The manor felt colder now.
Not because the servants lowered the heat, but because grief had a way of freezing the bones of a house. Every corridor Evelyn walked felt hollow, emptied of breath, like the walls were holding themselves together out of pure obligation.
Her wedding dress was still in her room—half crumpled, half draped over a chair—like a corpse left sitting upright.
She hadn't touched it since the moment she heard Damien was dead.
And now… now the investigation had begun.
Sira hovered anxiously as Evelyn stood at the top of the staircase, watching men in dark coats swarm the entrance hall. Investigators. The type her family paid too much money for and trusted too blindly.
Sira whispered, "My lady… maybe you should sit. You haven't slept."
Evelyn didn't take her eyes off the men below.
"I'm not fucking sitting. I want to hear everything."
Sira flinched at the bite in her voice but didn't protest. She knew better.
Footsteps echoed—Elena bursting in through the front door. Her auburn hair was wind-whipped, her cloak half undone.
"Evelyn!" Elena rushed forward, gathering her into a crushing hug. "Gods, I came as soon as I heard. What the hell happened? They said it was—"
"Don't." Evelyn's throat tightened. "Not yet."
Elena nodded, though her eyes were already glossy.
A man in a charcoaled coat, the lead investigator, stepped forward. Broad-shouldered. Stern. Emotionless in a way that made Evelyn want to break something across his skull.
"Lady Moreau," he greeted. "We have preliminary findings."
"Say it," Evelyn demanded.
Sira squeezed her arm gently, but Evelyn didn't budge.
The investigator cleared his throat.
"We found Lord Damien's body in the west wing hall. Based on the condition of—" He paused, measuring her expression. "Based on his injuries, the killer was extremely strong. Unusually so."
Elena's grip on Evelyn's hand tightened.
"What injuries?" Evelyn asked, voice sharp, controlled.
The man exhaled. "His heart, my lady. It was removed."
Sira gasped softly, covering her mouth. Elena staggered back a step.
Evelyn felt nothing for a moment. Nothing but a slow, burning numbness curling under her ribs.
"Removed," she repeated, emotionless. "As in… cut out?"
"No." The investigator shook his head. "Ripped out."
The room spun around her for a heartbeat. But Evelyn steadied herself. She would not break. Not here. Not in front of these men who saw her as a hysterical future widow.
"Who the fuck could do that?" Elena whispered. "What kind of monster—"
"That's what we intend to find out," the investigator replied. "There are… unusual elements. The wound was precise, but the force required—well. It's not human."
Something inside Evelyn clenched.
Not human.
A whisper slid down her spine like cold fingers.
She thought of that night weeks ago. That dream—no, that presence—standing at the foot of her bed. Glowing eyes. Wings like a storm.
She swallowed hard.
No. Impossible.
The investigator turned to her again. "Did Lord Damien have any enemies, Lady Moreau?"
Evelyn let out a hollow laugh. "He was a Voss. His entire life was built on enemies."
A murmur rippled among the investigators.
"And did you," he pressed, "observe anything unusual the days before his death? Behavior? Objects? Visitors?"
Evelyn hesitated.
Sira looked at her. Elena looked at her.
They knew she was lying before she even opened her mouth.
"No," Evelyn said softly. "Nothing unusual."
By midday, the investigations moved deeper into the manor. Doors slammed. Boots stomped. Voices echoed. The entire house felt like it was being torn apart one question at a time.
And that's when the rumors began.
Whispers from servants.
Whispers from guards.
Whispers that slithered like snakes through the marble halls.
Elena found Evelyn near the back staircase, massaging her temples.
"They're saying it wasn't a human," Elena said quietly.
Evelyn's jaw tightened. "And what the fuck would that even mean?"
"That someone… or something… came for him." Elena swallowed. "That a creature ripped his heart out. That he was cursed. Or marked."
"And how would they fucking know that?" Evelyn snapped.
Elena hesitated.
"…Because more than one servant heard him fighting with someone last night. Someone he called 'you bastard angel' before he screamed."
Evelyn froze.
Angel.
Her blood ran cold.
She shook her head violently. "No. No. Elena, don't start with this shit. The staff always makes up bullshit—"
"Evelyn." Elena's voice softened. "Something is going on. Something big."
Sira approached nervously. "Some say… it wasn't Damien who was supposed to die."
Evelyn's lips parted. "What?"
"That maybe it was targeted at the house. Or the family. And since… since you were set to marry him…" Sira trailed off, gaze dropping.
Elena stepped closer. "Whatever took Damien might not be done."
A chill crawled up Evelyn's spine.
The funeral came that evening.
Too soon. Too rushed. Too forced.
The Voss family insisted—appearances, arrangements, reputation. Damien's parents cried like porcelain dolls cracked at the edges. Hollow, perfect, rehearsed.
Evelyn stood before the coffin, staring at the polished wood, forcing herself not to imagine what lay inside.
Sira stood by her side.
Elena on the other.
And all Evelyn could think was:
Someone ripped out Damien's heart.
And they might be coming back.
She didn't know yet that someone was.
But not for Damien.
For her.