery and moved with the urgency of someone who didn't want to be seen.
Aken stepped out of his room.
Clark was already in the corridor, leaning against the wall, his yellow eyes gleaming in the half-light.
"Is that the servant with the pitcher?" Aken asked quietly.
"It is."
"Let's go."
The two of them followed the figure at a distance.
---
The servant crossed the kitchen, went out through the back door, and crossed the stable yard. He never once looked back. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew every corner of the estate.
Aken and Clark followed him to the eastern wall, where a small iron gate stood, used by the night guards. The servant took a key from his pocket, unlocked the gate, and disappeared outside.
The two waited a few seconds before following.
Beyond the wall, the path descended between trees toward the road leading to Velen. The mist was thick, and the servant's lantern was the only point of light in the darkness.
Aken tracked him by scent. Even from a distance, his Predator's sense of smell picked up the trail: sweat, leather, the lingering scent of the lantern's wax. Beneath it all was an odor that didn't belong to a human.
He stopped.
Clark stopped beside him.
"What is it?"
Aken inhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring.
"He doesn't smell like a vampire."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Vampires smell of wet earth and iron. He smells human. But there's something wrong with his blood."
"Wrong how?"
"I don't know. But he's not a vampire."
Clark nodded slowly.
"Then what is he?"
"We'll find out."
They continued following him.
---
The servant entered Velen through the southern gate, a narrow passage used by peasants returning late from the fields. The streets were empty. The windows were dark. The town was asleep.
He crossed the marketplace, circled the fountain, and stopped in front of a low brick house near the cemetery. He knocked three times.
The door opened. A hooded figure appeared in the gap.
Aken and Clark crouched behind an abandoned cart some distance away.
The servant and the hooded figure began talking in low voices. Aken tried to catch their words, but the wind was against them, and they were too far away.
"I can't hear them," he whispered.
"Neither can I," Clark replied.
The hooded figure handed the servant something, a small package wrapped in dark cloth. The servant nodded, tucked it inside his tunic, and turned to leave.
That was when the hooded figure looked toward the cart.
Aken saw the glint of two pale eyes beneath the hood.
The figure retreated into the house and shut the door.
The servant began to run.
"Shit," Aken muttered.
"The other one's getting away," Clark said.
Aken hesitated for a second. Then he made his decision.
"Get the servant. I'll go after the other one."
Clark nodded and sprinted after the servant.
Aken ran to the house. The door was locked. He took two steps back and smashed it open with his shoulder.
The interior was empty. A table, two chairs, an extinguished fireplace. At the back, an open window.
Aken leaped through the window and landed in a narrow alley. Nothing. No figure. No sound of footsteps.
The hooded figure had disappeared.
He stood still for a moment, breathing deeply. Then he returned to the street.
Clark already had the servant pinned to the ground, his knee pressed against the man's back and a knife in his hand.
"He's not going anywhere."
Aken approached and crouched beside the servant. The man was pale and sweating, his eyes wide with fear.
Aken tilted his head and inhaled slowly, catching the scent.
Sweat. Fear. Wax. Leather.
And beneath it all, the same unnatural odor he'd noticed earlier.
"He's not a vampire," Aken said quietly. "But there's something in his blood. Something that shouldn't be there."
Clark frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Aken stood up.
"I mean this man has been altered. Like us. Just in a different way."
The servant began to tremble.
"Please," he whispered. "They'll kill me."
"Who?" Aken asked.
The servant swallowed hard.
"The... the ones who pay."
"Pay you for what?"
He hesitated. Clark pressed his knee a little harder against the man's back.
"To watch! Just watch! I swear!"
"Watch whom?"
"The family. The girl. The duke. Everything."
"Why the girl?"
The servant closed his eyes.
"Because she saw something she shouldn't have."