The atmosphere in the manor seemed to have changed recently.
It was quieter.
More... tense.
The servants couldn't quite put their finger on it, but they all sensed that something had settled within the walls.
Usually, the corridors were filled with whispers, hurried footsteps, and orders exchanged in haste.
But in recent days, everything seemed muffled. It was as if the curtains absorbed the voices, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Even the old clocks seemed to tick more slowly, with an almost respectful — or anxious — slowness.
In the kitchen, people involuntarily lowered their voices when speaking. The cooks exchanged sidelong glances every time a door creaked.
In the corridors, the servants jumped at the slightest clatter of plates or boots.
Life in the manor continued as usual... but it felt more like a hesitant dance, where everyone was afraid of missing a step.
Unsurprisingly, this something had a name: Mireille.
For two weeks, since the "thieves" incident, she had hardly slept.
Indeed, Silas's personal maid watched over the estate night and day, as if every second of inattention could cost someone their life.
She moved from one wing of the domain to another, checking doors, windows, hinges, blind spots... sometimes even forgetting to breathe.
She would even stop in the doorway of a room where the household staff were busy, her eyes scanning the room like a silent predator... much to the dismay of the servants.
Conversations would die instantly, and everyone would resume their activities with forced seriousness.
Then Mimi would leave, leaving behind a trail of questions.
Mireille was familiar with this way of operating.
She had experienced it before.
...Far too often.
And the maid had sworn never to fall back into it again.
Yet here she was, back in the same situation.
Some of the servants even whispered among themselves during their working hours — and outside of them.
"She's tired... You can see it."
"Do you think she's afraid of something?"
"Maybe she hears noises that we don't hear..."
But no one dared ask her. Not even the most daring.
Of course, Silas noticed all this too.
One early morning, he caught her returning from patrol, her hair still damp with dew from outside.
The young nobleman stood with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face — a look that did not suit him at all, despite his sixteen years.
"Mimi... are you just coming in now?"
Mireille looked surprised.
She hadn't heard him approach, for another rare occasion... which was no longer so rare these days. And that was worrying.
"Young master, you should still be asleep. It's only four in the morning."
"And you're never in bed. How do you expect me to sleep knowing that you spend your whole nights wandering the corridors?" he replied, frowning.
Pausing for a moment, he added, a touch of concern in his voice:
"I've noticed it for quite some time. You're not... normal, Mimi. Not like the other maids."
Mireille held her breath.
Every time this boy observed too closely, she felt her past coming dangerously close.
"I'm just doing my job, Master Silas."
"No. You do much more than that. And... that's precisely what worries me." He said softly.
Mireille felt a strange warmth wash over her chest.
Concern... for her?
It was perhaps the first time, or the second — on closer reflection — that this had happened.
——Yes, yes… if you really want to know, I felt a litle happy. But never tell him that, please!——
But Mimi looked away.
'Don't worry about it.'
Silas did not insist, but his expression said he meant it nonetheless.
***
A few days later, on a beautiful but tense morning, the manor suddenly welcomed a new face.
Mael Gerivan, a butler, had apparently been hired to 'lighten the staff's workload.'
...Apparently.
The news spread quickly throughout the manor.
"Finally, some help..." whispered one of the laundresses.
"I hear he's someone with a lot of experience." Added a valet.
Yet even amid this palpable collective relief, a tinge of unease lingered. It was as if Mael's arrival felt less like reinforcement and more like a silent shift in the estate's balance.
This newcomer was not unwelcome, given the considerable workload that each employee of the manor had to bear. But for some reason, Mireille did not like this man.
…Not at all.
And as if to prove her right, the unease was immediate.
From the very first hours of his service, the cooks lowered their voices when he entered the room — without knowing why.
The valets stopped joking.
He inspired something... cold.
Worse, as soon as he set foot in the main hall, Mimi knew something was wrong.
He walked too straight. He breathed too calmly.
...He was too observant.
And, as if that weren't enough, when he greeted her, his smile was perfectly neutral.
'Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.'
...Or not.
"Miss Mireille Lorne? It's a pleasure to work with you. If you need any assistance in overseeing the manor, please don't hesitate to ask." Said the butler, in a calm, almost falsely enthusiastic tone.
But Mimi knew that wasn't the case. She even flinched a little, not enough for him to notice — perhaps — but in any case, the discomfort was there.
Why, of all the employees on the estate, did this guy seem to pay particular attention to her?
Besides, how could he know Mireille's name — something she had been careful not to reveal, except to the Earl and his late wife, of course, since they already knew — which even Alciel did not know — not to mention the fifty or so employees on the estate — when he had only just arrived at the manor?
'This man reeks of danger.'
Nevertheless, she returned his smile with one just as impeccable.
"I won't hesitate."
Yet inside, she gritted her teeth.
'He's trained. Very trained. Not a common butler... no offence to them.'
And above all...
He was sizing her up.
***
On the first day, Mireille noticed his walk. Not a sound.
Even on the old parquet floor of the east corridor.
On the second day, he put away the dishes faster than anyone else — but his eyes never left the people around him.
On the third day, she watched him replace a chandelier... with military precision.
On the fourth day, he already had a complete map of the estate. No one knew how.
Every time she thought she had caught him off guard, he was already watching her.
At night, she kept watch and patrolled alone...
But she was no longer sure she was the only one patrolling.
***
In the days that followed, Mireille caught him in several places where he had no real reason to be: in the back kitchen, in the north corridor, near the tool cupboard...
Always alone. Always calm.
Always... attentive.
Later still, she saw him discreetly close a window that he wasn't supposed to be inspecting.
A little too quickly for it to be insignificant. A little too precisely for it to be a coincidence.
Each time, he raised his head slightly to greet her, as if he knew exactly when she would be passing by... And that was the most disturbing thing.
Mimi started keeping a notebook. One page per observation. Nothing compromising written down: just times, places, trajectories.
The manor house slept poorly.
Mireille, not at all.
Life in the Manor tried to continue as usual: meals to prepare, laundry to do, floors to polish.
But something had cracked in the normality.
People worked faster, laughed less, and avoided — consciously or not — long walks alone in the corridors.
Even the horses in the stable seemed much more nervous since Mael's arrival.
In fact, the whole estate sensed that something was amiss. But again, as in Mireille's case, no one really knew what it was.