The lord led Dorian and Lynette into the grand drawing room. It impressed from the very threshold: high ceilings, heavy, wine-dark velvet curtains cascading to the floor. Along the walls stood shelves filled with leather-bound books, and between them hung paintings in gilded frames.

  So this is what the home of true aristocrats looks like?

  Dorian did not like wasting time on formalities. As soon as everyone sat down—the lord on the opposite sofa, Lynette beside the detective—he went straight to the point.

  “When was the last disappearance recorded?” Dorian asked calmly, without preamble.

  Cliff flinched slightly but answered without hesitation.

  “It has been six days since the kitchen maid’s assistant vanished. Every week, someone disappears.”

  Dorian gave a curt nod.

  “If the pattern holds, tomorrow will be the final day.”

  “Will you save her?”

  Dorian merely shook his head, making it clear that nothing could be done.

  The lord sighed heavily.

  “When did all of this begin?” Lynette asked quietly but clearly.

  The lord looked at her attentively, assessing her, as though searching for a reason not to take her seriously.

  “I didn’t think you, Dorian—a reserved and cautious man—would take on an assistant,” he remarked dryly.

  The detective merely shrugged slightly, demonstratively yielding the initiative to Lynette.

  The lord leaned back against the sofa.

  “It all began while my father was still alive… After losing his wife, he broke. He became a shadow of himself. A few months later, the first servant disappeared. Later… after his death, another maid vanished. From that moment on, every thirty days, someone went missing.”

  “You assume it’s your mother’s spirit?” Dorian interjected. “Judging by the chronology, the intervals are shortening: from a month to a week. That means the entity is gaining strength.”

  The lord remained silent, listening closely.

  “May we move freely around the estate and speak with everyone who works here?” Lynette asked.

  “Yes. I’m ready for anything so that people can feel safe here again.”

  “Excellent,” Dorian nodded. “But something else interests me: why didn’t you simply leave this place?”

  Cliff shrugged.

  “Men can leave the estate. Women, unfortunately, are doomed to vanish. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Her thoughts drifted aimlessly.

  Should I even be here? Seriously… I’m just an ordinary person. Was my situation really so hopeless that I agreed to this?

  “You deal with art?” Dorian suddenly asked, crossing one leg over the other.

  “Yes. Paintings of various genres hang throughout the estate. The previous baron taught me to paint.”

  “That’s all for now. My partner and I will begin our work,” the detective said briskly.

  “Please,” the lord rose and gestured to them. “Consider this house your own.”

  Lynette stood and followed Dorian up the stairs.

  “Do you know where our rooms are?” she asked.

  “Of course. Estates like this are never fully occupied—there are always rooms reserved for guests. Our rooms are opposite each other on the top floor.”

  “The third?”

  “I prefer staying on the upper floor,” he added.

  What’s the reason for that choice?

  “Do you have any thoughts after speaking with the lord?” Lynette asked, leaning slightly forward.

  Dorian paused for a moment, looking at the floor, then quietly said,

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I have a theory… I’ll survey everything myself today. You’ll prepare a report.”

  “A report?” she was surprised. “What exactly should I do?”

  “Question everyone you can. Whether they’ve seen anything strange, how long they’ve worked here, rumors, stories, details—any lead matters.”

  They climbed to the third floor. Along the way, the servants’ calm behavior was striking—as if they were accustomed to living beside horror.

  Aren’t they scared at all?

  “Someone else’s misfortune is just background noise… That’s how they live, clinging to the illusion of safety,” Dorian muttered.

  The corridor walls were lined with paintings: classical landscapes glowing in soft light, portraits with carefully detailed features, and romantic canvases full of emotion.

  They found the rooms quickly. The keys were already in the locks, and they parted without a word.

  Lynette’s apartments were modest but well-kept. On the bed lay a long black bundle.

  She carefully unwrapped it. Inside was practical yet expensive clothing: dark, narrow trousers made of dense fabric, suitable for movement; a light shirt with a high collar; a short jacket without unnecessary decoration; leather shoes with a low heel.

  “A beautiful combination… I like it.”

  After changing, Lynette went down to the hall. The lord was already reviewing documents there.

  I can… I’ll manage.

  “Could you gather all the servants?” she addressed him. “I’d like to speak with them.”

  “Of course.” Cliff waved his hand. “Vern, take care of it.”

  Then he headed to his chambers.

  The Redgrave family’s butler approached Lynette—a gray-haired, elderly man in a strict tailcoat, with straight posture and a restrained, almost impenetrable expression.

  “Lady Lynette, I will gather everyone within a few minutes. Please wait in the hall.”

  She sat quietly, nervously twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.

  Soon, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Lynette straightened her hair and saw the servants lining up behind Vern.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Please come one by one and take a seat.”

  The butler approached first and handed her a folded sheet of paper.

  “The staff list.”

  Lynette unfolded it.

  “Do you have something to write with?”

  “Of course.” The butler handed her a quill pen and an inkwell of dark glass.

  The questioning lasted a long time. The questions repeated, but the answers differed, reflecting each person’s personal experiences.

  The last to approach was the head housemaid — Roselyn.

  “There is another girl on the list,” she said. “Sophie Grel. Unfortunately, she will not come.”

  “Why?” Lynette asked.

  “She’s worked here for two years. People remember her as cheerful and lively. But lately, she’s been saying strange things… and seems to have isolated herself in her room. Perhaps she will be the next one…”

  Lynette listened carefully to all the stories: a strange melody in an empty room, anomalies in the paintings, the feeling of being watched from behind, hallucinations, a growing sense of danger.

  “All right, thank you. You are dismissed,” she said, returning the pen and inkwell.

  With the paper in hand, Lynette went upstairs and knocked on Dorian’s door.

  “Come in,” came the voice from inside.

  Later, Lynette knocked on Dorian’s door. He stood by the window as the sun sank, painting the room in cold shades of violet.

  “What are you looking at?” Lynette asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “At the flowers,” he replied without turning around.

  “The flowers?.. Is there a reason?” she tilted her head.

  “No… there isn’t.”

  He finally turned and looked straight into her eyes.

  “Tell me everything — briefly.”

  Lynette straightened.

  “Let’s start with the main thing. I know who the next target is, so I want to spend all the time before her disappearance with her, to gather as much information as possible.”

  She fell silent, watching his reaction.

  “Commendable. What worries you?” Dorian asked, noticing the concern in her eyes.

  “Is there a way to save her?”

  “There is… But we won’t do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because neither you nor I know how the ghost will behave. Any interference could change the course of events—and not for the better.”

  An open black bag lay on the table, and Dorian carefully pulled out a sheet of paper, slightly longer than a book page.

  “I’ll give you something,” he said, handing her the sheet.

  “What is this?” Lynette took it carefully between her fingers.

  “A talisman.”

  The paper was completely white, yet strange black symbols emerged on its surface—symbols she had never seen before.

  “What language is this?” she asked in surprise. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “The language of exorcists.”

  “Exorcists?..”

  “It says: ‘The essence of good lies in evil.’ Keep it in your pocket. If danger arises, it will protect you.”

  He paused, watching her reaction.

  “What if I give it to that girl?”

  Dorian’s voice sharpened.

  “Have you forgotten our contract?”

  “I understand…” Lynette hid the talisman. “But that means we’re just…”

  “We must be guided by logic, not emotions.”

  He disregards other people’s lives…

  “Lynette…”

  And if necessary—would he sacrifice me too?

  “Lynette…”

  Who can I trust?..

  “Lynette,” Dorian said, his hands cupping her face. The coldness sent shivers down her spine.

  “Y-yes?!” she flinched.

  “I’m talking to you, and you’re lost in your thoughts.”

  “Sorry… I was thinking.”

  “It’s all right. This is all new to you.”

  He stepped back.

  “I need an answer to one question.”

  “Which one?”

  “Who has worked here the longest?”

  Lynette suddenly struck her fist into her palm.

  “Right! I spoke briefly with Cliff, and he said that before his death, his father dismissed all the servants, paying each of them a large sum. Then he hired new ones.”

  “What happened to the previous staff?”

  “According to him, they moved to a nearby town.”

  Dorian’s expression shifted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  What’s going through his mind?

  “From here on, you’ll act alone.”

  “Alone? What about you?”

  “I need to go.”

  “Where to?”

  “To the nearby town. I’ll speak with those who know more.”

  He took his top hat and cane.

  “The answer is always hidden in the past,” he said, stepping toward the door. “I’ll leave the estate in your care. Can you handle it?”

  “Eh… where else would I go…”

  After the conversation, Lynette returned to her room and locked the door.

  Tomorrow Roselyn will wake me. First thing, I need to find that maid… Sophie, I think.

  The coolness of Dorian’s touch still lingered on her cheeks, mingling with the warmth of her body.

  Who would've thought I'd end up in an adventure like this? It's not so scary, so far. Honestly, I thought it would be worse…

  That night, sleep refused to come. Lynette tossed and turned in bed, searching for a comfortable position…

  I hope everything goes well tomorrow…

  As the weight of the day finally eased, she let the silence envelop her and drifted into sleep.