After escorting Miss MacLeod to her home that night, I dreamt again; I was running fast, ravenous through the pines in the dead of night. A hunger, feral and unappeased, drove my legs onward. I reached a cliff at last: windswept, cold, utterly still. At the edge stood Miss MacLeod, her black wavy hair swaying in the bitter air.
I approached her from behind and pushed her over the cliff. She didn't scream; she accepted the fall. From above, I watched her vanish into the churning water below, yet it didn't satisfy me. I leapt after her. I had to be certain she died. Without hesitation, the violent water seized my body.
I swam through the darkness, searching for her sometimes diving, sometimes breaking the surface, calling out,
"Jane!"
But she didn't hear me.
Then something yanked my ankle downward with immense force. She was there Jane, her skin pale as bone, her lower half transformed into scales and tail. A creature of the water.
And the first thought that cut through my mind was:
How does one drown something that lives in water?
I saw no escape. I surrendered and let my breath slip from my lungs. The water rushed in, filling my chest cold, merciless, inevitable.
When I awoke, the emptiness inside me had grown wider, heavier. The dream had revealed something unsettling: killing Jane would not be as simple as I wished. And that realization disturbed me.
I rose in the night, lit my candlestick, and turned to my paperwork. The letters Thornwick had left on my desk awaited me. I immediately recognized the seal of House Melrose. Of course I opened that one first.
Duke Cedric Montague Melrose, older than I, influential in both academic and aristocratic circles was a man known for his commanding intellect. Our families kept relations formal, distant, yet built upon mutual respect. That I had become a baron at such a young age and that my medical expertise had begun to circulate had made Melrose take notice of me; I was spoken of as "the peculiar yet brilliant young lord."
I cut the wax seal with the small dagger in my drawer.
> "Esteemed Baron Ravencroft,
It is with the utmost respect that I extend to you the annual invitation to the Melrose Manor Autumn Masquerade, held but once each year.
As the House of Ravencroft has long remained an observant pillar within Edinburgh's aristocracy, this invitation stands not merely as a courtesy, but as a necessity.
Though I am aware of your considerable familial obligations, society will be most insistent upon seeing you once more.
Our ball will commence on the twenty-ninth of November, at a quarter past eight. The traditional masks, intended to conceal our guests' identities until the heart of the dance, will remain a central part of the celebration this year.
It would be my honor to host you, as well as any companion you deem suitable to represent the Ravencroft name.
Respectfully,
Cedric Montague Melrose
Duke of Edinburgh"
I took a blank sheet of stationery and dipped my pen into the ink. My reply would be neither overly warm nor excessively distant. It needed to be exactly what was required, nothing more, nothing less.
>"Most Noble Duke Melrose,
Your gracious invitation has reached me.
On behalf of the House of Ravencroft, I accept the honor of attending your masquerade ball.
I hereby inform you that I shall be present at your manor at a suitable hour on the night of November the twenty-ninth, and I receive your invitation with due appreciation.
I shall personally see to the arrangements regarding the representation of the Ravencroft name.
Thank you for your hospitality and wish that the forthcoming evening may prove prosperous both for yourself and for the aristocracy of Edinburgh.
Respectfully,
Adrian Ravencroft
Baron of Ravencroft"
After signing the letter, I leaned back against my desk. Miss MacLeod had been right my handwriting was beautiful. In truth, it was more than that. It was immaculate.
I held the silver-handled sealing spoon over the flame, letting the red wax melt slowly before dripping it along the fold of the envelope. The warm wax spread with heavy grace. I took up the black steel seal of my house.
Three-headed raven.
At its center, the delicate ring-shaped scar motif.
I pressed the seal into the molten wax; it hissed softly as it yielded beneath the metal. When I lifted it, my face bore no expression, only the clean shadowlessness of certainty.
"If the Melrose family wishes to watch me… let them."
I rubbed my temples, letting out a faint yawn. My eyes were too exhausted to make the journey to the bed. The surface of my desk felt almost soft beneath my fingertips. Resting my head in the cradle of my arms, I let my fading vision sink into the warm pull of weariness.
A soft click sounded as Sebastian opened the door to my study.
"Sir… breakfast is ready."
Morning had come.
When I opened my eyes, a grey, heavy exhaustion settled over my face. The nightmares I'd had all night had left purple shadows beneath my eyes; my hair was tangled, the collar of my shirt wrinkled and creased from sleep. I pushed myself up from my desk in silence. Every joint in my body ached.
When I stepped into the corridor, the dim light of morning striking the windows of Ravencroft Manor painted everything in a pale blue. Even the soft creak of the wooden stairs made my head throb as I descended.
The moment I entered the breakfast hall, my siblings' eyes pinned themselves on me. My usual place at the long table had been set: a silver knife, a porcelain plate, and beside it the faint steam rising from a cup of hot coffee.
Laurence had even closed his sketchbook, watching me with thoughtful eyes. Jasper was twirling his spoon restlessly, waiting for a chance to speak. Elora, however, was avoiding my gaze, crumbling a piece of bread between her fingers clearly unsettled.
"Well," I said, raising my eyebrows slightly, "What is it? Do you have something to say?"
Elora drew a tense breath; her voice was thin and fragile. "Brother… you don't look well."
I flinched. I was so used to wearing my mask of strength, composure, and cold-blooded calm... I was surprised someone had seen through it.
Sebastian silently poured Laurence's tea and stepped back.
Jasper couldn't hold back any longer, he set his spoon down. "Where were you last night? You came home late. Your face looks… sunken."
Laurence spoke without taking his eyes off me:
"You'd have to be blind not to notice you haven't slept properly in a week. Bad dreams?"
I took a sip of my coffee.
I thought the warmth sliding down my throat might loosen the thorn-like unease lodged in my chest, but it didn't.
"Just a little lack of sleep," I said shortly. "Don't exaggerate."
Elora lowered her head. "But your eyes are really red… And I heard you shouting last night."
"A dream, that's all."
Silence fell over the table again, this time heavier, deeper. Not even the smell of bread could soften the tension in the air. Finally, Laurence leaned back in his chair.
"If you're hiding something from us… I want you to know that I don't want you to."
I turned my gaze toward my siblings.
The shadows beneath my eyes betrayed the darkness festering inside me. Every question they asked seemed to enrage me one layer further; their worry, their concern… it all felt like proof of my weakness.
Yet my lips curved upward with their usual cool composure.
I took a bite of my meal, chewing without haste. My exhaustion had seeped into my voice.
"I'm trying to protect you," I said. "Don't worry. I'm fine."
Whether any of this had anything to do with protecting them, I wasn't sure. I only wanted to be rid of the nightmares and of Miss MacLeod.
And yet, at the same time, I longed to know her more, to unravel her mysteries, to see her stand before me stripped of all veils, in her purest self.
Laurence raised his brows.
"Going to the faculty when you're this tired…"
"I have to go," I cut in sharply. "I can't fall behind."
Another brief silence followed.
Elora reached for her cup, but her hands trembled so much that she set it back down.
At last, I found the opening to change the subject.
"Duke Malrose has invited us to the autumn masquerade," I said. "Laurence and Jasper, you're coming with me."
The two of them exchanged a quick glance. I continued:
"And Laurence, I want you to design my mask. You can give the tailor the details. You may even choose my attire yourself… I don't care."
Laurence lowered his head. "Very well, brother."
Jasper jumped in immediately:
"Should we go out tonight? We haven't been out since Mr. Wood. Maybe some fresh air—"
I flung my fork onto the plate. The metallic clatter cut Jasper's sentence in half.
"I don't like discussing nightly matters at the breakfast table, Jasper. We will talk when I return from the faculty."
I rose from my seat; my appetite had vanished entirely. I went straight to my room, straightened the shirt I had just put on, tied my cravat, and brushed my hair back. But no matter what I did, the dark circles beneath my eyes would not fade. I stared at myself in the mirror for a few seconds, who would believe I was strong with a face like this? A man plagued by nightmares would be nothing but a coward.
I pulled on my coat, took my cane, and set off toward the faculty.
The moment I stepped into the Anatomy Hall, the heavy stench of formalin struck my face once again. The students were lined up. On the marble table lay a new cadaver: a young, pale man with sharp features.
Professor William turned to the class as he wiped the fluid off his gloves.
"Today," he said in a deep voice, "we will examine the internal structure of the heart."
He lifted the rib cage, then raised the heart. "Look. The atria. Ventricles. The direction of valves…"
My gaze caught on a thin, thread-like tissue at the edge of the heart. For a moment… I thought I saw my own stitching. A faint sting echoed across my chest.
While Professor William continued, only Miss MacLeod's words roared through my mind:
A flawless incision…
As I fought the heaviness of my eyelids, his voice seemed to come from behind a veil of fog. In the dim light of the room, I suddenly noticed that the papers on the tables sat as still as leaves forgotten without a breeze.
Everyone had already left; only I and John, the meticulous Professor of Botany, remained.
I couldn't even remember how I had ended up in this room.
The professor's slender fingers touched my shoulder lightly.
"Mr. Ravencroft… You can barely stand," he said, his voice a strange blend of compassion and authority.
I lifted my head; the dark circles beneath my eyes had nearly turned blue.
"I'm fine," I said, though the lie was so transparent it failed to convince even myself.
He responded with a gentle smile.
"You are fine… but not quite. I heard from Professor William. I didn't know my nephew's death had shaken you this deeply. To be honest, I hadn't quite believed it, but—" he nodded toward my face, "—your expression makes denial difficult."
Had I been devastated by Alexander Wood's death? Broken by the loss?
They must have been joking.
I was the one who killed him, and I had savored it with indescribable pleasure. In fact, his death was perhaps the only time in my life I had felt relief at losing someone close.
Still, letting them believe I mourned him served me well; it certainly removed me from any list of suspects.
"I want you to leave class early. I'll inform the dean."
"I don't want that," I muttered, sitting up straighter. My pride waged a quiet war against the weight of sleepless nights crushing my body.
"For your own good, I must insist, Mr. Ravencroft."
The professor gestured toward the door.
"There is a carriage waiting outside. The university's coach. Don't keep the driver any longer."
I almost protested, but the sound that escaped my throat was far too weak.
In the end, I said nothing. I took my coat and left the room with slow, heavy steps.
As I walked toward the carriage, a voice called behind me:
"Mr. Ravencroft."
A familiar woman's voice.
My eyes widened like startled glass, and I turned at once.
"Jane."
In front of me stood Miss MacLeod, dressed in men's clothing.
"You… you didn't drown," I murmured.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. What is it?"
"May I ride with you? I'll get off once we reach the city."
I stepped into the carriage. Seeing her was no different from seeing a nightmare; being trapped somewhere between sleep and waking made it easier to believe she wasn't real.
And even if she was real, I hoped she would die soon and if she didn't, then I would kill her myself.
It was only a matter of time.
"I don't care about your opinion. The decision is yours," I muttered.
Miss MacLeod climbed into the carriage and sat beside me.
Was she not afraid at all?
If she suspected that I had killed Alexander Wood, the possibility of me being the Crow Father should have terrified her.
Unless she had already noticed that I committed fewer murders during the winter nights.
I studied her; she was gazing at the sky, drawing deep breaths.
"The weather is a bit sunny today," she said with a faint smile.
I was at the end of my patience.
If killing her wouldn't draw immediate suspicion, I would have ended her life already.
But I only took lives at carefully chosen intervals, and doing it now would attract far too much attention.
So I did the only thing I could.
As the carriage began to move, I clamped my hand firmly over Miss MacLeod's mouth.
"Shut your mouth. I can't endure the sound of your voice. Stay silent for the entire ride, or throw yourself out."
I pulled my hand away from her soft-lipped mouth and folded my arms across my chest, closing my eyes as if to sleep.
The carriage rocked gently along the stone road, the air inside thick with silence. I leaned my head back, trying to smother the grey tremor of exhaustion flickering behind my eyelids; the weight of sleeplessness sat heavy in the center of my chest.
Miss MacLeod spoke, her voice finer than a whisper, so faint it forced my eyes open:
"Lord Ravencroft… it is strange to see you like this."
I turned toward her with narrowed eyes.
The small-buttoned men's coat she wore shifted lightly over her shoulders.
She wasn't offended by being silenced; she wasn't wounded in her pride.
No, what glimmered in her expression was a strange fascination, born from seeing me so undone, so exhausted, so vulnerably human for the first time.
"I told you not to speak."
"That doesn't count as speaking," the woman said calmly. "The circles under your eyes, your trembling fingers, your breathing… They all say something."
I clenched my teeth.
Inside me, inside my mind, inside the hollow in my chest, one single desire echoed:
I want to kill her.
Not precisely.
Not cleanly.
But messily, breaking, tearing, ruining.
"I'm not going to converse with you."
Miss MacLeod lowered her head slightly, a faint smile touching her lips.
"We're not conversing. I'm observing you."
The carriage jolted; so did my patience.
"When you observe me, keep your descriptions locked deep inside your jaw, at the very bottom of it, or else—"
"You'll kill me?" she finished my sentence for me.
I hadn't been about to say kill,
but God, how badly I wished I had, how badly I wished to do it rather than say it.
"As if you actually had the strength to try."
Something stirred in my chest, not anger, not fear… something else.
A darkness without a name.
I shut my wandering eyes.
"Be quiet, Lady."
This time, she fell silent.
But even in her silence, there was something in her presence that spoke, a kind of energy, a hum beneath her stillness.
As the carriage entered the main road toward the city, the only sound was the rhythmic clatter of the wheels. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep anymore; the woman smothered the very ghost of sleep simply by existing near me.
After a while, Miss MacLeod adjusted her coat without a word and looked out the window.
"My stop is coming up."
I didn't respond. I didn't want to speak to her. I loathed her voice, her scent, her face, everything about her repulsed me. The fact that she was a woman, capable of bearing children, did nothing to soften me toward her; if anything, it made me want to choke the life out of her even more. Perhaps it would be wiser to wipe out her whole bloodline, her relatives, even her father, just to ensure those wretched genes never continued.
I needed to stay calm. Calm.
At least until summer.
Summer always sharpened the frequency of my… impulses.
I would wait.
When the carriage door opened, she looked at me once more before stepping out.
A cold, yet strangely captivating gaze.
"If you wish to silence me next time…" Her lips curved faintly.
"Use something more creative, Lord Ravencroft."
And she closed the door behind her, stepping into the street.
As the carriage rolled on, I realized I had been holding my breath.
It was unsettling, how heavy someone's presence could be.
Not someone threatening me.
Not someone accusing me.
But someone who saw me.
Someone who could understand me.
That was what I couldn't bear.
I leaned back and closed my eyes once more.
But Miss MacLeod's smile kept slicing through the dark, again and again, refusing to fade.