The car’s taillights traced two faint red arcs through the morning mist before vanishing at the end of the wooded drive.
Silas remained still for ten seconds.
Only when he was certain Selena hadn't sensed anything—that there was no sign of her turning back—did he turn toward the servants' entrance on the east side of the manor.
His pace was steady, rhythmic—the walk of a butler on a routine inspection. But the moment he rounded the corner, he shed his skin. The submissive warmth of a servant evaporated, replaced by the lethal cold of an assassin. His mouth, usually curved in a polite, hollow smile, flattened into a jagged line.
He had already cleared the body.
He’d handled it the moment he found it. Selena couldn't see it, and the other servants couldn't be allowed to know. Panic was
