“We’ve confirmed my lady’s last known movement—she boarded a train at Rotman Station.”

“….”

“It was bound for Southfirth. And that same train… was attacked.”

The steady tapping of his fingers against the table came to an abrupt stop.

Tilting his head slightly, Andrew gestured for him to continue.

“There were numerous casualties. Among the belongings of the deceased…”

Derek paused, then reached into his coat and placed something before him.

A pendant.

A circular ruby set in gold.

Andrew knew it well.

Inside it was a portrait of the late Baron and Baroness Grandly, a necklace she always wore.

He remembered the shy look on her face as she once spoke about it, unprompted—how dearly she cherished it.

Now, the chain was scorched, blackened—bearing silent witness to the horror of that moment.

“It has been confirmed that my lady is dead. They are recovering the remains, but the damage is severe. It is said that the body may not be intact.”

Rive Grandly… is dead?

Derek’s voice echoed faintly in his ears.

All sound seemed to fade, leaving only the dull, steady beat of his own heart as his slipping reason struggled to hold on.

Dead?

No matter how many times he repeat ed itit made no sense.

No.

That couldn’t be.

Was she the kind of woman who would die so easily?

Her eyes—always searching for his affection. Her voice—endlessly reaching, begging for his attention lingered at the edges of his mind.

“…Are you certain?”

His voice was level—yet faintly unsteady.

Derek lowered his head.

“Once the investigation is concluded—”

“I asked if you’re certain.”

His gaze bore into Derek.

The hand tugging at his loosened tie was sharper, more impatient than usual.

“…Yes, Your Grace.”

Silence fell.

Derek stood still, watching his master closely.

“I will report again once everything has been confirmed.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Andrew reached for a fresh cigarette, placing it between his lips and lighting it without hesitation.

Smoke curled thickly into the air, veiling his expression.

When his gaze returned to Derek, it was empty—devoid of any visible emotion.

“If it’s already certain, what’s the point?”

That was all.

Caught off guard by his reaction, Derek blinked, as if unable to process what he was seeing.

Even when Andrew gestured for him to leave, he hesitated.

They had been husband and wife for three years.

How was he meant to understand a man who could remain so indifferent to his wife’s death?

“…You may go.”

Andrew picked up the documents on his desk.

Only then, seeing that he had returned to his usual composed demeanor, did Derek bow and quietly leave the room.

Even after his aide was gone, Andrew did not stop reading.

Dead.

That single word rose starkly against the dense lines of text before him.

“I’ll pray that you return safely to Bloodtail… always.”

The file slipped from his hand, landing heavily on the desk.

He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and rose to his feet.

His wife was dead.

At last, the reality filled his mind, like a violent storm crashing down upon him, threatening to swallow him whole.

Dragging a hand across his face, he let out a hollow, almost absurd laugh.

***

Rive was on her way to the city marketplace, running an errand for Marsili.

After more than a month of coming and going, the road had begun to feel familiar.

With a basket in hand, a hat pulled low over her head, and a thick coat wrapped tightly around her, Rive moved with quiet caution, her body instinctively shrinking in on itself as she glanced around.

Snow that had fallen overnight blanketed the rooftops of the stone buildings in white.

It was a peaceful sight—one that brought a strange calm to her heart.

And yet, as she found herself counting the days she had spent here, a faint bitterness crept in.

Enough time had passed for her husband to have surely learned of her disappearance.

And yet—no one came after her.

It was what she had always wanted.

So why did her heart feel so heavy?

Although she had finally stepped out of Blackwood’s shadow and gained her freedom, she still felt no joy.

“Extra! Extra!”

The streets were unusually noisy that day.

Shopkeepers had come out, sweeping the snow from the sidewalks. People chatted as they passed, and a boy on a bicycle rode through the crowd, scattering newspapers.

It all looked ordinary—and yet, something felt off.

“Good heavens… how could something like this happen?”

“They say the Duchess of Blackwood is dead.”

“They heard she was on that train. No one knows why she was even on it.”

Rive, who had been heading toward the nearby fruit stall, stopped in her tracks.

Her pale green eyes flickered with unease as she turned toward the voices.

Clusters of people gathered, whispering over the newspapers in their hands.

At her feet, a discarded extra rustled softly.

As if drawn by something unseen, Rive bent down and picked it up.

Her face slowly drained of color.

[The Duchess of Blackwood has died in the recent attack on a train bound for Southfirth. The funeral was held in secret. With the delayed revelation of her death, public attention has now turned to the war hero, the Duke of Blackwood.]

Alongside the article was a photograph, a scorched pendant.

Her pendant.

Though she already knew it was gone, her hand moved instinctively to her neck.

The moment she fully grasped the situation, her strength gave out.

The basket slipped from her hands, hitting the ground.

Her breathing trembled, refusing to steady.

“Miss, are you alright?”

The fruit vendor had noticed her and was approaching.

At the sound of his voice, Rive staggered back, lifting her head.

Then she turned and ran.

Her legs faltered beneath her, her body swaying as she forced herself forward.

By sheer luck, she had gotten off at the transfer station and escaped death.

Suddenly, she remembered the young couple—and the laughing baby—from the train.

If it had been a terrorist attack…there might not even be bodies left to recover.

Rogiella had taken her belongings and disappeared. Her death was revealed, leaving only a single pendant to mark her passing.

“…Hah… hhk…”

When the Burnett farm came into view, Rive finally slowed, her breath ragged and shallow.

Bracing her hands on her knees, she forced herself upright but her stomach churned violently.

At first, she thought it was just from running.

But once the nausea began, it wouldn’t stop.

“—Urgh!”

Unable to hold it back, she collapsed forward, her body trembling.

“Rive!”

Marsili rushed over in alarm.

There was nothing in her stomach—only bitter bile rising up.

Through her blurred vision, the old man’s figure wavered faintly.

Everything spun.

The hand gripping her shoulder brought a fragile sense of relief—and then—darkness spilled across her vision like ink.

Her golden hair spread across the white snow like a painting.

***

“Fortunately, the child in your womb is safe.”

Rive had just regained consciousness.

She stared, dazed, at the doctor who had suddenly spoken.

“…A child?”

Marsili helped her sit up and handed her a glass of lukewarm water.

As she lifted it to drink, a sharp, unpleasant smell struck her nose.

“—Ugh…”

Her stomach twisted again.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her head.

The doctor, standing across from her, spoke in a flat tone.

“…You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

Rive froze, as if struck.

Slowly, she tried to recall the last time her cycle had ended.

In the chaos of everything, she had never even noticed the changes in her body.

The doctor continued, matter-of-factly.

“It seems your morning sickness has begun early. It may be difficult, but you’ll need to make sure you eat.”

Rive looked between the concerned gaze of old Marsili and the indifferent expression of the doctor.

Then, a memory from that night flashed through her mind.

Her body went still.

It had only been one night.

“You’ll need plenty of rest. Don’t overexert yourself.”

Seeing her unable to respond, the doctor turned away without hesitation as a nurse called from behind.

Rive lowered her head as Marsili gently patted her back.

Her eyes reddened.

Soon, tears began to fall.

Once, this was something she had longed for with all her heart.

But that belonged to the past now.

“…Hhk…”

She thought she had finally severed that cruel, unrelenting bond.

And yet, his child was growing inside her.

Clutching at her clothes, she swallowed her sobs, a pained sound escaping her.

Memories surged back as if time itself had been reversed, overwhelming her thoughts.

The shadow of Blackwood still lingered—tight, suffocating, inescapable.

In the end…it was better this way.

That the Duchess of Blackwood had died.