“Who—!”

With a short, sharp cry, Isabella locked eyes with the man. His eyes were stretched so wide that the whites showed starkly, fixing on the child without blinking. There was something violent in that gaze—something that looked as though it might strike at any moment.

She had been seen.

The instant she realized it, Isabella turned without a second thought. Rather than freezing in shock, it was the instinct of a child sensing danger that moved her first.

Her mind went blank. Only one thought remained—run.

She bolted toward the staircase, grabbing the banister as she hurried upward with her short legs moving as fast as they could.

Halfway up, her breath grew ragged, but she did not dare stop. It felt as though footsteps were chasing her from behind.

‘I can’t get caught.’

Her heart pounded wildly.

At last, she reached the second floor. Desperately searching for somewhere to hide, her eyes darted about before she pushed open the first door she saw and slipped inside.

It was the very restroom she had originally meant to visit.

Inside the servants’ lavatory, divided into several stalls, Isabella quickly shut the door and slid the lock into place. Leaning against it, she clamped both hands over her mouth.

She did not move. She could not move. Someone might come in.

She had no idea how much time passed. Her legs, folded beneath her, began to ache and tingle. Soon she could no longer feel the tips of her feet.

‘Do I have to stay here until morning?’

The thought had just crossed her mind.

Then she smelled something.

At first, it was so faint she barely noticed it. It was a scent she usually encountered only in winter, when firewood was burned, so she did not immediately recognize it.

But soon smoke seeped through the crack beneath the door, stinging her nose and throat.

‘Fire.’

The manor was on fire.

Isabella fumbled with the lock and stepped out of the lavatory. The corridor she had just run through was now thick with pale smoke.

She had to escape. Before she inhaled too much of it, she needed to get outside.

‘But where?’

Her gaze darted around. Her tingling legs refused to move properly.

If she went downstairs, she might run into that man again. The fear rooted her in place. At the same time, she realized that everyone else in the manor was still asleep, unaware of the flames.

‘The young master. Father!’

The faces of the two who came to mind first threw her into confusion.

“Fire in the Duke’s study! Hurry—bring water!”

“Come down quickly!”

The shouts of adults who had finally noticed the fire rang out. People, heads lowered in panic, hurried down the staircase to evacuate.

A servant spotted Isabella standing there in a daze and swiftly scooped her up.

“Isabella! There you are. Henry’s been looking everywhere for you. Let’s get outside—quickly.”

“The young master?”

“Someone else must have gone to fetch him!”

The servant chose to secure Isabella, who was right in front of him, rather than search for the young master whose whereabouts were unknown. Cradled in his arms, Isabella was carried out of the manor.

But no matter how desperately she searched the crowd, she could not find him.

“Sister Sara, where is the young master?”

“I’m sorry, Isabella. Peter is missing. Why don’t you ask someone else?”

Everyone was frantic, each trying to account for those who had not yet escaped. People who had fallen asleep in peace only moments before could barely tell who had made it outside and who remained trapped within. Meanwhile, the stronger men rushed back into the blazing manor again and again to rescue those still inside.

Isabella scanned every face emerging from the smoke—but the young master was not among them. Many had yet to come out.

Stamping her feet anxiously outside, Isabella made up her mind. Without hesitation, she ran back into the manor. In the chaos, no one noticed her absence.

The smoke had grown thicker than before. Every breath burned her throat and stung her eyes, making it nearly impossible to keep them open. Still, she felt her way along the wall and hurried down the corridor.

She reached the young master’s room quickly—it had not yet been overtaken by flames.

The moment Isabella pushed the door open, a wave of scorching air struck her face. Flames, unseen from the outside, flickered menacingly within.

“Young master!”

He lay just as he had when he fell asleep beside her—still in bed. No one had come for him.

Isabella rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.

“Wake up! Young master, please wake up!”

But he did not respond. Perhaps he was too deeply asleep. Tears streamed from her stinging eyes as she tried to rouse him, but she had no time to wipe them away. Around her, the crackling of burning wood grew louder.

At last, Isabella clenched her teeth and gave up trying to wake him. She grabbed his arm and pulled.

He was a full head taller than she was. His body felt impossibly heavy. As she struggled to drag him from the bed, her strength failed, and she stumbled, falling forward.

At that moment, his body twitched.

“Young master, are you awake? Please get up. The fire is spreading—we have to get outside before it—”

Isabella’s voice trembled with urgency as she glanced toward the doorway.

As though her desperate plea had reached him, Logan stirred weakly. With his help, she managed to lift his arm over her shoulder. Staggering under his weight, she forced her legs to move.

The flames climbing the wooden pillars were drawing closer, spreading with terrifying speed.

Breathing became nearly impossible. Her gasping breaths tore at her throat. Her feet felt as heavy as if weighted with sandbags, each step slower than the last.

The exit was right before them—

And yet it felt endlessly far away.

“Help… please… s-save… I can’t… breathe…”

Through the pale haze of smoke, a blurred human figure came into view. Isabella summoned every last ounce of strength and stretched out her hand.

‘At least the young master—someone, please…’

Then, suddenly, the heavy weight pressing down on her shoulder disappeared.

An adult had arrived.

‘Thank goodness. At least both of—’

Relief washed over her. Having spent all her strength dragging him this far, Isabella’s consciousness faded at once.

***

“Wake up—quickly! The manor is on fire. We have to evacuate.”

Returning straight from the study to the bedchamber, William raised his voice to rouse his family. Lifting Amelia into his arms as she gazed at him with sleepy eyes, he joined the crowd of evacuees, feigning shock at the sudden blaze.

Then he saw her.

“Sister Sara, where is the young master?”

He recognized her at once. She was the child who had seen him through the crack in the door.

William’s gaze followed the girl. After asking around anxiously, searching for someone, she suddenly ran back into the manor alone.

At that very moment, part of the building collapsed. Screams and sobs erupted from those watching outside.

William stood silently, staring at the manor as it was devoured by flames. Rather than sorrow, he wished it would burn completely—reduce everything to ash. Only then would his sin vanish with it.

“Father… what about brother Logan?”

Amelia, glancing around, clutched at his hand as she asked.

“I’m not sure. Let’s wait until the servants rescue the Fraser family.”

Logan’s life or death meant nothing to him. He only hoped the fire would not cease until James’s body was entirely consumed.

Then movement caught his eye near the doorway where they stood.

Two children.

Logan, unconscious, and the girl struggling to support him as she staggered forward.

William’s face hardened. The manor’s people, distracted by the raging flames, had not yet noticed them.

After surveying the surroundings, William approached. The girl was barely holding up the larger boy. Logan appeared to have inhaled too much smoke and had lost consciousness; the girl looked as though she had reached her limit.

“Help… please… s-save… I can’t… breathe…”

The exhausted girl collapsed forward.

William watched her for a moment. She looked to be about Amelia’s age. The thought of his own daughter flickered in his mind, making cruelty difficult.

But this girl had seen what she should not have seen. She had witnessed his hands shoving James—had seen the moment James died.

“Father!”

Amelia called out, seeing him standing so close to the burning manor.

As though steeling himself, William seized Logan from the girl’s side, lifting him into his arms, and shouted.

“I’ve found the young Duke of Fraser!”

At his side stood not some nameless girl, but Amelia. No matter what anyone said, Amelia was undeniably his daughter.

“My daughter, Amelia, saved him.”

The girl who had no connection whatsoever to the Fraser family lay forgotten behind him.