The storm had passed, but Crosswind Manor remained shrouded in silence, as if mourning its dead.
Detective Inspector Elias Locke stood by the library's bay window, watching the sun rise sluggishly over the moor. A thin mist curled along the cliffs, diffusing the early light. The manor creaked and settled around him, a living thing slowly exhaling after a long, violent night.
Avery had confessed. Locke had seen confessions before—raw, calculated, coerced—but something about this one had been too... tidy.
He turned toward the library desk. The scene had been cleared; Julian's body taken, the blood scrubbed, the letter opener sealed in evidence. Yet the air still carried the faint scent of wax, smoke, and old secrets.
Locke's eyes wandered to the fireplace. The ashes were black, cold now. He crouched and stirred them with the fire iron, revealing a half-burnt paper fragment he hadn't noticed before. The ink was smeared, but one phrase was legible:
"Not safe... if they find out—"
A creak echoed down the hall.
He turned sharply. Footsteps.
Moments later, Celeste Dove stepped into the library. Her coat was draped over one arm, a leather satchel hanging from the other.
"I forgot my manuscript," she said, offering a weak smile. "It's ridiculous, I know. But I couldn't leave without it."
Locke raised an eyebrow. "Not many would return to a murder scene for paperwork."
"It's more than paperwork," she replied, a tremor in her voice. "It's the only thing I have left to prove I'm worth anything."
He gestured for her to take it. As she rifled through a drawer in the writing desk, Locke studied her face. No makeup this time. No theatrics. Just fatigue.
When she left, he waited until her footsteps faded.
Then he opened the drawer she'd been at.
Inside was the manuscript, yes—but something else had shifted.
Beneath the manuscript lay a small, black notebook, embossed with the Harrington crest.
It hadn't been there before.
Locke picked it up.
Inside were notes in Avery's hand—his precise script unmistakable—but one page stuck out:
"I overheard Julian speaking to her again. The girl. Isobel. Why is he protecting her? What does she know?"
Locke's eyes narrowed. Avery had claimed he discovered the new will only after overhearing the dictation... but this entry was dated two days earlier than Julian's journal reference to Celeste.
Meaning: Avery knew too much, too soon.
And someone had hidden this notebook—someone who didn't want Locke to read it.
The manor creaked again. Locke slipped the notebook into his coat and stood, mind already sharpening.
Maybe Avery had been telling the truth.
But maybe he hadn't been alone.