Chapter 76

Chapter 76

“A crying sound? A ghost?”

James’s tone made it clear this was news to him too—as though the master of the mansion had just discovered a secret in his own house.

“Couldn’t it have been an owl?”

“If I hear that owl theory one more time today… No, it wasn’t an owl.”

“So that’s why you’re planning to stay up late with a pot of coffee—to test it yourself.”

“Exactly.”

“Hm. Well then, may fortune favor you.”

His dry remark might’ve been meant as encouragement, but instead of walking off, James lingered there, standing squarely in front of her.

“…Um, James. Did you want to say something? If not, I’d really like to go back to my room.”

“I did want to say something. Rose—are you angry with me?”

“What? No. Why would I be?”

“Hah. At last, you look me in the face.”

A faint curve of satisfaction touched his lips.

“You’ve spent the entire day avoiding my eyes.”

Rose was speechless. Was he actually keeping count?

“Mr. James, your self-awareness borders on delusion. The day’s barely started; it just happens sometimes.”

“Perhaps. And yet, I can tell when someone’s deliberately avoiding me.”

…That much was true.

Even when seeing Iris off, Rose had made a conscious effort not to look at him. She hadn’t realized it showed that much.

But what bothers me more… is that Iris said he kept watching me.

And before that, Iris had claimed Rose herself had been acting possessive.

So basically, the two of us together were broadcasting it to the world!

Hearing it laid out like that had made it impossible for Rose to meet his gaze normally again.

There was an old saying somewhere about the guilty being the first to get defensive—and that fit perfectly right now.

Determined to turn the tables, Rose jabbed the verbal spear back his way.

“You’re one to talk. Miss Iris came all this way, and you stayed locked in your room the entire time. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Rose, that’s not—”

“Anyway! Busy, busy. One of those remaining four girls has to be the one you’re looking for, right? I’d better start reaching out to them. Excuse me.”

“Wait—!”

Before she could whirl away, James caught her wrist.

A surge of heat—of magic—poured into her skin through his touch.

In that brief contact, a rush of emotion flooded her senses: frustration, longing, hesitation… followed by a tenderness so fierce it made her chest ache.

Her heart pounded, breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t sad—far from it—but her body trembled as if her tears might spill anyway.

What… what is this?

Her voice wavered as she dropped her gaze.

“James… please. This is a bit much.”

Panic fluttered in her stomach, but the magic wasn’t like any she’d felt from him before.

His usual magic was refined—controlled, never overbearing. Gentlemanly.

But this—this current felt different. Raw. Unrestrained. Almost… pleading.

“Rose. I don’t want you to misunderstand me.”

His voice—low, deliberate—only deepened her confusion.

“Misunderstand you? What do you mean?”

“I have no particular interest in Iris Brown.”

“What are you talking about? Of course not—she wasn’t the girl you were searching for.”

“Ha… even if she had been, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

The overwhelming pressure of his magic slowly eased; the disciplined, composed aura she knew so well began to return.

He released her wrist—though not without a reluctant brush of his fingertips, gliding down her palm before slipping away.

“Forgive me. That was inappropriate.”

“…”

Silence stretched between them, awkward and fragile.

James looked at her a long moment, watching as she kept her head bowed, refusing to meet his eyes, and sighed inwardly.

Why did he always lose his composure around her? He could command a boardroom of directors with ease, but in front of Rose Taylor, words simply failed him.

“I—I should get back to my room now,” she stammered at last. “I’ve got four letters to write.”

She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. If she did, she was sure he’d see straight through her—see every thought she’d sworn never to admit.

A foolish, one-sided feeling tangled up in the threads of their professional contract.

But what Rose failed to notice was that she didn’t need to meet his eyes for him to see her.

Her trembling, her flushed cheeks, the faint red coloring the tips of her ears—James saw it all.

It was uncommon for Mythos to send letters by post.

If something was urgent, a transmission spell would do. Ordinary mail or telegrams—slow, costly, and mundane—were mostly reserved for official dealings involving the Logos society.

But the serial abduction case among the Mythos was different.

The victims had lived for fifteen years bound by suppressed magic, existing as Mythos who could no longer use their powers. For them, ordinary mail and telegrams were the only reliable ways to communicate across distance.

Of course, they could have asked their families to send magical transmissions on their behalf—but really, how many of those families still had the wealth or energy for that? Most had already spent their fortunes chasing false cures for the magic binding.

Rose sorted through the copy of the list Iris had shared, narrowing it down to four girls with pinkish-brown hair and violet eyes.

Just in case, she added seven more—those with ordinary brown hair but the same violet eyes.

Right. The sooner James meets the girl, the sooner I can sort out whatever this feeling inside me is.

With that resolution, Rose forced herself to focus solely on fulfilling her contract with him.

It was a relief that Iris hadn’t been the girl, but that didn’t mean the list would vanish overnight. And since James already knew she’d finished selecting the candidates, pretending she hadn’t would only weigh on her conscience.

A long sigh escaped her lips.

Eleven letters—though in truth, she’d rewritten many due to misspellings or names that didn’t look quite right. Her body ached from sitting for so long, fingers stained black with ink. The bright midday sun had already turned to a soft orange glow.

She handed the stack of letters to the butler for posting and hurried straight to the library.

If nothing else, she needed a distraction—something to bury the ridiculous twinge of jealousy she felt toward faceless girls she’d never even met.

Uncovering the secret behind the mysterious weeping sound seemed like the perfect diversion.

Haunted houses always share a few common traits, she thought.

They’re built on uneven ground or over places with strong magnetic fields; they leak gas from old lamps; or they have rats nesting between the floorboards and ceilings.

Uneven flooring can make doors swing open or shut by themselves. Warped window frames can whistle like sighs when wind seeps through. Strong magnetic fields cause phonographs to sputter strange noises and clocks to stop. Gas leaks can trigger hallucinations. And the scurrying of rats at midnight? That alone could convince someone they’d heard crying.

“Hmm… no, this isn’t a wind issue.”

The pen she’d set on the floor didn’t roll an inch, meaning the library floor was perfectly level.

She used a sight-enhancing wind spell to inspect each window; none were crooked or warped.

Though the mansion was old, its gas pipes were well maintained, and the magnetic field here was stable.

“Even if there were rats, no one could mistake that for someone crying…”

She circled the room slowly, deep in thought.

What kind of secret could this place possibly hold? What was behind that sound Iris had heard?

The Triden Mansion library was charming and romantic, like the rest of the estate. Alongside heavy tomes of ancient philosophy, science, and multi-volume histories sat shelves of romance novels, folk tales, and storybooks for children.

The storybooks are all on the lower shelves—how adorable.

She smiled faintly. It must have been arranged that way to suit little James’s height.

In her dreams, his mother’s back was always cold and distant—but in truth, there was no mistaking the care that had gone into raising him.

Each shelf grew more difficult the higher it went; the arrangement reflected a child’s growth, step by step.

“Haa… So all I’ve really learned is that the library’s books are arranged with thoughtful precision.”

She inspected the floor, ceiling, walls, even the windows—nothing unusual anywhere.

“Well, if I’m here anyway… maybe I’ll take a book upstairs.”