The air in the library grew heavy as more moths gathered, their wings humming softly against the lamp. Aunt Lydia's revelation, of my half sister, hidden from my father's life. The crumpled note marked "Stop" bled ink into the wood grain. I stared at it, hoping the letters might shift into answers, but they stayed stubbornly the same.
Sebastian held my hand, his grip firm but not tight, silently promising to stay with me through this mess. His eyes moved from Aunt Lydia to me, reading the worry on my face.
"Dawn is in a few hours," he said in a low voice. "We should check the east wing attic and find that code in the portraits. But first, we need a plan and to lock this room. Whoever is leaving notes knows we're here."
Aunt Lydia nodded, already sorting through her old envelopes despite the hour.
"The attic is a maze of portraits, ledgers, and old trunks stuffed with secrets. Your father enjoyed his games, Aurelia. The code is in the eyes literally. The Hartwell ancestors' gazes shift in certain lights, pointing to dates and names." She tapped the initials R.G. on my ledger page. "But your sister isn't a ghost. She's flesh and blood. That note? It's her voice, not Frederick's."
I swallowed. The name she spoke "Elara" echoed in my mind, a half formed shadow from a life I hadn't lived.
"If she's real, why hide from me? Why not just... knock? Claim her share?" My voice trembled, betraying the hurt behind my defiance. A sister. Another part of my father he had kept hidden.
"Because legitimacy is more than a signature," Lydia said, her eyes softening but steady. "It's about power. The ledgers, if you fail to claim them first. She's been raised on the edges, boarding schools, false names, empty promises of someday. Frederick protected her, but he also locked her away. Now you can either free her or leave her in exile."
Sebastian shifted closer, leaning over the desk.
"So she's playing both sides warning Aurelia to back off, but also leading her to the truth. Why?" He look at the walls. "And how is she getting in? Hartwell is locked up tight tonight."
Lydia's smile was grim, almost amused.
"This house has hidden routes only your father and your half sister know. The smoke you've been smelling? Not just Rosegate's remnants. Someone's been burning papers. small controlled fires in the old servants' tunnels." She pointed to the vent above the desk, where a faint gray curl of smoke drifted out, carrying a sharp, bitter scent and, faintly, a trace of lavender that didn't belong. "She's close. And she's not alone."
My heart raced. I crossed to the vent, scattering the moths as I passed the lamp. The metal grate was cool, but the air coming through it was warm and stung my nose. I pressed my ear to the mesh, half expecting to hear a voice, but only a low hum met me.
"Tunnels," I murmured, turning back to them. "We need to find them. Now. If she's moving through the walls, she's not just dropping notes, she's listening."
Sebastian was already at the bookshelf, fingertips probing for a catch or lever.
"Your father loved theatrics," he said dryly. "A hidden passage wouldn't surprise me."
"We can't just rush through walls at midnight without knowing who's on the other side," I said.
Lydia stood with a soft creak and pulled a small, tarnished key from her pocket. Its worn teeth caught the lamplight and glimmered.
"The east wing attic leads to the tunnels. Behind the third portrait from the left, the lady in the emerald dress. But be careful. Those tunnels haven't been explored since your grandfather's time. They're a maze, and not everyone who goes in comes back whole."
I took the key. Its weight pressed heavy in my palm.
"Then we go at dawn, as Sebastian suggested. But first." I met his eyes, my resolve hardening. "Tell me everything. If we're walking into a trap, I need to know."
Sebastian paused, gaze dropping before meeting mine again. The lamplight caught his eyes, showing less mischief and more memory.
"He asked me to protect you," he said quietly. "Not just from Harrow or Julian, but from the truth in the ledger. He said it could break you, or make you. He made me promise to stay until you chose which. My family owed him everything our name, our future. But I stayed because… you're different, Auri. You're not a scandal or a pawn. And I'm not sure I want to stop you."
The tension between us tightened, the moths' wings a soft background to my racing heart. I had no clever remark, no smile to hide behind, only the ledger and the key pulling me toward a truth I might not be ready for. A sister. A maze.
Aunt Lydia broke the silence.
"Dawn, then. I'll have tea ready, Earl Grey, one sugar, no milk. And maybe some of those biscuits you like, to keep your energy up." She winked, but her eyes carried a warning. "Don't underestimate this house."
We left the library and locked the door. Moths trailed after us down the corridor like pale sentinels. Through the tall windows, the garden lanterns flickered in the wind. Somewhere in Hartwell's walls, Elara moved, her notes guiding me toward a truth I couldn't ignore.
The night air was sharp as we stepped into the west-wing hall. For an instant I thought I heard a whisper "my name" carried through the vents.
Sebastian's hand touched my shoulder, pulling me back from my racing thoughts. "Don't," he said softly. "Not tonight. She's testing you trying to make you to respond. Let her wait."
Behind us, the locked library door creaked, a sound too deliberate to be the house settling. I gripped the key tighter, edges biting into my skin, as the walls of Hartwell seemed to draw closer, daring me to step into the dark and meet my sister on her own ground.