I never thought my next case would begin with a dusty painting staring at me like it knew all of my secrets.
Actually, scratch that—I don't even know all my secrets, so the painting was already one step ahead.
We were back in the mansion's east wing, the oldest part of the estate, where the air tasted like forgotten stories and suspicious amounts of dust. Hana walked beside me, flashlight shaking in her hand.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" she whispered.
"No," I whispered back confidently. "But I look like I know what I'm doing, and that's half of detective work."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works."
"Shh. Don't ruin my methods."
We stopped in front of the enormous painting: a knight in black armor and a princess dressed in moon-white silk. Their hands almost touched, like the painter froze them at the edge of a promise.
Beneath the frame, a small brass plaque read:
"The Knight Alaric & Princess Lysandra — A Love Tragedy."
Hana sighed. "Oh, this one… the legend about how they fell in love but couldn't be together, so they—"
"Yep. They Romeo-and-Juliet'ed themselves," I finished.
But something already felt wrong. Off.
Like the story had holes big enough to drive a truck through.
I leaned closer. "Tell me again how they… you know."
"Jumped from the tower together," she said quietly. "Hundreds of years ago. Their bodies were found at sunrise."
"Hmm." I tapped the plaque. "Romantic. Dramatic. Suspicious."
"Suspicious?"
"Very."
Because tragedies are poetic…
Murders are messy.
And the story felt messy.
Before Hana could ask more, the ground trembled—just lightly, like the house exhaled.
A click echoed behind the painting.
And then the painting slowly slid sideways.
Revealing a dark passage.
Hana gulped. "Why… does this mansion have so many secret passages?"
"Because rich people are allergic to normal architecture."
We stepped inside.
The corridor went deep, lit only by tiny lanterns that flickered like they'd rather not be here. Old stone walls surrounded us, carved with symbols—moons, swords, crowns.
And then…
A door.
A massive iron door shaped like a shield, with vines of rust crawling across it.
At its center: the carved image of a knight kneeling before a princess.
"Oh great," I muttered. "More romance."
Hana elbowed me. "Open it."
"What if something jumps at us?"
"Then scream. I'll judge you later."
I pushed the door.
It groaned open with the dramatic flair of a horror movie, revealing a chamber filled with parchment scrolls, old books, and ruined furniture.
And in the middle of the room stood a pedestal holding a wooden box.
Locked.
Very locked.
With three different seals.
"One day," I murmured, "I want someone to protect me this much."
"Open the box, genius."
"Fine, fine…"
We worked through the seals—one puzzle of symbols, one metal latch, and one wax seal that looked suspiciously fresh.
Inside were letters.
Dozens.
All addressed between the knight and the princess.
Love letters. Plans to escape. Dreams of running away.
But the last few letters…
Something changed.
Lysandra wrote:
> "They watch us. They know. I fear we will not have time."
Alaric wrote:
> "If anything happens, know that I would never harm you. Never."
Hana swallowed. "This doesn't sound like lovers ready to… uh…"
"Jump?" I finished. "Yeah. Exactly."
We found one more letter, torn and crumpled, hidden under the box.
Different handwriting.
Sharper.
Colder.
> "Their union is forbidden. The throne must stay pure. Handle them before sunrise. Make it look like despair."
Hana covered her mouth. "They didn't jump…"
"No."
My voice felt heavier.
"They were killed. And the killers framed it as a tragic love story."
We kept searching. Behind a collapsed shelf, I found a crest burned into the stone—an emblem shaped like a serpent wrapped around a sword.
"I've seen this before…" I murmured.
Images flashed in my mind—papers, enemy symbols, criminal groups in modern times.
Hana frowned. "Where?"
"In the mirror room. In the files the assistant tried to hide. This isn't just an old legend… this symbol is still being used."
She tensed. "You mean…"
"Yes."
I stepped back.
"This murder isn't ancient history. It's connected to the conspiracy we've been chasing. Someone kept the lie alive for centuries."
And then—
A sound.
Footsteps.
Soft.
Slow.
Too close.
Hana froze. "Someone's here."
I turned off my flashlight.
The chamber dimmed.
My heartbeat tried to escape my chest.
The footsteps stopped just outside the doorway.
Then a whisper:
"You should not have opened that box."
We didn't breathe.
The door creaked.
A shadow fell across the floor.
And a gloved hand reached in.
Hana grabbed my sleeve, whispering, "What do we do!?"
I whispered back the most intelligent thing my terrified brain could produce:
"…Hide and hope they step on a Lego?"
The shadow stepped fully inside now.
We had seconds.
I grabbed Hana, pulled her behind a fallen bookcase, and pressed us against the cold stone wall.
The intruder walked in—tall, hooded, carrying a lantern with that same serpent-and-sword symbol.
My stomach dropped.
"They're part of the same organization," I breathed.
The masked figure slowly inspected the room, searching.
Hana's hand shook against mine.
The intruder stopped.
Turned.
Looked directly at our hiding spot.
Silence.
Then—
The lantern light moved away.
Footsteps retreated.
The door shut.
We exhaled so loudly the dead could've heard us.
Hana whispered, "We're so doomed."
I corrected her gently:
"We're extremely doomed."
But inside my chest, a spark lit up—a detective's spark.
Because this was no simple tragedy.
No ancient romance.
No forgotten story.
This was a murder cover-up that never died.
A conspiracy crossing centuries.
And we were officially in too deep.
Perfect.
Just the way I like it.
To be continued…