“There’s no one here, Lucy,” he assured gently. “It must have been a shadow cast from the moonlight. Or perhaps a reflection.”
But I stood frozen, staring at the place where the face had been.
Because I knew what I’d seen.
Even if no one, including myself, believed it.
Sylum returned to me slowly, closing the french doors behind him. His expression was composed, gentle even, but I saw the briefest look of unease there before he smoothed it away.
“Come,” he murmured, offering his arm. “I’ll escort you up to your room.”
I swallowed, forcing a steady breath as I placed my trembling hand against his sleeve. “I’m fine, really. It was… a trick of the light, as you said.”
His brows creased, just for a moment, before he gave me a reassuring smile. “Of course. Moonlight can play all manner of tricks on the mind.”
He guided me out of the dining room, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back, but my heart refused to slow.
My pulse skittered like a frightened bird trapped in my ribs as we climbed the grand staircase side by side. Each shadow we passed seemed to lean toward me. Each portrait glared with too-wide eyes.
I glanced behind us, half certain I would see another face—his face, but not—lingering just beyond the candlelight.
Sylum mistook the anxious glances for lingering fright. He slowed his pace, bending slightly to catch my gaze. “If something is troubling you,” he murmured, “you know you can tell me.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing another small smile. “Truly, Sylum, it was nothing.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he said nothing more as we reached the landing. He walked me to my chamber door, releasing my hand only when I reached for the latch.
He hesitated.
“Lucy…” he said softly, the word suspended between us. “If you want company tonight, I can stay. Or, if you’d prefer, I can send Nelly up to you.”
I waved a dismissive hand, though the movement was too quick, too defensive. “Sylum, please. I’m fine.”
Fine. Perfectly fine.
A lie I clung to by the thinnest thread.
His gaze lingered on my face before his hand lifted slowly, brushing his knuckles along the scar on my cheek in a feather-light caress.
“If you’re certain,” he said, frowning.
“I am.”
His hand fell back to his side. “Sleep well, Lucy.”
And then he stepped away, slowly, as if waiting to see whether I would call him back.
I didn’t.
He turned and disappeared down the hall, his footsteps fading into the thick hush of the manor.
I slipped inside my room and closed the door. Leaning back against it, I pressed a trembling hand to my sternum. My heart was still racing violently, as though it recognized something my mind simply refused to accept.
And somewhere in the manor, faint and distant, a whisper of laughter drifted through the walls.
Not quite Sylum’s.
Not entirely unfamiliar.
