The snow fell heavier that morning, blanketing the manor grounds in white silence. Nicole hadn't slept. The images of the dungeon clung to her like a fever dream the stench of blood, the hollow eyes of the dying, the sound of Jasper's voice saying "They were already lost."
No matter how many times she washed her hands, she could still feel the cold iron bars beneath her fingers.
Clarice arrived by afternoon, her cloak shimmering faintly with melting snow. She took one look at Nicole's pale face and dismissed the servants with a wave of her hand.
"Talk," she said simply. "You look like death, my friend."
Nicole hesitated, her voice trembling. "It's Jasper… I went where he told me not to."
Clarice arched a brow, lowering herself gracefully into the chair by the fire. "That could mean half the manor, knowing him. What did you find?"
