One night, concern turned to certainty.
As Mireille inspected the great hall, more out of habit than anything else, a shiver ran through the air.
Not a strange noise. Not a breeze coming through an open window.
Something more... unsettling.
She looked up.
Upstairs, Silas stood motionless, a strange pendant — from which hung a jade crystal — clasped between his fingers.
A faint glow pulsed from the palm of his hand.
"Master Silas?" she called in a low voice.
The teenager jumped slightly, as if waking from a daydream.
"Mimi... This medallion... I feel like it's... breathing."
She climbed the stairs quickly, attentively.
"Show me."
Silas complied, and the light pulsed again, like a distant heartbeat.
"Mimi... do you... do you think it's reacting to me?"
She didn't answer.
She knew enough about relics to know that none of them glowed for no reason.
And if this one was awakening in Silas's presence...
...then he was indeed connected to her.
Directly.
Very bad news.
Suddenly, a footstep echoed at the bottom of the stairs.
Maël came out of nowhere, standing in the shadows.
His face was, as usual, calmly smiling. Too calm, in fact, for the late hour.
"Everything okay here?" he asked in a perfect tone.
Mireille silently but quickly moved in front of Silas.
A simple, instinctive gesture.
But also a silent statement.
"Silas, stay behind me."
She never spoke to the young nobleman like that.
With him, she always kept up appearances.
Always.
...Except to signal a threat. Or immediate danger.
The young master stiffened. She had just called him by his first name.
"M-Mimi... w-what's going on?"
She stood motionless, her eyes fixed on Maël.
The intruder spoke, taking a step forward.
"It's nothing. I just wanted to make sure that—"
"Don't come any closer."
He stopped.
His smile disappeared.
Mireille breathed in slowly.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Her fingers opened slightly, as if to grasp an invisible weapon.
She was becoming who she had been.
The person she had tried to bury.
In Silas's hand, the pendant glowed brighter, as if it recognised... something.
...Or someone.
The tension exploded in the air.
'Very well. If it all has to start again now... then I'm ready.' She thought.
The silence in the room was so tense you could cut it with a knife.
Maël didn't move. But it wasn't surprise — it was observation.
A cold analysis.
"I see. So you're that kind of woman." He murmured.
Mireille did not reply.
She gauged her footing, the distance, her breathing, and moved to re-centre her gravity. Even without a visible weapon, she had already established three ways to neutralise him, five to take him down... and only one to survive with the boy behind her.
Silas was still clutching the pendant, too tightly, his fingers white with tension.
Maël spoke with a gentleness that sounded false:
"Master Silas, you should let your servant rest. You have nothing to fear. As long as you—"
"Shut up."
Mireille had cut him off sharply.
She hadn't raised her voice... Which made it all the more chilling.
Maël stared at her. His smile returned, but this time it didn't even reach his eyes.
"Very well. I see that my services are not... appreciated. But we will have other opportunities to talk." he said at last.
Then, slowly, he bowed.
A perfect bow. Too perfect.
The bow of someone who had learned etiquette... but only after learning how to kill.
He withdrew with the same disturbing elegance he had displayed since his arrival. Only the distant sound of his footsteps broke the tension.
Silas turned to Mireille, worried.
'Mimi... what was that?"
She didn't answer right away. The maid waited until the footsteps were no longer audible, until the air stopped vibrating.
Then she turned to the young nobleman, slowly, her voice deeper than ever.
"Listen to me carefully, Master Silas. From now on... you never stay alone. Ever."
He swallowed.
It wasn't a suggestion.
It was an order.
"You must not show this pendant to anyone or give it to anyone. You must not drop it. You must not lose it." The servant continued.
The boy nodded, still trembling.
Mireille sighed, her shoulders relaxing.
"And by the way, where did you find this pendant?" she asked suddenly.
"I-In the attic, I think... It was lying around in an old chest. And... I don't know, Mimi. It's as if it called out to me."
The maid stared at the object for a moment, perplexed, observing the jade reflection and the pulsations emanating from it.
"Mimi... did Maël—"
"Yes."
Silas didn't ask any more questions. He didn't need to.
Mimi motioned for him to go back to his room — and this time, he obeyed without protest.
When Mireille closed the door behind him, she remained in the hallway.
Standing. Silent. Her eyes fixed on the darkness.
The mansion had become still again... Too still.
She didn't sleep a wink that night.
…Or the next.
***
The following days were even worse.
Maël didn't change his habits.
He worked, talked, greeted people — just like a model butler.
But Mireille felt his presence everywhere. Behind half-open doors. In the reflection of a vase. A few moments too long in the doorway of a corridor.
He would sometimes give her a look that he intended to be respectful.
But she knew what it was.
...A provocation.
A simple but discreet: 'I see you.' Sometimes it was something more direct. A 'I know.'
At night, she could hear him walking. Even when everyone else was asleep... Even when he shouldn't have been in that wing of the manor.
Silas did his best to follow his personal maid's instructions.
He had stopped wandering off. He looked for Mireille more often. And sometimes, when he thought she couldn't see him, he would clutch the pendant nervously in his hand.
He tried to be brave. But he was only sixteen.
…Still a child.
Mireille, on the other hand...
She had not been a child for a long time... And had never really been one — truth be told.
***
One evening, Silas had dinner with his father — the Earl Wrighton.
It was a brief, quiet dinner, seemingly unimportant. But Maël was serving the wine.
And just seeing him behind the Earl, silent, his hands perfectly placed, created such tension that Mireille felt a lump in her throat.
Silas caught her eye from a distance. Just for a moment.
She read the question in his eyes:
"Is he going to do something?"
She answered him without a word:
"Not while I'm here."
***
That same night, she made up her mind. She couldn't just watch.
She had to know.
Mireille waited for him to go out on his night patrol. Then she followed him.
Not on foot. With her shadow.
The same shadow that had earned her a promotion to captain years ago, when she was only seventeen.
Maël walked through corridors he had no reason to know. He went down the service stairs. Then... towards the cellars.
He moved a lantern. He searched for something behind some crates. Then he took out an object hidden in a dark cloth.
Mireille squinted.
A weapon. Not a dagger. Not a knife.
Just a curved blade, thin, strange, made to kill quickly and silently... And resting against the wood, a folded sheet of paper — of which she could only see the first few words, written in clear letters:
~Report on the 4th carrier: progress and resonance confirmed.~
Her breath caught in her throat.
Carrier... The relic.
Silas.
Maël didn't move for a moment, then calmly got up and put everything away. After that, he disappeared without a sound.
Mireille remained hidden in the shadows for a long time... Too long.
Her heart was pounding.
Then, after finally stabilising her presence and her calm, she moved.
The maid slowly made her way back up to the manor, silently and in complete darkness. But that hadn't been a big problem for her in a long time.
Inside — at least, from what she could see in the hall — the whole house was asleep. Maël too, probably... but she wasn't counting on that possibility too much.
In any case, she would not sleep anymore.
Mireille stopped at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes were open, her fists clenched.
She knew now. She was certain.
Not only that he was a murderer. But that he was not alone.
That he was obeying someone. Someone she knew.
And above all...
That time was running out... Very quickly.
She looked up at the upper floor, at Silas's bedroom. And her decision was clear:
The next day... she would take him away from the manor if she had to.