//CLARA//
The fury carried through corridors I knew too well now, past tapestries I no longer saw. My foot throbbed beneath the bandage with every step, but I welcod the sting.
It kept sharp. It kept the rage white-hot and focused while the rest of wanted to crumble.
Aunt Cornelia was standing in the corridor like a gargoyle draped in silk. As our paths crossed, I looked her dead in the eye, letting the pure, unfiltered contempt of a woman who had seen the future wash over her. I didn’t have the energy for a polite nod. She was lucky I didn’t spit at her feet.
I continued toward Casimir’s study, my steps deliberate and loud enough to echo.
"Higgins!" Loud enough to reverberate through the hall and shatter the silence shrouding the nightfall.
"When your master returns, inform him I am waiting in his study. We have an urgent matter to discuss regarding Mr. Whitfield’s imprisonnt. It seems there has been a... grave misunderstanding."
I made sure my voice carried right back down the corridor. I wanted the old bat to choke on the scandal of it.
The study door yielded to my push, and I entered a space that held far too many ghosts. The gas lamp burned low, casting shadows that seed to breathe against the rows of leather-bound books.
I stood in the center of the room, arms crossed and jaw set, my good foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the hardwood. The fire crackled in the hearth, completely indifferent to the fact that I was vibrating with a need to break sothing.
The door opened ten minutes later. Casimir stepped inside and closed it with finality. His presence alone would have made my stomach flip. Not today.
"Clara—"
"Do not." My voice dropped, shaking with the effort of not screaming. "Do not Clara . You fucking bastard."
"What did I—"
"Why is Oliver still in a cell?" I snapped, closing the distance before he could even take off his coat. "A week, Casimir. A whole goddamn week. While I was lying upstairs playing the part of the healing victim, you were out here destroying an innocent man’s life."
Casimir’s jaw tightened. He moved further into the room, reclaiming the space with the instinct of a man who owned every atom he stepped on.
"You cannot possibly understand the complexity of the situation."
"Oh, I understand that bullshit perfectly well. What I can’t wrap my head around is why an innocent man is rotting in a cell while you play judge and jury."
I finally raised my voice, not caring who the hell heard . "You know he didn’t do it. You knew his preliminary hearing was tomorrow, and you didn’t even have the balls to tell ."
"I was protecting you."
"You’re protecting from the wrong man."
"I know that a letter was sent in his na. I know that after what happened, I cannot afford the luxury of trust."
A muscle jumped in his jaw, his eyes darkening to that dangerous, stormy grey.
"He cannot prove it wasn’t him, and neither can I. Everyone was a suspect. The letter ca from his workshop. The handwriting—"
"I can prove it. Because I’m the idiot who actually read it." I cut him off, my blood pressure skyrocketing. "The handwriting was wrong. The entire tone was wrong. It didn’t sound entirely like him."
Casimir was silent for a long mont. Then he said, quietly, "I could not take that chance."
"You let an innocent man rot because you were paranoid?"
"I let him stay in a cell while I made sure—" His voice cracked, a rare fracture in his stoic exterior. "While I made sure no one else was going to hurt you. Everyone was a threat. Everyone could have been Thurston’s ally."
The room went still. I took a shaky breath, the mory of that night rushing back. The desperate, suffocating need to be anywhere but under his thumb.
"I wanted an escape that night." My voice ca out as a whisper. "I had just asked you..."
I stopped, trying to shake the mortifying mory. Your woman, but not able to marry?
God, I was such a pathetic loser. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d used the brain I was born with instead of whatever masochistic gremlin controls my heart.
"I wasn’t thinking straight. I wanted to be anywhere but in my own skin. When the letter ca, bearing Oliver’s na, I grabbed it like a lifeline. I didn’t examine the hand. I didn’t question why Oliver would summon at such hour."
Casimir’s eyes held mine, unreadable. He said nothing.
"Silas used Oliver’s na because he knew I would not question it. Because I was too busy running from my own feelings to see the trap." My shoulders dropped as the admission finally settled. "I am not blaless. But Oliver is. And I need to fix it."
"Your feelings?" His brows lifted. Unbelievable. Of all the things I had said, that was the one he decided to latch onto.
"No," I held up a finger, pointing it directly at his chest, daring him to go there. "You do not get to go there. We are focusing on Oliver, not my psychological damage."
Yup. Still a coward. But even cowards could clean up their own sses.
Casimir held my gaze. Finally, he asked, "Do you still have the letter?"
I stopped. The mory hit like a brick. The warehouse. The lamp. The letter crumpled on the floor where I had dropped it when I realized I was not alone.
"It has to be in the warehouse," I said. "I rember dropping it. I just do not rember where. But it is there. It has to be."
Shit. That ant going back. My heart did a frantic little tap-dance against my ribs. I’d have to walk back into that nightmare. But if that was the only way to save Oliver, my PTSD was just going to have to take a back seat.
"No," Casimir shook his head, his voice low and firm. "No... You aren’t going back there, Clara."
"I have to find it. It’s the only proof we have."
"You do not even know if it is still there." He stepped closer, his jaw tight. "We could search for hours and find nothing. And even if we did—"
He stopped, his hands curling into fists.
"I will not risk you stepping foot in that place for a maybe." He let the words hang, then added, "You are not even fit to travel, let alone scour a cri scene at night."
"Watch ." I puffed my chest out, stood on my injured foot, and lifted the other one with a wobbly, defiant flourish. "See? Doesn’t even hurt. I’m practically a ballerina."
It hurt like a bitch. I could feel the pulse in my arch screaming, but I kept my face perfectly blank.
Casimir’s expression was a cocktail of disapproval and utter disbelief. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing the rug.
"This is absolutely mad, Clara. You are driving to the brink of insanity."
I leaned against the desk, tilting my head and letting a bit of that manipulative edge creep into my voice. I knew exactly which buttons to push.
"You know what I’m like, Casimir. I’m a danger to myself when I’m bored, and I’m a catastrophe when I’m guilty. Either you take back there right now, or I promise you, I will find a much ssier, much more dangerous way to do this alone. Your call. Do you want to supervise the disaster, or read about it in the morning papers?"
He stares at for mont, then sighs defeatedly. "Do we have to go tonight?"
I just shrugged my left shoulder, looking bored despite the adrenaline.
"The longer we wait, the more likely so rat—human or otherwise—chews up the evidence. Tick-tock, Casimir."
"If the letter is indeed there. If it provides what we require." He paused. "You understand that using it may expose your own actions? Your presence at the warehouse at that hour... your vulnerability. There will be questions from the magistrate that I cannot simply silence."
I considered it. The scrutiny, the public exposure, the total annihilation of a reputation I’d already been treating like a used napkin. Then I thought of Oliver in a damp cell, paying for a cri I’d walked into.
"I understand," I said, my voice hardening. "I’m prepared. And besides, I trust you wouldn’t let take the fallout alone. You’re far too possessive for that."
He turned then, and for a mont I saw past the mask. He was terrified of what was at stake. Good. So was I.
"Then let us go," he said, "before I rember all the reasons why this is unwise."
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