Night had fallen, but the Duke's estate was alive with whispers—secrets moving like ghosts between the grand halls.
Seraphina and I met in the library, a sanctuary of dusty books and flickering candlelight.
"I've traced some suspicious movements among the servants," Seraphina whispered, her eyes sharp. "One of them might be the assassin."
I nodded, my fingers brushing the spine of a leather-bound ledger. "We need proof. And a plan."
As we pieced together clues, a new message flickered in my mind's eye:
"Warning: Timeline instability increasing. Probability of paradox escalating."
The weight of fate pressed down, but we pressed on.
"I don't want to just survive," I said quietly. "I want to change the story."
Seraphina smiled, a spark of hope shining through the shadows. "Then let's rewrite it—together."