There are nights when sleep does not exist.
For Mireille, this was one of them... And the next day arrived far too quickly for her liking.
She had not slept. Not for a second, but had spent the entire night keeping watch over the house. By force — by her sheer willpower alone.
Every time she heard a creak, she opened her eyes. Every time the wind blew, she tightened her grip on the handle of the dagger she was no longer used to carrying.
That morning, she was already up when the first rays of sunlight streamed through the windows of the hall.
Later, at dawn, when the sun — still pink — hit the windows of the large hallway, she had already checked the perimeter three times, the exits twice, and made a complete sweep of the north and west corridors , and the gardens.
Everything was quiet.
...On the surface.
Silas was still asleep — at least, she hoped so. He had looked exhausted the day before.
But this morning, Mimi had made a decision: no more waiting.
No more just watching. It was time to act.
She slipped a dark coat over her shoulders, went downstairs, and without even realising it, placed her hand on the hilt of her invisible dagger.
...An old habit.
An old life she was trying to bury, but which, lately, was coming back to haunt her.
***
The maid found Mael in one of the side lounges, checking the bottles in an antique piece of furniture.
And of course, he had noticed her approaching.
He stood up slowly.
"Up already, Miss Mireille?"
She didn't answer.
He smiled — and it was already too late to pretend.
"Do you have something to say to me this morning?" he asked.
Mimi stared at him. Straight, calm, but relentless.
"You're not a butler."
"Ah."
Mael gave a slight smirk.
"Well... that's that out of the way."
Mireille took a step back.
He took one too, but not backwards — more to the side. Like a fighter looking for an angle. And he was definitely looking for a favourable angle.
"I don't know who sent you, or what exactly you intend to do. But you must leave. Now." Mireille said.
Of course, she knew, but she was lying. One could never be too careful. And it would have been very foolish of her to reveal her cards to an assassin.
Fortunately, Mireille was anything but foolish.
The man tilted his head.
"And if I refuse?"
Mimi softened her voice. Just a little.
"...Then I'll kill you."
No hesitation, no exaggeration... no euphemism.
Just the truth laid out on the table.
Mael looked at her for a long time. Then, without warning—
He laughed.
Not loudly, not nervously. Just... genuinely amused.
"Ah... I understand better why they sent you here, back then. You certainly have the instincts of a war dog."
Mimi didn't bat an eyelid.
"Leave." She said simply.
"And abandon my mission? Hm... no."
Mireille clenched her fists.
"You have no idea what that boy means, do you?" Mael asked suddenly.
She didn't answer.
...Or rather, silence was her answer.
Mael, tired of this little game, finally dropped the act.
His gaze hardened, and this time — at last — he spoke with his true voice. A cold voice, trained, accustomed to giving orders and receiving them.
Not that of a servant. That of an agent.
...That of an assassin.
"The Earl's heir has no right to exist."
Mireille breathed in, very slowly.
There it was. The truth was finally slipping out.
Silas was threatened because he was born.
"Touch a single hair on that boy's head, and I'll dismember you. Slowly." she said.
The butler smiled, but without joy.
"You think you can stop us on your own?"
"Try me, and see."
In the eyes of the young woman before him, he saw her. Not the servant. Not the tired woman.
But the weapon... The survivor.
Mael did not back down. But he did not advance either. He simply adjusted his gloves.
"I am only the first." He replied curtly.
The fake butler sighed, then, relaxing his shoulders and breaking his pose, he added:
"...Keep the child awake and alert. It'll be more fun when he understands why he has to die."
And he left. As if this conversation had been nothing more than a simple mundane exchange.
***
Mireille remained motionless for a long time.
...A very long time.
Then she took a deep breath — just once — and went back upstairs.
She knocked softly on Silas's door. A sleepy voice answered.
"Mimi? It's early..."
She entered the room. Silas was still sitting on his bed, his hair tousled, the pendant still clutched in his fist, and the cord tangled between his fingers — even in his sleep.
"Mimi... what's going on?"
The maid sat down beside him.
...She never did that.
"Listen to me carefully, Master Silas."
He looked up and understood immediately. Not from her words, but from her gaze.
"We're going to have to... leave."
"Leave? The manor? Now?"
She nodded.
"This place is no longer safe. I can protect you. But not here."
The young boy swallowed. His throat tightened.
"Mimi... Is... Is my father in danger too?"
She hesitated, turned her head and stared vaguely at a window. Then she replied:
"Yes."
Silas looked at the pendant. The glow was weaker this morning. As if it too were resting — waiting.
What for? No one could say.
"...So what do we do?" he finally asked.
Mireille stood up.
"We get ready."
Then she added, softly, almost to herself:
"...And we survive."
Silas didn't protest this time.
"Will... will he stop us from leaving?"
"He'll certainly try." She said.
Those three words were enough to make the air shiver.
The young nobleman stood up, took a deep breath...
...and followed her.
***
In the corridors, the servants were already bustling about. But something had changed.
The manor was no longer just tense. It was on edge. Like a fortress awaiting the first shock of war.
Mael was nowhere to be found. Far too nowhere.
And Mireille knew it wasn't over. It hadn't even begun yet.
She would have liked to keep it simple. Take the back roads. Avoid the official carriages. Travel like shadows.
...But they clearly wouldn't have that luxury. Not while the butler-assassin was around.
When they came downstairs, Mael was already there. Standing. In the centre of the hall.
As if he were waiting for them.
Every hair on the back of Mireille's neck stood on end. Silas swallowed. He wanted to hide behind her... but this time, he stayed right by her side.
His shoulder was shaking. But he didn't move.
"Are you going out?" asked Mael, with a polite smile.
...Too polite, even.
"Yes. We have business in town." replied Mireille, without trying to put on an act.
The fake butler bowed his head, perfectly courteous.
"Please. Go ahead." He replied.
But his eyes said otherwise.
"Go ahead and try."
Mireille responded with a look devoid of fear, weakness... or hesitation.
Then she took a step. And Mael did the same.
Silas jumped.
Mimi placed a hand on the young boy's arm, a way of saying, 'Stay with me.'
"I'm afraid the Earl has given other instructions." Mael said suddenly, softly.
"And I'm afraid you're lying." Mireille spat.
They stood facing each other. Motionless.
A maid against a butler.
To anyone else, from an outside perspective, it was ridiculous. But neither of them was what they claimed to be.
Mael tilted his head slightly, as if trying to pierce a secret behind her eyes.
"It's fascinating to see... how far the loyalty of former soldiers goes." He said, almost thoughtfully.
It was subtle. But Silas understood.
Mireille made a slight, imperceptible movement. A blocked breath. Nothing visible — but for Mael, it was enough.
"I was wondering when you were going to stop hiding behind that role..." he continued.
His smile changed, becoming something more sly, more evil... more cutting.
"...Captain Lorne."
Silas's eyes widened.
Mireille, however, did not flinch.
"You know who I am. Good. Then you also know what I'm capable of."
3I have no doubt." Replied the fake butler.
A heavy silence ensued.
Then a tiny detail.
Mael shifted his foot slightly to the side. Just enough to attack. And just enough, too, to defend.
Mireille, for her part, pulled her coat slightly apart. Just enough to reveal the short sheath she wore at her waist.
Silas held his breath.
"You do not have the authority to take the heir from his home." said Mael calmly.
"And you do not have the authority to kill him."
Mael smiled.
"Not here."
Those words were enough. The message was clear.
Outside the manor, Mael and his employers could easily deal with Silas — or any other threat.
But that wouldn't stop her maid from protecting him.
Mireille took a step back and grabbed Silas by the forearm.
"Let's go."
He obeyed, once again. But they only managed three steps.
"Silas."
Mael's voice was not commanding.
Just a voice. A simple voice.
...But the boy stopped despite himself.
"Mimi..."
She did not turn around.
"Continue, young master."
"Silas. That pendant doesn't protect you." Mael reiterated.
He paused briefly.
"...It condemns you."
The young nobleman froze. Then, slowly, he turned his head.
"What are you—?"
The gaze that met his filled the boy with a terror he couldn't quite explain, deep within his being.
Mael looked at him as one might observe an insect about to be crushed underfoot.
"You are a carrier. A catalyst. They will seek you out... And they will find you."
Then, with an almost cruel gentleness, he added:
"...And believe me, she won't be able to protect you from that."
The young nobleman felt his heart sink.
Mireille turned around. Not with anger. Not with panic.
...With coldness. Like a blade drawn in the light.
"If someone has to die in this house... it won't be him." She said softly.
Mael opened his mouth, for the first time... without an immediate response.
Silas took a breath. Then, in a trembling voice, he said something he never thought he would find so difficult to say:
"I... am staying with Mimi."
A declaration. An oath.
...A choice.
Mireille placed a hand on the young boy's shoulder. Not to guide him.
But because she was... proud.
"Very well. Then I suppose we'll have to do this... differently." Replied Mael, who had just lost his smile — slightly.
Mireille felt the danger unfolding—like an invisible blade, ready to strike.
So she spoke one last time, in a calm, cold voice, without trembling:
"Tonight. At the sixth hour after moonrise. In the south garden."
Mael stared at her.
He understood.
She had just set the place and time.
The butler bowed his head.
A salute, an agreement.
...A sentence.
Then Mireille turned away, Silas at her side, and they left the room in silence.
But deep down, only one thought now echoed in the minds of both fake employees.
Tonight, one of them would most likely not live to see the dawn.