Maelys arrived at Ashfall at noon. She came in like someone prepared to insult a castle. Wet boots, black coat, hair tied back any way it would stay, laptop bag on her shoulder, eyes already hostile toward the moldings. Selene was coming down the stairs just as the butler tried to take her coat.
— Do not touch, Maelys said. The man withdrew his hands.
— Does she bite? Eden asked from the lower edge of the salon. Maelys looked at him.
— Only when a mysterious man invites my best friend into a house that smells like a chic funeral. Selene felt a rush of relief so strong she almost laughed. Maelys was here. The world could become absurd with a witness.
— This is Eden, Selene said.
— I guessed. He has the face of someone who says "this will be dangerous" instead of "hello." Eden inclined his head.
— Hello.
— Too late, Dracula. Selene slipped an arm around Maelys and held her tighter than she meant to. Maelys froze for a fraction of a second. Then understood. Her arms closed around her.
— Okay, Maelys murmured. Shit level?
— High.
— Corpse?
— Not yet.
— Small mercy. Eden left them several meters of space. Another good choice, irritatingly. Selene took Maelys to her room to show her the rose, the window, the photographs from the folders, the Lily page. Maelys barely spoke while reading. Which, for her, meant the fear had reached a dangerous level. When she finished, she said only:
— Your book is sitting on a mine.
— Yes.
— So is your mother.
— Yes.
— And you, naturally, want to stay. Selene did not answer. Maelys closed her eyes.
— Of course.
Maelys turned the bedroom into a crisis station. Laptop on the desk, cables everywhere, phone plugged in, the white folder photographed, manuscript versions compared. She worked fast, with that aggressive focus that made her look as if she wanted to slap the files until they confessed. Selene stayed near the window. The rose had been placed in a transparent evidence bag by one of Eden's men. It now lay on the desk like a proof too beautiful to be trusted.
— You really had four scents at the start, Maelys said. Selene turned.
— Are you sure?
— I have the old drafts. Berries, Roses, Fig, Tuberose. Lily appears in an exported version after your first exchange with Karol House. The file was modified from a machine that was not yours.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— Karol House?
— Or someone using their access.
— Eden? Maelys looked up.
— Do you want my opinion as a friend or my technical opinion?
— Both.
— Technical: I do not know. Friend: he has the face of the ideal suspect, which makes him either guilty or narratively too obvious. Selene gave a joyless laugh.
— You are starting to enjoy the drama.
— I am adapting to your hell. The door was open. Eden was waiting in the corridor, with a patience that looked far too much like voluntary punishment. Maelys glanced at him over the screen.
— Is he still there?
— Yes.
— Can he hear us?
— Probably.
— Perfect. Mr. Veyr, if you are responsible for this olfactory bullshit, directly or indirectly, I will turn you into negative content on twelve platforms. From the corridor, Eden answered:
— Noted. Maelys blinked.
— He is too calm. I hate that. Selene stared at the door. The fact that he stayed outside mattered. The fact that his world might have contaminated her book mattered too. Both truths were already beginning to exhaust her.
That evening, Maelys settled into the neighboring room after checking the lock herself and threatening to sleep with a chair under the handle "like in stupid movies, but effective ones." Selene stayed in her own room, alone, door open. Not fully. Just enough. Eden was in the corridor. Sitting in an armchair someone had brought there without her asking, which had almost caused an argument before he clarified that the armchair was for him, not so he could stand and watch over her like a tasteless character.
— You know this is weird, she said from the threshold.
— Yes.
— Very weird.
— Yes.
— You could sleep.
— No.
— You could pretend to be less dramatic.
— Probably. She leaned against the doorframe. The room behind her was dimly lit. The corridor ahead was darker. Between them, the open door looked like a line of negotiation.
— Why are you staying?
— Because someone marked your room.
— That is the official reason. He lifted his eyes.
— Because if my mother tries anything else tonight, I want to be the one who stops her.
— Bad.
— I know. She was surprised.
— You know?
— It is possessive. It is a repair phrase centered on me. It is exactly the kind of sentence Irina would have thrown in my face. The name fell more softly this time. Selene stayed silent.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— I am also staying, he went on, because you asked me not to turn your bedroom into a bunker without asking you. So I am outside. Better. Not perfect. Better.
— And if I close it? she asked.
— I stay in the corridor until you tell me to leave, or until someone takes over.
— You obey a lot for a man with problems.
— Only when the order keeps me from becoming a bigger one. Selene hated that she liked that sentence. Again.
She sat on the floor, back against the doorframe. Not in the corridor. Not entirely in the room. An absurd place, and therefore perfectly suited to the situation. Eden remained in the armchair, two meters away.
— Tell me about Irina, she said. He did not answer right away. She added:
— You can say no.
— I know.
— Do you really know that, or are you saying it because it is correct? A silence.
— Both. Honest. She accepted it. Eden looked down the empty corridor.
— Irina was everything Ashfall did not know how to contain. Too loud when she was supposed to smile. Too intelligent when she was supposed to obey. Too loyal to the wrong people, according to my mother.
— Which people?
— The ones bleeding in the margins. Selene kept the sentence in her head.
— Did she know Claire? He turned a dark look toward her.
— I think so.
— You think?
— I found clues after her death. Calls. Notes. Adrien's name. Claire's. I never knew how far they had gone.
— Your mother knows.
— My mother always knows enough to make other people doubt what they know. The fatigue in his voice was more naked now. Not seductive. Not crafted. Real. Selene felt it like a taut cord between them. She could have moved closer. She stayed where she was.
— How did Irina die? The corridor seemed to grow colder. Eden closed his eyes for a second.
— Fire.
— Accident?
— Official version.
— And yours? He opened his eyes again.
— I arrived too late.
— That is not a version. It is a sentence you passed on yourself. He looked at her. Hit.
— Do you do that often?
— What?
— Refuse people their punishment sentences.
— Only when they are badly written. This time, he laughed. Brief. Broken. But real.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The conversation should have stopped there. It did not. Maybe because night made boundaries more visible. Maybe because the open door gave every sentence a possible exit. Selene turned her head toward him.
— You scare me. Eden did not move. Good.
— I know.
— Not always in the same way.
— Explain. She gave a joyless smile.
— You really are the kind of man who asks for a structured analysis of his own threat.
— I prefer to know which one I should reduce. The sentence touched her. She inhaled.
— You scare me because your world touched my mother. My book. Maybe me before I even understood. You scare me because you know how to be violent. Because your mother seems to have planted rules beneath your skin. And because a part of me wants you anyway, which deeply irritates me. The silence after that was immense. Selene almost regretted it. Not the truth. The fact that she had delivered it whole. Eden lowered his eyes to his hands.
— Thank you. She blinked.
— That is your answer?
— Yes.
— Disappointing.
— I could do worse.
— Certainly. He lifted his eyes.
— I want you too. But I do not want to become one more piece of evidence that you confuse danger with choice. So I will stay here, and you will stay there, unless you want something else very clearly. Selene's heart had a stupid reaction. She ignored it with limited dignity.
— Very clearly?
— Yes.
— You like clauses.
— They prevent ruins. The sentence should have broken the tension. It made it denser. Selene rested her head against the doorframe.
— Not tonight.
— All right. No performed disappointment. No pressure. Not even a movement toward her. Just agreement. That might have been the most dangerous thing about him. His ability to stop.
Selene's phone vibrated on the floor between them. The sound dragged them both back into the world. She looked at the screen. Unknown number. An image. The photo of Claire and the road. The same one from the Lily folder. Only clearer. With one detail that had not appeared in the archive: in the reflection of the gray car's window, a white silhouette. A woman. Or someone who wanted them to believe it was a woman. Under the image, a message: Some roses do not mark targets. They mark the ones already chosen. Selene felt the blood leave her face. Eden stood.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Selene wrote on a sheet of paper: Do not follow the message. Use the message. Maelys read it.
— That is good.
— Keep?
— Keep. Eden looked at both women.
— Do you do that often?
— What? Selene asked.
— Turn a sentence into a shared weapon. Maelys answered:
— Yes. It is our platonic love language. Do not be jealous.
— I am not jealous.
— Medium lie. Six out of ten. Selene laughed despite the tension. The laugh died quickly, but it had existed. In a house like Ashfall, that was already an act of vandalism.
In the morning, they returned to the archive. Not like the day before. This time, Selene was not alone with Eden. Maelys walked at her right, laptop under her arm. Livia, whom she was finally meeting, led the way with the calm of a woman who had already considered six exits and liked none of them. Eden stayed slightly behind. To the left, but not too close. Selene noticed. Did not comment. The Tuberose folder was placed at the center of the table. The message had said: not with him. Selene opened it herself, under everyone's eyes. Inside, a page had been added since the day before. Impossible. And yet. Cream paper. Elegant handwriting. If you are reading this with witnesses, you are less stupid than expected. Maelys leaned in.
— I already hate his style. Selene continued. Tuberose does not contain what your mother found. It contains what your father sold. Search Berries. Search Adrien. Then ask Eden what he knows about the white door. If he says he does not know, he will be lying by inheritance, which is almost sadder than a voluntary lie. Eden went still. Livia looked at him. So did Selene.
— The white door, she said. Eden did not answer. His silence was a faster answer than any word. Maelys breathed:
— Oh, I like this less and less. Selene set the page down.
— Eden. He closed his eyes for a second.
— There is a white door beneath the old Berries salon.
— You knew.
— I knew it existed.
— Wrong answer number what? Maelys asked.
— I stopped counting, Selene said. Eden took it.
— They said it was an old tasting room, sealed after Irina's fire.
— And you did not think it was useful to mention after we found folders on my mother, Lily, and a photo of an accident?
— No. She stared at him. He added:
— I did not think. I avoided. The nuance was ugly. But true. Selene took the Berries folder.
— Then we are going to open the door everyone avoids.
Selene wrote on a sheet of paper: Do not follow the message. Use the message. Maelys read it.
— That is good.
— Keep?
— Keep. Eden looked at both women.
— Do you do that often?
— What? Selene asked.
— Turn a sentence into a shared weapon. Maelys answered:
— Yes. It is our platonic love language. Do not be jealous.
— I am not jealous.
— Medium lie. Six out of ten. Selene laughed despite the tension. The laugh died quickly, but it had existed. In a house like Ashfall, that was already an act of vandalism.
In the morning, they returned to the archive. Not like the day before. This time, Selene was not alone with Eden. Maelys walked at her right, laptop under her arm. Livia, whom she was finally meeting, led the way with the calm of a woman who had already considered six exits and liked none of them. Eden stayed slightly behind. To the left, but not too close. Selene noticed. Did not comment. The Tuberose folder was placed at the center of the table. The message had said: not with him. Selene opened it herself, under everyone's eyes. Inside, a page had been added since the day before. Impossible. And yet. Cream paper. Elegant handwriting. If you are reading this with witnesses, you are less stupid than expected. Maelys leaned in.
— I already hate his style. Selene continued. Tuberose does not contain what your mother found. It contains what your father sold. Search Berries. Search Adrien. Then ask Eden what he knows about the white door. If he says he does not know, he will be lying by inheritance, which is almost sadder than a voluntary lie. Eden went still. Livia looked at him. So did Selene.
— The white door, she said. Eden did not answer. His silence was a faster answer than any word. Maelys breathed:
— Oh, I like this less and less. Selene set the page down.
— Eden. He closed his eyes for a second.
— There is a white door beneath the old Berries salon.
— You knew.
— I knew it existed.
— Wrong answer number what? Maelys asked.
— I stopped counting, Selene said. Eden took it.
— They said it was an old tasting room, sealed after Irina's fire.
— And you did not think it was useful to mention after we found folders on my mother, Lily, and a photo of an accident?
— No. She stared at him. He added:
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