As usual, Sayori walked the corridors with quiet steps, her head bowed, and her hands clasped in front of her. Nobody gave the human girl with the pale face and weary eyes a second glance. They had become accustomed to her being there. She was, if anything, below their notice since she was little, sluggish, and voiceless in every way that mattered.
Which was ideal for her.
She didn't receive much direction from the Alpha. All she had to do was watch. Hey. Come back with what was important.
She did, in fact.
From partially open doors, voices began to float about — hushed discussions between aristocrats, old complaints intertwined with new goals. After that, as if she were a lamp or a rug, the laughter of the courtiers, who were now freer to speak, rang out while she was sweeping the floor close to the hearth. As she collected every whisper like free thread, she learnt to stay still without attracting attention and to perform her cleaning in a slow and deliberate manner.
The East Wing saw the most activity at dusk.
The lesser nobles who had been confined to guest rooms now took their evening walk as the guards switched and the patrols shifted. Wine was among the things that others brought. A few people brought secrets. Sayori kept her distance, noting who met whom, which servants delivered sealed letters, and which rooms were abruptly locked at unusual times.
In his own understated way, Thalen provided assistance.
He rarely spoke much in front of other people. He would, however, whisper names while he was by himself in the scullery or when he was carrying laundry near her. Locations. Questions.
"Did you see where the lady in red velvet went after talking with the steward?"
"Behind the picture in the east corridor, there is a loose tile. I discovered it last winter.
She never questioned how he knew so much.
He never inquired as to how she could recall everything.
Sayori would seek refuge at the far end of the servants' quarters at night. She was weighed down by the events of the day, despite her thin blanket and small cot.
She started making lists.
Schedules, names, locations, and strange behaviors. A ledger that only she could recall by memory. She occasionally wondered if this was how men like Fenris kept control—not by giving orders, but by letting silence speak for them—while she stared into the darkness.
A week went by.
Two at a time after that.
She also made a discovery one evening.
She saw a trail — faint and silvery, nearly invisible unless the light caught it just right — while cleaning the tiled floor close to the ancient northern staircase. It felt like dust, but it wasn't. Her fingers brushed against it.
It briefly shimmered before disappearing.
She went after it. Below two flights. Beyond the White Stag Hunt tapestry. Under a thick door that hadn't been unlocked in decades. She just listened; she didn't press the matter—at least, not yet. The faint scraping sound behind it. Something like metal, and a voice.
Not a human.
None of them were familiar to her.
Sayori gradually retreated, mentally noting the door before resuming her duties.
She strolled through the halls that evening to the Alpha's personal quarters. Thalen gave her a quick glance before letting her go.
Fenris stood in front of the fire with her hands firmly clasped in her research.
"You discovered anything," he asked, not raising his head from his work.
Sayori gave a nod. Then, with steady eyes, she raised her head.
"Yes," she said softly. "And I believe something is being made. Or summoned.
Slowly, Fenris turned around.
Brown eyes and red ones made eye contact.
And this time, his voice was more subdued when he spoke.
He whispered, "Keep watching, Sayori."