The words struck Nathaniel like a blow.
Locke took another step forward, voice rough. "That woman—Cassandra—is dangerous. She's plotting to kill the child. She said so herself. I heard it."
Nathaniel's expression faltered for the first time.
Locke pressed on, tone fierce now. "Do you really think Cassandra's loyalty lies with you? She's poison. Whispering in your ear, wrapping herself around your name while Evelyn walks these halls alone and unprotected."
Silence.
Then—Nathaniel turned his gaze away, jaw tight, knuckles white against the polished wood of the desk.
"She wouldn't," he said, but the words lacked conviction.
Locke's voice dropped, final and grim. "She would. And she will—unless you stop her."
---
Nathaniel stood abruptly, the chair scraping back across the floor with a sharp sound. He didn't say another word—just turned and strode out of the study.
Locke followed a step behind, heart pounding.
