The moment Mirelle left the dining hall, Noir slipped through the edge of Noel's shadow like smoke dissolving into air.

The mansion's corridors were quiet—too quiet. The faint hum of mana-lamps cast long, still silhouettes along the marble walls. To anyone else, it would have looked like a simple walk after dinner. But Noir's instincts prickled.

The woman's perfume, once sweet, now carried something rotten beneath it—metallic, sharp, wrong. Noir's nose twitched as she followed soundlessly, padding across the crimson carpet with her paws barely touching the ground.

Mirelle moved with elegance, chin held high, every gesture deliberate. She didn't look around once, as if she already knew no one would dare follow her. The faint click of her heels echoed ahead, leading Noir toward the side wing of the estate—the one rarely used since the reconstruction years ago.

'Where are you going…?' Noir thought, staying close to the wall.

The woman stopped before a narrow archway veiled by curtains of dark velvet. With a single glance over her shoulder—unseeing, detached—she pressed her hand against the wall. A soft pulse of mana answered, and the stone door slid open, revealing the cold shimmer of the garden beyond.

Noir waited, breath still, until the door began to close again. Then she darted forward, flattening herself into the narrowing space and slipping through like a living shadow.

Outside, the night air was cool and heavy, filled with the scent of dew and damp earth. The sound of distant waves reached faintly from the coast below the cliffs. Mirelle's figure moved across the moonlit path toward the inner garden—a place few servants dared to enter after dusk.

Noir's fur bristled slightly. 'Something's wrong here. Very wrong.'

Moonlight spilled through the open arches of the old pavilion, silvering the worn stone and the ivy that crept up its pillars. Mirelle's steps echoed softly as she approached the fountain at the center — dry, cracked, and forgotten.

Waiting for her were two figures: a young man and a young woman.

"You came," the woman said, her tone smooth, approving.

Mirelle adjusted her gloves, unbothered. "Of course. I'm not one to miss the beginning of my own ascent."

The man chuckled under his breath. "Confident, aren't you?"

"I've waited years for this," Mirelle replied coldly. "Albrecht's fall will make House Thorne stronger. With him gone, the family will finally have a real leader—someone capable of restoring its name."

"And that leader," the woman murmured, stepping closer, "will be you."

Mirelle's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "As it should be. I don't care how it happens. Whether the monsters kill him or he dies by other means — the result is the same."

The man gave a slight nod. "Then consider it done. When the horde arrives, we'll make sure he doesn't leave the battlefield alive. You'll take your rightful place as matriarch, and the family will follow you."

Mirelle didn't ask why they were helping her, nor what they stood to gain. She didn't care. Ambition had already blinded her to everything else.

From the shadows near the hedge, Noir crouched low, her fur bristling.

'They… they want to kill Dad's dad?' she thought, her mind racing. 'I know my dad doesn't like him… but he has to save him, right? He has to… if it means saving the house.'

Her tail twitched anxiously. 'I need to tell him. Now.'

The moon hung higher now, spilling pale light across the cracked tiles of the pavilion. The man's gaze suddenly shifted, his crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly toward the hedges where Noir hid. His expression didn't change—only the faintest flicker of focus crossed his face before he smiled again.

"Someone's watching," he murmured softly.

The woman tilted her head, her cold blue hair catching the light. "Again?" she whispered back, her tone amused rather than alarmed.

Mirelle stiffened immediately. "What?" Her voice trembled slightly despite her effort to sound composed. "You said no one could track us here—"

"They can't," the man interrupted, calm and dismissive. "Not easily, anyway. But the presence is faint. Whoever it is, they're skilled at hiding."

The woman gave a soft, almost playful laugh. "Last time you panicked and scared it off, remember? Let's not repeat that."

Mirelle's gloved hands curled into fists. "You don't understand. If anyone finds out I'm meeting you—"

"They won't," the man said firmly, eyes glinting in the dark. "The last one escaped because you acted out of fear. This time, stay still. Let us handle it."

The woman stepped closer to him, her voice a quiet hum. "I'll make sure our guest doesn't run away again."

And just like that, her form shimmered—her entire body flickering like light reflected on water. A second later, she was gone.

Noir's ears flattened. The scent hadn't vanished—it multiplied.

Two identical scents now. One moving closer.

'No… she didn't leave,' Noir realized, pressing herself lower into the shadows. 'She copied herself. One's still here.'

Mirelle's anxious whisper broke through the tension. "Are you sure this is safe?"

The man gave a patient smile, his tone smooth and unwavering. "Completely. If there's truly someone watching, they won't stay hidden for long."

Beneath the hedge, Noir's pulse quickened. 'I need to move before they find me.'

Noir darted between the hedges, her paws barely touching the earth. The once-still gardens of House Thorne now felt like a maze of danger.

Behind her, she could hear faint footsteps. The shadow clone of the woman moved like mist, gliding through the air, tracking her scent.

'Dad… I need help!' Noir's voice shot through Noel's mind, urgent and trembling. 'They found me. I'm in the gardens near the eastern fountain!'

Noel froze, the fork halfway to his mouth. Around him, the family still ate and spoke under candlelight, oblivious to the chaos blooming outside.

He set the fork down quietly and pushed his chair back. "Excuse me," he said evenly, his tone calm. "I'll be right back—need to clear my head for a moment."

Albrecht gave a faint nod, still mid-conversation with Elyra. "Don't take too long."

Noel gave a polite half-smile and stepped away, his pulse steady but his eyes sharp. The moment he crossed the doors of the dining hall, the polite facade vanished.

'Hold on, Noir. I'm coming.'

Outside, the night air hit him like a wave—cold, heavy with mana. He could already sense faint fluctuations toward the eastern gardens, small but controlled. Whoever they were, they were skilled.

His steps quickened as he slipped through the corridors, hand brushing against the familiar weight of Revenant Fang resting on his back.

"Shadow Step," he whispered.

The world blurred into darkness. In a blink, he emerged behind the hedge-lined path that led toward the fountains. He could see Noir now—small and quick, darting between trees as a faint shimmer of illusion chased her, silent and predatory.

Noel's eyes narrowed. "Got you."

Electric mana crackled faintly across his arm as he raised his hand, the sigil of a lightning spell already forming.

"Voltage Needle."

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