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When the door clicks shut, Theo exhales and keeps walking.
He descends the staircase and veers into the wrong hallway on purpose.
It’s longer than he anticipated, and after a while, the hall narrows, ceiling sloping slightly, the sconces thinning out until the corners blur into shadow. The air is still, stale, faintly colder than the rest of the house.
He passes three identical doors before the fourth one stops him. It’s unremarkable in design but wrong somehow—off-center molding, the doorknob too dull compared to the others. He angles his head, inspecting it, trying to pinpoint what sets it apart. Maybe it’s the way it sits unevenly in the wall, or the faint draft whispering through the seam. Whatever it is, it feels older. Watched.
He glances up and down the corridor, half-expecting another of Tillie’s restless after dark creaks, then curls his fingers around the knob and twists it.
Locked. Of course. He presses lightly, testing it again just to be sure. No give.
A low sigh escapes him. “Would’ve been too easy,” he whispers to himself.
He catches his distorted reflection in the brass. He is utterly disheveled, not exactly the picture of stealth. “Should’ve brought the damn pick,” and leans in to study the lock anyway.
“Curiosity can be an expensive habit, Mr. Grayson.”
Theo turns sharply, breath catching as he jerks toward the sound, heart kicking against his ribcage before his brain can catch up.
Giles stands at the end of the hall, half in shadow, posture immaculate, hands clasped behind his back. It’s impossible to tell how long he’s been there—or how he got there without a sound.
Theo schools his expression into something neutral. “Didn’t mean to intrude. Thought it might be a way out to the drive. I left something in the car.” He pauses, then adds dryly, “Is there a preferred route for guests?”
Giles steps closer, unhurried. “That door doesn’t lead outside.” His tone is measured, final. “You won’t find what you’re looking for down there. And there’s no need to trouble yourself with the cold.” His eyes, pale and assessing, catch the dim light. “I can fetch sleeping pills for you.”
Theo is unsettled. “That obvious?”
Giles doesn’t answer right away, and Theo’s suspicion sharpens. The man must’ve been eavesdropping, lurking just out of sight while he spoke with Tillie. Wouldn’t surprise him. Maybe Giles is the reason she can’t sleep at all, the so-called presence that keeps the halls creaking and her nerves on edge.
He turns and gestures for him to follow. “This way.”
Theo hesitates, just long enough to weigh his options. He decides that making an enemy of one of the house staff in the middle of the night isn’t worth it, then follows.
The kitchen is dark except for the under-cabinet lights, gleaming faintly off polished marble and chrome. Everything is too clean.
Giles moves smoothly, all confidence and routine, opening a high cabinet and retrieving a small amber bottle. The label is faded.
He sets it on the counter, then fills a glass from the sink. “Two should do.”
Theo takes the bottle, turns it over in his hand. No name. No dosage. Just trust. Something he’s not known for. “Appreciate it,” he says, though he is not sure it sounds convincing.
The refrigerator hums softly beside him. It’s a sleek, black smart model with a digital display glowing faint blue. It looks out of place among the older fixtures, too modern, too knowing. A red notification blinks: Recording inactive—restart recommended.
Giles follows his gaze. “New addition,” he says.
Theo hums. “Of course.”
He shakes two pills into his hand. Giles watches him closely. There’s no pretending this isn’t a test.
Theo forces a small nod, tips the pills into his mouth, and lifts the glass. He swallows—or at least pretends to. The tablets press against the inside of his cheek, bitter and chalky.
Giles’s gaze doesn’t waver. “All better, then?”
Theo sets the glass down. It clinks against the counter top. “Soon, hopefully.”
For a moment, he’s half-convinced Giles will ask him to open his mouth and say ahhh, just to prove he swallowed them. Instead, the butler inclines his head, his response smooth and final. “Good night, Professor Grayson. I suggest you stay in your room for the remainder of the evening. The house tends to creak when disturbed. Mrs. Mayfair needs her rest, and she doesn’t take kindly to unexpected noises.”
Theo nods, because it’s easier than telling Giles he doesn’t think Mrs. Mayfair is the type to not take kindly to things. He leaves the kitchen, the faint hum of the fridge following him out the door, the pills still dissolving bitterly against the inside of his jaw.
