My schedule for the day was meant to proceed in order: microbiology, pharmacology, physiology, and finally surgical practice. But a small disturbance at home was enough for me to disregard the first three entirely.
Sacrificing my own time for the sake of perfection only made me more insufferable—thus, I needed to be quick.
Just as this thought crossed my mind, Sebastian knocked on my door.
"Sir, your carriage is ready."
I stood before the mirror and adjusted the sleeves of my shirt. Slight wave in my hair irritated me; messy, unacceptable.
"I'm not going today, Thornwick. Is Jasper awake?" I went straight for the most likely culprit.
"Yes, sir. He is in his room."
"Good. By the way, wake Elora up and tell her to come to my room."
I was serious enough to skip my lectures at the faculty; the certainty echoed in my steps as feet left the carpet. Exited my room and walked toward Jasper's. Behind the door, the metallic clicking of tiny gears drifted outward like mechanical whispers. Knocked gently.
"You may come in!"
I opened the door slowly.
Reddish morning light spilled over Jasper's bronze-colored desk, illuminating the scattered metal pieces like a quiet sunrise caught in a tinkerer's workshop.
"Good morning, Jasper."
"Good morning to you too, brother. Come in—Want to show you the tool I made."
Jasper reached across his desk and picked up a dark metal cylinder—small, compact, sized to fit inside the inner pocket of my coat.
With a single motion, he opened it. The compartments unfurled outward like the petals of a flower.
At the center, gleaming with a silvery shimmer, lay a delicate instrument.
It was no longer than a pen. Small brass gears turned along its body, each click feeding into the next with perfect mechanical precision.
At its tip, a telescoping end extended and retracted—thin as a needle when bare, transforming into a tiny pair of forceps when the mechanism was rotated.
Jasper smiled with modest pride.
"This," he said, "is a multi-purpose micro-manipulator. Every time you turn the gears, it changes function. Tightens screws, bends wires, removes tiny components. I made it long and slim so it fits in your pocket."
He held it out to me.
"I thought it might be useful to you."
I turned the instrument between my fingers, weighing it.
Each rotation of the gears made a faint clicking sound—soft, almost insignificant—yet it irritated me all the same.
"Jasper… this is truly… impressive."
He lifted his shoulders with modest pride.
"And it's not even finished. I'd very much like you to approve of the final version."
I placed the cylindrical device gently on the desk; the metal touched the wood with a light, muted tap.
Then I lowered myself into the chair beside the table, its back against the wall.
My movements were slow, deliberate—heavy with thoughts I was suppressing like a storm held behind glass.
Fixed my gaze on Jasper.
"There is something else I need to talk to you about." My hand lowered toward the floor, palm open, a quiet command.
"Sit."
Expression on Jasper's face collapsed at once. Eager excitement from mere moments ago wilted instantly into dread.
He descended silently, sitting on his knees in front of me.
"I hear you and Laurence have been looking into Mr. MacLeod."
Elora hadn't said whom they were investigating, but it wasn't difficult to guess.
"Even after I said I did not want it done."
My eyes remained fixed on Jasper, unblinking.
"I was going to speak to Laurence first," continued, my tone cold as winter stone.
"But you're the one who likes to make decisions for both of you. So… I'm assuming the idea was yours. Correct?"
Jasper's breath grew shallow, his face flushing with guilt.
"…Correct."
I nodded slowly. No expression.
No surprise, no anger—only calculation.
The matter itself wasn't catastrophic, yet if the townsfolk were to speak of it, curiosity between House Ravencroft and House MacLeod could grow.
And more dangerously: disobedience now would force me to use harsher measures later.
"Deserve your anger."
Jasper's cheeks reddened further, his fingers tightening together unconsciously.
My brother looked like a small, guilty child at my feet—but the matter was anything but childish.
Under the guise of "curiosity," he had crossed a boundary.
I leaned back slightly.
"Anger… is one thing. Violation of my boundaries… is quite another."
There was no shouting in my voice.
Yet Jasper looked as though his knees might give way beneath him.
I rose from the edge of the desk, and as the sound of my steps echoed through the room, Jasper seemed to shrink beneath the weight of not knowing what I might be thinking.
Stopped directly before him.
"What did I tell you?"
Jasper averted his eyes—
even if he tried to muster courage, my gaze would have shattered it effortlessly.
"N–Not to gather information on M–Mr. MacLeod…"
My brother Jasper, in that moment, resembled a botched incision on a cadaver—
a flaw ruining an otherwise perfect procedure.
"And what did you do?"
"I did. But I assure you, brother, we couldn't find anyone named Mr. MacLeod—"
Already knew.
Mr. MacLeod was Mrs. MacLeod.
"So you believe you're adult enough to make poor decisions."
"I'm sorry. I—"
Raised a single finger.
"Don't apologize. Apologizing doesn't fix the mistake." I stepped closer.
From the movement of his chest, I could tell Jasper was holding his breath.
"I set a boundary. You crossed it. There is a consequence for that."
"W–What consequence?"
Said nothing. Simply looked into his eyes—cold, empty, piercing.
Then I placed a hand on his shoulder—
a firm, punishing weight that sank into him.
"This time, you will take your punishment with Laurence. Because you didn't do this alone."
I withdrew my hand.
"Now stand."
He struggled to rise.
As I walked toward the door, I delivered my final words:
"In half an hour, expect both of you in my room. Together."
Then I closed the door behind me.
When I entered, I dimmed the lamp beside the window—
the one that overlooked the sunless side of the manor.
Room plunged into a muted gloom, shadows of books and chemical vials stretching long across the walls. I sifted through the notes scattered across my desk, then picked up my small, black, leather-bound notebook.
As I silently reviewed my sketches, dissection notes, and clinical observations, a soft knock touched the door.
"Good morning, brother. Why did you call for me?"
Elora rubbed her eye, sleep still clinging to her gaze like morning dew.
Closed my notebook with a faint smile.
"My precious one. Shall we make some herbal tea?"
Half an hour later, the twins appeared at the door. Laurence's face was rigid, carved from stone. Jasper's eyes searched for reassurance—and found none. Both of them felt the heaviness that lived in my room.
Just as they were about to step inside, a small voice chimed:
"My brothers!"
Elora was perched on the chair by the window, legs swinging, watching them with bright curiosity. Her cheeks glowed with excitement; she had no idea what awaited them.
"Big brother said I can perform the herbal experiment on you today!" she announced proudly.
"He wants to test my knowledge!"
Jasper and Laurence swallowed at the exact same moment. I lifted my eyes from the book filled with plant notes—
a faint glimmer in them, but no emotion at all. The butler, Sebastian, entered pushing a wheeled table.
Upon it stood six porcelain cups.
Some exhaled soft plumes of steam; others were completely still.
He stopped the table.
I closed my book quietly and stood up.
"Come in."
The twins stepped closer to the table.
As their eyes wandered over the cups, I spoke in an even tone:
"Two of these herbal mixtures heal… four cause harm. If you choose the wrong one, you may experience fever, dizziness, or stomach spasms within the hour. Don't worry—the doses are low enough that they won't poison you."
Elora jumped to her feet, snapping her fingers with excitement.
"I'll help! Big brother taught me all the side effects!"
Laurence's face drained of color. Jasper glanced at me from the corner of his eye; I saw the spark of anger tightening his jaw,
the way his hands curled in silent frustration. Yet he was helpless before me—and perhaps he acted this way precisely because he knew it.
I made a gentle, almost courteous gesture with my hand.
"Begin."
The twins examined the cups one by one. They sniffed them, tilted them, exchanged glances.
My silence behind them swallowed the air whole.
I watched with narrowed eyes.
Elora leaned forward cheerfully, gazing up at the ceiling as she began counting on her fingers.
"Before you stand teas made from foxglove, hemlock, belladonna, um… yes… blueberry leaf, nightshade, and—oh!—the yew needles from our garden."
"You are marvelous, Elora," I praised, and at the sound of my voice the boys' throats constricted, their skin bristling to their jaws.
"Can you tell your brothers the side effects?" I rested a hand on each of their shoulders.
Elora continued, afraid that pointing at the cups might betray their identities, so she closed her eyes and simply recited:
"Nightshade can cause dizziness, foxglove affects the heart rhythm—makes the chest feel tight… Hemlock causes numbness in the hands, stomach cramps… and then the yew needles…"
"That is enough, Elora."
Leaned my head between the two boys, smiling.
"They have understood well enough how each might affect them. You may drink now—don't think of this as punishment. Consider it a contribution to the country. If Scotland could speak, it would be proud of you."
Twins looked at the cups. Sweat from tension slid down their temples as they made their choices. Laurence clenched his teeth. Jasper held his breath. And they drank. Their fingers trembled slightly as they set the cups back down.
I looked at their faces.
"One of you chose correctly."
Jasper exhaled sharply, nearly collapsing.
"One of us? You said there were two healing teas."
"When Elora was listing them, I realized there was only one. My mistake."
As I returned to my chair, gently ruffled Elora's hair.
When Laurence began breathing rapidly and sank to his knees, Sebastian seized him by the arm and led him out. A heavy silence settled behind them.
As the door closed slowly, Laurence's strained breaths echoed down the corridor—then faded.
Only the three of us remained.
Stood with my hands clasped behind my back, my head slightly tilted.
Jasper's breath was unsteady; only two minutes ago he had watched his twin collapse, trembling.
Elora stood beside me, but her gaze was fixed on the floor; her fingers twisted the fabric of her dress.
I turned to her with a gentle smile.
"Don't be afraid, Elora," Said calmly, "we adjusted the doses together. Nothing will happen to Laurence."
Elora lifted her head. In her eyes was a hesitation a child cannot hide.
"If you say so…"
"Of course I say so." I gestured toward the door. "Now go, little lady."
Elora bowed her head obediently and headed toward the door. As it closed, the dimness of the corridor outside made the tension in the room grow even heavier.
The moment, door fully shut, false softness on my face vanished. When my eyes turned to Jasper, I was pure ice.
"Jasper. You stay."
Jasper lowered his head and waited; he knew there was no escaping me.
I walked with slow steps, brushing my fingers along the edge of the table, and stopped directly in front of him.
"You saw what happened just now, didn't you?" I said.
There was no shouting in my voice. I was very calm.
Jasper parted his lips. "Brother, this doesn't feel right."
"It doesn't feel right to me that you scheme behind my back, either. Look at Elora—does she ever get punished?"
I stepped closer.
Jasper reflexively tried to retreat, but there was a wall behind him.
"You should have punished only me."
I lifted Jasper's chin lightly with my fingertips; I wasn't using force, but the authority beneath the touch was unmistakable.
"I did give you a punishment, Jasper," Lowering my head slightly to his level. "I know you care about your twin. His pain must have hurt you more than your own would have."
Jasper didn't dare lift his head. I saw his knuckles turn white; he was trying to hide both his anger and his guilt.
When I released him, he turned toward the door.
"Jasper."
His shoulders flinched involuntarily. Slowly, he turned back to me.
"Now tell me—what is the result of your investigation? Your brother's writhing should bring some benefit, shouldn't it?"
When my eyes met his, stare cut his breath short. He swallowed.
"We found… two MacLeods," he said. His voice was muffled, laced with shame.
"One is the Martin MacLeod I mentioned before… and the other is his daughter, Miss Jane Florence Euphemia MacLeod."
"Two," I repeated.
"Is this all you managed to distill from such an extensive investigation?" There was contempt in my voice. "The lady of the family? A relative? A vast lineage, a connection, an enemy, a debt… nothing?"
He looked away. "Mr. Martin… lost his wife three years ago."
There was a brief silence. Then I turned my head toward the window; my view was dim, the backs of the yew trees veiled in mist.
"I see. You may leave."
As he reached for the doorknob, I struck the final blow—deliberate, precise.
"As I expected… you gathered information I did not ask for."
The guilt, fear, and helplessness on Jasper's face were stark for a moment. Then the door opened slightly, and Jasper slipped out as if falling into silence.
As the door closed, I drew a deep breath.
"So… Miss Jane Florence Euphemia."