Chapter 73

Chapter 73

She spoke the boy’s name with a wistful softness, like someone recalling a dear friend from long ago.

“Arthur. I don’t know his surname, but his name was Arthur.”

Rose’s expression twisted instantly.

‘Of all possible names, it had to be that annoying bastard’s?’

And to make matters worse, the boy had blond hair too—just like that Arthur. It only soured her mood further.

“By ‘bad men,’ do you mean the kidnappers?” James asked evenly, as though confirming her words.

“Yes. The adults who… experimented on us.”

At that word—experiment—James’s face tightened, his jaw tensing in visible disgust.

“As you know,” Iris continued quietly, “they blindfolded us and took us somewhere… we’d sit for hours, completely still, not allowed to move.”

Her voice faltered.

“I hated it there. The floor was so cold and wet… the smell was awful. Sometimes I could even hear people screaming…”

The more she spoke, the smaller and more fragile her voice became, trembling under the weight of memory.

“Shh—there’s no need to force yourself to remember,” Rose murmured gently, running a hand across Iris’s back to calm her.

“That’s enough. You’ve done very well.”

James’s tone softened as he stood. “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Iris Brown.”

It seemed he had already learned all he needed. Without a flicker of hesitation, he straightened his cuffs and stepped away from the table.

“Please enjoy your stay at the mansion.”

He left the room with a polite smile—so composed, so final—that Rose felt a twinge of awkwardness in his absence.

“Ah—Mr. Dillon only left because he still has work to finish!” Rose said quickly, hands waving in mild panic. “Please don’t think he’s being dismissive!”

Iris covered her lips with a graceful smile. “Oh, I understand. I know how busy the Golden Crow investigators are.”

Having once endured countless interviews with the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs, Iris genuinely thought this treatment was unusually kind.

Mr. Dillon had kept his distance, yes—but he hadn’t pressured her for answers, nor brushed off her words. Miss Hampton, too, had shown nothing but gentle consideration.

And above all, these two had chosen to overlook her grandfather’s past wrongdoing. That alone was reason enough for Iris to feel indebted.

To be invited into such a beautiful, grand mansion on top of that—it all felt like something out of a dream.

The next morning, after finishing breakfast, Iris followed Rose’s suggestion and joined her for a stroll through the garden.

The room she had stayed in—so pretty it could have once belonged to a princess—the breathtaking scenery, and the elegant meals all made the day feel dazzling and lighthearted.

At least, until night fell.

“Um, Miss Hampton.”

As they walked along the immaculately trimmed hedges—so perfect it was almost obsessive—Iris spoke carefully.

“Forgive me if this seems intrusive, but… if you’re troubled by something, please tell me. You don’t have to bear it alone.”

“Pardon?”

Rose blinked, tilting her head in confusion. No matter how she tried to guess what Iris was talking about, nothing came to mind.

Perhaps thinking Rose was trying to dodge the question, Iris suddenly took her hand, her expression earnest.

“Last night… I heard someone crying from your room.”

“W–what? Crying?”

Rose nearly jumped in shock.

“No, no! I didn’t shed a single tear last night. See? Look at my eyes!”

She leaned in until their noses were almost touching, widening her eyes exaggeratedly. They were perfectly clear—no redness, no puffiness.

“But… but I’m sure I heard someone sobbing…”

Despite Rose’s firm denial, Iris looked bewildered.

That night, she’d had trouble sleeping—perhaps because of the unfamiliar surroundings. She’d wanted a glass of water but had felt awkward summoning a servant so late, so she’d gone alone to the kitchen.

Just as she was returning upstairs, she had heard it—

—Uh… hh-hh… uhuhh…

A shiver ran down her spine.

Past midnight. A weeping sound somewhere in the mansion.

The memory of a horror novel she had recently borrowed flashed through her mind.

She’d needed every ounce of courage to cross the dark hallway, clutching a lamp in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

Then she’d realized exactly where the faint sobs were coming from.

“It was definitely… from your room, Miss Hampton. The one right next to mine.”

She had pressed her ear to the door; the sound had been unmistakable—a woman crying softly in the dead of night.

For a moment, fear had gripped her. But soon after, compassion had taken its place.

“Well,” Rose said with a faintly awkward smile, “I’m the type who falls asleep the moment my head hits the pillow. So I couldn’t have been awake at that hour.”

There was genuine puzzlement in her tone. She could think of no explanation at all.

Iris, on the other hand, fidgeted with her fingers and lowered her reddened face.

“I’m sorry. I must’ve misheard. I shouldn’t have accused you like that.”

“It’s alright, Miss Iris. I slept with the window open, so maybe you heard an owl instead.”

Rose appreciated her concern, yet couldn’t quite shake the questions forming in her mind.

Could anyone really mistake a human’s sobs for an owl’s cry—even late at night?

Well, maybe if she was tired and in a strange place, her senses could’ve been off.

With no other clues, Rose decided to dismiss it as nothing more than a simple misunderstanding.

Iris seemed to think the same. After that, she spent a delightful day at the mansion—helping Rose review the victims’ association records, reading her books on magical theory, and imagining herself using magic again once her sealed power was restored.

They toured the garden, the sunroom, and the music room, even listened to a symphony on the phonograph.

“Come to think of it, Miss Hampton,” Iris said suddenly, “there’s something I’ve been curious about.”

“…Yes?”

Rose, who had been staring blankly into space while the grand orchestral music filled the room, blinked and answered a beat late.

“What’s your relationship with Mr. Dillon?”

“W–what?”

The unexpected question hit her like a slap.

Good question, really. What exactly was the relationship between Mr. Dillon and Alice Hampton?

“Ah, well, we’re… colleagues. We both work for the Golden Crow.”

“Really?”

Iris’s tone was too innocent, too curious; Rose could feel sweat forming on her palms.

In reality, between James Dautryche and Rose Taylor, there was a contract—one that could, in another light, look suspiciously like an engagement. But what could she possibly say about Alice Hampton and Jack Dillon, the false identities they’d assumed?

“Yes! That’s right—we’re very close professional partners!”

“Ah, I see. Hehe.”

Iris’s knowing smile made Rose’s stomach drop.

Leaning closer, Iris whispered conspiratorially, “So… the Golden Crow has a rule against workplace romance, doesn’t it?”

What?!

Rose nearly choked on air, her eyes going wide.

“M–Miss Iris! Where did you even get that idea?!”

But Iris only smiled sweetly, utterly misunderstanding.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. My lips are sealed.”

“No, that’s not—it’s completely—there’s no basis for—”

She was still sputtering when she realized how ridiculous it all was. James hadn’t even left his room since the first day of Iris’s arrival, except for the initial interview.

“We’ll handle the kidnapping case and the Ouroboros priests first,” he’d said. “We’ll talk again once Miss Iris has departed.”

And just half a day of absence had been enough for chaos to sprout. By morning, clerks from the Southern Branch had arrived at Triden Mansion with stacks of paperwork.

Between that and Iris’s presence, there had hardly been a moment for anyone to rest—or to explain.

“Basis?” Iris repeated cheerfully. “Well, when Mr. Dillon was questioning me, you were so wary of me, Miss Hampton.”