"P-Perido is missing. Perido is *gone*."
Daya's lips—bloodless, nearly white—forced the words out in a rush.
"What..."
Only a few hours had passed since Marin had finished reading to him, had watched his peaceful sleeping face, had tucked the blanket beneath his chin.
"What if he was kidnapped?" Daya's voice cracked, climbing toward hysteria. "What if someone—*again*—"
She couldn't finish. Her body swayed, strength draining away like water through cracked stone.
Marin caught her by the shoulders, gripping firmly, and met the girl's vacant, terrified gaze with steady eyes.
"My lady. Listen to me. This is the Duke's castle. No one could take him. Go to Lord Gerald *now*—tell him what's happened. I'll start searching for Perido."
Tears spilled down Daya's cheeks—silent, unstoppable.
"I'm sorry. Please—*save him*—"
"Wait."
Marin released her and ducked back into her room. She emerged seconds later with a heavy winter robe and draped it over Daya's trembling shoulders.
"It's freezing. Wear this. I'm going to look for him now."
"Yes..."
Marin watched Daya hurry toward the stairs leading to the main castle, then turned and rushed back into her room. She stripped off her nightgown, yanked on the simplest dress within reach, and threw a thick coat over her shoulders.
On the second floor, the corridor lay silent. Daya had deliberately avoided waking the other children—there was no need to terrify them until they knew more.
Marin flew down the stairs and burst through the outbuilding door.
---
A blindingly white world spread before her.
The night's snowfall had blanketed everything, and now the ground sparkled beneath the moon like a sea of crushed diamonds.
*Crunch-crunch.*
Breaking through the thin crust with every step, Marin ran toward the mandrelson garden—the place she'd walked with Perido only days ago. Something in her chest insisted: *start there*.
Black sky above. White breath billowing from her lips like spreading paint.
"Perido! Are you here? *Perido!*"
She reached the garden and spun in a circle, searching—but clouds swallowed the moon, and the world plunged into darkness so complete she couldn't see her own hands.
*Why now?*
Marin stretched her arms forward and moved by feel, step by careful step.
"Perido. *Perido.*"
The clouds parted.
Milky moonlight poured down like water from an overturned bowl.
Marin looked at the ground.
Small footprints marked the snow—child-sized, unmistakable.
*Found him.*
Her heart, which had been clenched in an iron fist of fear, loosened slightly. There were no adult prints beside the child's tracks. He'd wandered off alone.
And then—her mind clearing with relief—she remembered something she'd forgotten entirely.
"El. Are you here?"
She turned toward the empty air. A heartbeat later, El materialized behind her, silent as a shadow.
"Yes."
"Do the children also have... someone like you watching them?"
"Only direct heirs receive the Shadow's protection."
"But I'm not from the direct line."
"For the future spouse, an exception is made."
*She doesn't know about the contract?* But that wasn't the point right now.
"Are you still monitoring the children's safety?"
"Of course. The young master is safe."
Relief flooded through her so forcefully her knees nearly buckled.
"Thank goodness. Does Lord Gerald know?"
"Yes. Kay has already reported. His Lordship is coming here with Lady Daya."
"Understood. Thank you."
El inclined her head—barely a nod—and dissolved into the night air.
---
Marin followed the small footprints through the snow, walking quickly, eyes fixed downward.
The tracks ended abruptly beneath a canopy of ancient trees, where snow couldn't reach the frozen earth.
She looked up.
A tower rose before her—the same one with the pointed roof that Perido had pointed to days ago, his small face clouded with something she hadn't understood.
A wooden fence circled the tower like a barrier meant to seal it away from the world.
Marin began searching for a gap—any gap.
*There.*
The bottom edge of the fence had rotted and separated from the frame. The snow around it was packed and disturbed: Perido had crawled through here.
Marin curled herself as small as possible and squeezed through the opening. For once, she was grateful for her slight build.
On the other side, she straightened and scanned her surroundings.
The tower's ground-floor door stood ajar.
She pushed it open—the old wood groaning in protest—and stepped inside.
Darkness. Complete and absolute.
Her eyes, adjusted to moonlight, couldn't make out anything. For a moment, fear gripped her throat.
*How did Perido manage to climb up here?*
Feeling her way along the rough stone wall, Marin began to ascend. Gradually—mercifully—her vision adapted.
She tested each step with her toe before committing her weight, climbing higher and higher in careful silence.
At last she reached the top. Another door, this one tightly closed.
She pressed against it. The hinges screamed with rust.
*Shhhk.*
A small, frantic sound from within—someone hiding.
Marin stepped inside. Moonlight filtered through a narrow window, casting pale silver across the room.
"Perido?"
She kept her voice soft, gentle—a sound that couldn't frighten.
Her gaze swept the space. A bed. A wardrobe. A small table. As though someone had once lived here.
*But the bed is child-sized.*
Had a child actually lived in this tower? The thought alone made her chest ache, and she forced it away before it could take root.
"Perido. It's Teacher Marin."
The wardrobe door was slightly ajar.
She hesitated. Should she open it?
"Perido, may I open the door?"
Without seeing his face, she couldn't read his lips. Couldn't know if he was answering.
"...I'm going to open it now."
She pulled the door back—slowly, gently.
Perido sat curled into a tight ball, face buried against his knees, making himself as small as possible.
Marin crouched down to his level.
"Peri... do."
He shook his head violently and waved his hands, hiding his face. The boy who had loved talking to her—who had *finally* found someone who understood him—now refused to speak at all.
*Why did he come here? How did he even know about this place?*
Footsteps pounded up the stairs behind her—rapid, urgent.
The door flew open.
Daya burst in first, candle clutched in white-knuckled fingers. The Duke's tall silhouette appeared behind her.
"*Perido!*" Daya's voice cracked with relief and anguish. "What are you *doing*? Why are you *here*?"
She was still wearing only the robe Marin had given her—thin protection against the freezing night. She must be frozen through. But all she could think about was her brother.
Perido pressed his face deeper into his knees.
"Perido, come out. Please. Let's go home, all right?"
Daya reached toward him, coaxing, pleading.
He didn't move.
"Do you want to upset me again? *Perido.*"
Even her wounded, desperate tone couldn't reach him.
She turned to Marin, eyes brimming with helpless appeal.
But Marin had no answers either. She shook her head—a small, inadequate gesture.
And then—
"Perido."
The Duke's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Perido's head snapped up.
His small face was streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen.
He launched himself out of the wardrobe and charged directly at the Duke.
Marin and Daya watched in stunned silence.
The boy reached his uncle and began kicking his legs with all the furious strength in his small body.
"*Oooooh...*"
"*Perido!*"
Daya lunged forward, face ashen, trying to restrain him—but he shoved her away violently and resumed his assault, small fists pounding against the Duke's thighs.
"*Oooh-ooh-ooh-ooh...*" The sounds tore from his throat—raw, animal, agonized.
"*Why did you come!*"
His voice—his *actual voice*—erupted into the air.
"*Why did you come!*"
Daya's hand froze mid-reach.
Marin's eyes flew wide.
*Perido was speaking.*
And the Duke stood motionless. Stone-faced. Eyes closed.
He made no move to stop the blows. Made no move at all.
"*Why are you here?*" Perido screamed, his small body shaking with sobs. "*Mom should be here! Why did the Duke of Vines come? WHY!*"
His voice cracked and broke and rebuilt itself with every word.
"*Mom said if I waited, she would come! She promised—if I sat here quietly and didn't say a word, she would come for me! But only the Duke comes—Mom doesn't! Why did you come? WHY!*"
Daya covered her mouth with both hands. Tears streamed down her face.
Marin pressed her own palm against her lips, heart shattering.
*So that was why.*
He hadn't been silent from trauma. He'd been silent because he was *keeping a promise*.
If he didn't speak—if he stayed quiet like his mother asked—she would come back for him.
"*Now—*" Perido's voice collapsed into sobs so violent his whole body convulsed. "*Now because I started talking, Mom won't come, right? I'll never see her again, right...?*"