Later that night, The manor was cloaked in the heavy silence of midnight when Haisley finally relayed the grim tidings. In a hushed timbre, she reported every detail of Laura's condition on arrival—how the poor soul lay unconscious, her body stained by fresh blood. The image of her ruin was seared into my mind, even as the chill of remorse never quite thawed the practicality of my purpose.
Hunger gnawed at me in the dark hours, and I found my way to the expansive dining hall. There, beneath flickering candlelight, I discovered Lyle and Laura seated at a long oak table, carefully sharing a dinner that seemed to contrast sharply with the chaos of earlier events.
"Your Grace," intoned a servant as soon as my presence was acknowledged; both Lyle and Laura turned their eyes toward me.
I silently joined them, the weight of sleepless hours and an empty stomach keeping me from indulging in idle conversation.
