The routine of the D'Arden household was heavy.

  It had been two weeks since my trip to the lower district and a full month since I woke up in this body. To an outside observer, I was the perfect recovering daughter. I sat still during lectures.

  I recited answers to my teachers and ate my vegetables, like a good noble kid.

  But in reality, I was someone else.

  I had just finished my set of pushups, I was just staring at the ceiling as my heart rate settled down. My physical condition was improving. This child's body was soft and lacked fast-twitch muscle fiber, but it was adaptable. I could not yet do physically demanding activities, but I could pull myself up a ledge without gasping for air.

  This secret maintenance was necessary.

  My official tutors had returned, and they resumed my usual physical activities before the fall.

  Madame Durand, my dance instructor was obsessed over the angle of my chin. She would poked my spine with a wooden rod if I slouched, demanding I glide across the floor like a swan.

  It’s amusing how footwork for a waltz was not so different from the footwork for a knife fight. It was all about balance and weight distribution. I followed her instructions, and she praised my natural grace, unaware that it came from a lifetime of learning how to move silently toward a target.

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead and checked the time. Marin would be in soon.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and mentally reviewed the roster of players.

  Theodore Reinhardt had vanished. I had not seen the golden boy since our walk in the woods. He had stopped coming for visits.

  Strategically, this was a positive development. His absence meant I did not have to act like a simpering victim, and it confirmed that my psychological strike had landed. He was terrified of what he thought I remembered.

  But his silence was also a blind spot. A frightened enemy is useful, but a silent enemy is unpredictable.

  Then there were the days themselves. They were dangerously normal.

  I slept in my warm bed and ate roasted duck. My parents were not the caricatures of evil I had expected based on Seraphina’s memories. The Duke was distant but caring. The Duchess was affectionate.

  The temptation to simply accept this life was a constant low-level hum in the back of my mind. I could just be Seraphina. I could grow up, marry a minor noble, and die of old age.

  But the loose threads kept scratching at me.

  The memory of the cat was still a void. Elodie’s house had burned down, and the townspeople blamed my father. And behind the library shelves, there was a secret door that the Duke visited in the middle of the night.

  My brain refused to let go of the inconsistencies. I was an analyst by trade, and incomplete data sets made my skin crawl.

  The door opened.

  "My lady" Marin whispered. "It is time to wake up."

  I opened my eyes and yawned and so my daily life of pretending has come once again.

  It was the afternoon the light slanted through the windows of the Duchess’s solar, turning dust motes into floating suns.

  I sat opposite to my mother on her tea table. We had been spending more time together since the trip to town.

  "Dule is coming fast," she said, setting her cup down. "You will be thirteen, Seraphina. Can you believe it?" (Dule = January)

  "I suppose so," I said, taking a small bite of lemon cake.

  "And then Havon" she continued, her voice turning wistful. "The Academy term begins. You will be going away." (Havon = february)

  I paused mid-chew.

  The Academy. I had seen references to it in my history books. The standard boarding school for the nobility. Magic theory, politics, etiquette. Networking for the next generation of rulers.

  "Oh Sera, I will miss having you here" she said, squeezing my hand. "But it is for the best. You need to be with children your own age."

  "I am looking forward to the studies" I said.

  "Oh and the social life!" she added, a teasing glint in her eyes. "The Academy is where alliances are made, darling. And the matches oh! Who couldn't forget the matches"

  I felt a pure guttural cringe ripple through my stomach.

  "Matches" I repeated flatly.

  "Do not look so scandalous, my dear!" she laughed. "I am not saying you will marry next year. But the Crown Prince will be in the third year. And the heir to the northern duchy will be in your class. It does not hurt to look."

  I forced a shy smile while my inner self stared blankly at the wall. I was thirty-five. The idea of flirting with a pubescent boy made me want to jump out the window.

  "I will focus on my academy first, Mother."

  "Of course. You are so serious lately. Just like your father."

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  We finished our tea. She talked about dress robes and supplies. I listened and nodded, but my mind was twitching from the amount of girl talk we are having.

  Leaving for the Academy in February (Havon) gave me a deadline.

  If I left the estate, I would lose access to the local mysteries. I would be stuck in a dormitory hundreds of miles away while the secrets of this house remained buried.

  I needed answers before I packed my bags.

  I looked at the clock on the ceiling.

  Tonight’s the night...

  The manor was asleep. I stood by the window of my bedroom, dressed in the simple camouflage clothes I've been saving up by borrowing from Marin’s uniform. They were dark and tight-fitting, minimizing the risk of being spotted.

  I opened the window. The cold night air rushed in.

  Below me, a narrow ledge of decorative stonework ran along the length of the wall. It was perhaps four inches wide.

  The last time I went to the library, I had used the internal corridors and nearly been caught. I would not make that mistake again. The interior was patrolled. The exterior was not.

  I slipped over the sill.

  The wind hit me immediately, tearing at my clothes. I ignored it. My fingers found a grip on the rough stone of the window frame, and I lowered myself until my toes touched the ledge.

  The stone was icy, sucking the heat through the thin soles of my shoes. I tested my weight. The ledge held.

  I began to move.

  I shuffled sideways, face pressed against the cold wall, fingers hooking into the gaps between the heavy stone blocks. I had spent years climbing drainpipes and scaling fences in my previous life. The physics were the same and I always keep two main points of contact. Don't look down and trust your grip.

  The only difference now was the body. My arms were shorter. My reach was limited. I had to compensate with speed and explosive power.

  I reached the corner of the building where the wind whipped around the tower with a howl. I waited for a lull, then swung around.

  The library windows were thirty feet away.

  I moved faster now. My confidence was growing. I was Seraphina the frail noble girl during the day, but right now I was Viper.

  I reached the library window and peered through the glass. The room was dark and empty, no signs of guards inside the library. I took a thin metal tool from my pocket, fashioned from a discarded hairpin. I slid it between the window sashes and felt for the latch.

  Click.

  The window swung inward. I slipped inside and closed it behind me.

  The room was silent but I did not hesitate.

  I moved to the far wall where I last saw a slightly pried open panel. I counted the panels. One. Two. Three.

  I measured the distance from the corner. Two paces.

  I knelt. My hand brushed against the shelf until I felt the irregularity. Then there, A small wooden button hidden on the side panel.

  I pressed it.

  Click

  There was a soft mechanical thud. A section of the bookshelf swung outward.

  Cold air drifted in the secret room.

  I lit a small candle, shielded the flame with my hand, and stepped into the passage.

  It was a narrow corridor of rough stone. I walked forward, expecting stairs leading down into a dungeon or a ritual chamber. Instead, the passage ended after twenty feet.

  It led me into a small square room. Windowless. Lined with sturdy wooden shelves.

  I raised the candle.

  There were no altars. There were no cages.

  But there were chests and half a dozen papers sat on the floor. The shelves were stacked with leather-bound ledgers and scrolls sealed with wax.

  I walked to the nearest shelf and pulled down a ledger.

  Grain Shipments - North District - Year 1452.

  I frowned and pulled down another.

  Mercenary Contracts and Payroll.

  I moved to the chests. The lid of the smallest one was unlocked. It was full of silver coins. Bags of them.

  I sat back on my heels.

  This was no damn lair. This was a bank vault.

  I began to read. I flipped through ledgers and unrolled maps.

  I saw supply lines drawn in red ink. I saw calculations for winter rations that were cut down to the ounce. I saw reports from the northern border about potential raid activity.

  There was a letter on the desk, unfinished, addressed to the King.

  Your Majesty. The frost has taken the wheat. The reserves are sufficient for the garrison but the town will suffer. I request permission to access the royal granary in the capital. If we do not secure the populace the spring levies will fail.

  I stared at the handwriting. It was sharp and angular. This is my father’s handwriting.

  He was begging the King for food.

  He was hoarding the grain in the castle not out of cruelty, but because he was preparing for a siege. He was paying mercenaries out of his own private war chest to bolster the defenses.

  The Duke coming here late at night made perfect sense now. He wasn't doing something nefarious. He was coming here to count his money and worry about logistics.

  I closed the ledger and put it back on the shelf.

  A strange feeling washed over me. It was, relief.

  I looked around the small, dusty room. So this was the heart of the "Iron Duke." Not as evil as I thought. He was just a man trying to hold a failing province together with duct tape. He was rigid because he was terrified of the whole thing collapsing.

  My mother was right. He does think in numbers. He was sacrificing the present comfort of the town to ensure there was a town left in the future. It was cold and calculating, but it was not evil.

  It was just desperate.

  I felt the tension in my shoulders loosen. My mental model of the house shifted. The grand conspiracy was dissolving into something much more mundane.

  This was not a stage play where everyone was a masked villain. It was just a stressed family stuck in a bad winter. The Duke was the pragmatist. The Duchess was the idealist. The servants were caught in the middle.

  It was grounded. It was manageable.

  I stood up and made sure everything was exactly as I had found it. I aligned the ledgers and dusted the floor where I had been.

  I left the vault, walked back down the corridor, and waited until I heard the latch click into place behind the bookshelf.

  I climbed out of the library window and navigated the ledge back to my room.

  The climb back was harder. My muscles were tired and the adrenaline was fading, but I moved with a lightness I hadn't felt an hour ago.

  I slipped into my room, hid my clothes, and climbed into bed.

  The room was dark and quiet.

  The world was still dangerous. Elodie’s house had still burned down. Theo was still hiding a dark secret about a cat. The ledger in the vault did not explain the fire.

  But for tonight, the shadows in the corners of the room looked a little less like monsters.

  I closed my eyes.