The old Berries salon was beneath the south wing. Of course. Selene was beginning to understand that, at Ashfall, everything that mattered eventually went downward. The salon no longer looked like a salon. The furniture was sheeted, the chandeliers dark, the walls covered in red wood paneling so deep it was almost black. Yet the smell remained: faded berries, dust, damp wood. An invitation forgotten for too long. Eden walked on the left. Maelys behind Selene. Livia in front. Probably the most dysfunctional quartet this house had seen in a long time, which said a lot.
— I want it noted, Maelys said under her breath, that "old condemned room under mafia manor" is not an optimal location for my mental health.
— No one forced you to come, Selene replied.
— False. Friendship forces me to witness the worst decisions of your life so I can say "I told you so" with precision. Livia stopped in front of a built-in bookcase.
— Here? Eden nodded. He slid a hand beneath a molding. A mechanism gave way with a dry snap.
The bookcase pivoted. Behind it, a narrow corridor. White. No stone. No wood. Smooth white, more recent, almost medical. Selene felt the Lily folder in her bag like a cold thing.
— Is that the white door? Maelys asked.
— No, Eden said. He was looking at the end of the corridor.
— This is the path. Of course. The house never gave you the door right away. They moved forward.
The sound of their steps changed. Drier. More naked. Selene hated the corridor before she even saw its end. At the far end stood a white door. No handle. No visible lock. Only an old reader and a small metal plate. RESTRICTED ACCESS - BERRIES ARCHIVE. Maelys breathed:
— Berries Archive? Of course. Have the Veyr never heard of Google Drive? No one laughed. Not even her.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Eden's badge did not work. Neither did Livia's. Each time, the reader gave a red beep, short and insulting. Selene looked at the plate. Berries Archive. Entry. Bait. First consent obtained through the desire for access.
— This is not an archive, she said. Eden turned toward her.
— What?
— It is a door that wants us to ask to enter by the wrong method. Maelys narrowed her eyes.
— I like it when you go oracle mode, but develop. Selene took the Berries box from her bag. Eden tensed.
— Do not light it here.
— I am not lighting anything. She opened the box. The scent rose. Crushed berries. Dark wood. Metal. The door did not react. Logical. She studied the reader. Then the plate. Then the floor. A small symbol, almost invisible, had been engraved near the threshold: three dots, a pause, one dot. Tap. Tap tap. Pause. Tap.
— Noe, she murmured. Maelys looked up.
— Your brother?
— He used to make that rhythm when we were kids. Always the same one. On tables, windows, walls. Dad kept telling him to stop.
— You think it is a code?
— I think my father turned it into one. Eden looked at the symbol.
— Adrien. Hearing the name in his mouth irritated Selene. Not because he said it wrong. Because it seemed to belong to too many worlds at once. She placed her fingers on the plate.
Tap. Tap tap. Pause. Tap. The reader stayed red. Then a second mechanism, lower down, activated. Not in the door. In the wall to the left. A slit opened. Inside, a key. Not white. Red. Maelys whispered:
— I take back my jokes. This is terrifying. Selene took the key. She had dreamed of a red key inside a candle. Maybe the dream had come from a memory. Or from a house that knew far too well how to prepare its symbols. The red key opened a lock that appeared only once the slit had closed again. Another way to force people to follow a sequence. Selene did not like it. But she turned the key.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The white door opened inward. The air that came out was not moldy. It was cold. Dry. Preserved. The room beyond looked less like an archive than a preparation room. A table, several chairs, an old projector, crates of folders, shelves of tapes, a wall covered with road maps and plans. On the table: an ashtray full of very old cigarette butts, an empty glass, a brown notebook. Selene stepped inside. Eden started to follow. She lifted one hand.
— Wait. He stopped. She did not know why she wanted to enter first. Yes. She knew. Because this room smelled like her father. Not literally. But in the controlled disorder, the notes, the routes, the interrupted gestures. Adrien Moreau had been here. She felt it before she saw his name. On the brown notebook: A.M. - Berries / exits. Selene placed her hand on it. Did not open it yet. She turned toward Eden.
— You can come in. He did, slowly. Maelys and Livia too. The room suddenly seemed too small for all the versions of the past it contained. Selene opened the notebook. First page: If Claire is reading this, it means I have failed again to speak before the evidence. She closed her eyes.
— Dad. Maelys placed a hand between her shoulder blades. Not for long. Just enough. Selene went on. Berries is not the entry. It is what they call entry so those who open believe they chose. The true exit is not in the white door. The white door is the trap. Everyone froze. They were in the trap.
The white door closed behind them.
Maelys said, very calmly:
— I am going to kill your father posthumously. No one answered. Livia was already at the door, tool in hand, inspecting the mechanism. Eden was watching the corners of the room, possible cameras, exits. Selene was staring at the notebook. The trap had perhaps not been designed by Adrien. But he had known about it. And instead of destroying it, he had written inside it. Another man leaving instructions in the cage instead of preventing the cage from existing. Anger rose. She turned the page. Claire, if you are with the children, do not use the white door. Leave through the fig tree. Tell Noe the rhythm. Tell Selene that roses mean they have already chosen the version. Do not let Irina come alone. Irina. Again. Eden moved closer.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— What does it say? Selene handed him the notebook. He read. His face changed at the last sentence.
— Irina came here.
— Looks like it.
— My mother told me she had never gone down beneath the south wing. Maelys, near the door, said:
— I know I do not know your mother well, but she seems like a questionable source. Livia said:
— Door locked. But not airtight. No gas detected for now.
— For now, Maelys repeated. I love that. Selene continued through the notebook. Pages of codes. Routes. Partial names. A map of the port. One mention: Orsini. Another: Veyr too late. Then an underlined sentence: Claire thinks the White Hand is not a family. It is a function. She is right.
— White Hand? Selene asked. Eden answered:
— A name you hear in old cases. Doctors, judges, administrators, reputation cleaners. I thought it was a legend used to scare stupid heirs. Maelys looked at him.
— You really did grow up inside a problematic novel. Selene stared at the words. The White Hand. Lily. Erasure. Her mother had not just discovered a family secret. She had discovered a function capable of burying lives cleanly.
In a crate marked exits, Livia found a tape recorder and several tapes. The labels were written in Adrien's hand. Claire - 1 Irina - 2 Port - emergency Do not play here Naturally, they started with the one marked Do not play here.
— I would like to say, Maelys announced, that our collective instinct is catastrophic. Selene inserted the tape. Eden wanted to protest. Did not. The tape crackled. Then Adrien's voice filled the room. Faint. Younger. Exhausted.
— If this tape is playing inside the white door, someone lacked caution or time. Probably me. Claire, I am sorry. Irina, if it is you, stop smiling, I know you said this was a bad idea. A silence. Selene felt her eyes burn. She had barely heard her father's voice in years. Not like this. Not alive.
— The door locks from the inside to keep Althea from knowing who opened it. It is not a prison if you know the exit. I know, stupid sentence. Irina already told me. Maelys murmured:
— I like Irina. Adrien continued:
— Noe's rhythm opens the slit. The second rhythm opens the exit. Selene knows it too, but she thinks she forgot because she turns the things she does not understand into stories before looking them in the face. Selene went still. Even dead, her father still found a way to hit exactly where it hurt.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— The second rhythm, Eden said. The tape crackled. Adrien tapped. Tap tap. Pause. Tap. Long pause. Tap tap tap. The back wall vibrated.
An opening appeared behind a shelf. Not large. A passage. Maelys raised both hands.
— Great. A tunnel. No one is surprised. The passage led into a low corridor. Not white. Raw stone. Older. Selene immediately felt less afraid. Not because it was safe. Because it did not look as if it had been built by the White Hand. It looked older, clumsier, almost human. They moved bent over, one after another. Livia in front, Selene behind her, Maelys in the middle insulting the architecture, Eden bringing up the rear.
The tunnel opened into a small circular room. At the center: a table. On the table: one envelope. For Selene. Claire's handwriting. Selene did not touch it. Not right away. She had thought she was looking for answers about her mother. She was beginning to receive her mother in pieces. That was almost crueler. Maelys gently placed a hand on her arm.
— Do you want me to open it? Selene shook her head.
— No. She took the envelope. Inside were a letter and a small photograph. The photo showed Claire, Adrien, baby Noe, little Selene, standing in front of a tree. A fig tree. Selene felt something move in her memory. Warmth. Broad leaves. Syrup. A laugh. She opened the letter. My Selene, If you are reading this, I failed somewhere, but not everywhere. Keep that distinction. It saved me from madness more often than the doctors would admit. Selene inhaled, trembling. They will tell you I was confused. Too sensitive. Unstable. They may say I invented enemies because that is easier than admitting they exist with offices, titles, and clean hands. I am not asking you to believe my fear. I am asking you to check who wins when my fear is ridiculed. Selene closed her eyes. Then continued. If Adrien led you here, forgive him only what you can. He sold an entry while believing he was buying an exit. Cowardly men who love sometimes do more damage than monsters who hate. The sentence remained in the air. Eden looked away. Maelys murmured:
— Fuck. There was nothing better to say.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The letter continued. Irina helped us. She knew more than I did about Ashfall, less than she believed, enough to die if she persisted. She always persisted. If you meet Eden, do not give him his mother's guilt just to save time. It will be tempting. It will not be fair. But do not give him your forgiveness either because he suffers beautifully. Beautiful men with wounds make very poor evidence of innocence. Maelys let out a nervous laugh.
— Your mother was a legend. Selene read the sentence twice. Beautiful men with wounds make very poor evidence of innocence. Eden looked as if he wanted to disappear into the stone.
— I probably would have hated her, he said.
— She would have returned the courtesy, Selene replied. The letter had one last part. Lily is what they do afterward. After the road. After the fire. After the scream. After the witness. They do not want to prevent every act of violence. They want to control what those acts become in the files. If I die, they will write about me. So write too. Not to make me pure. To keep me from belonging to them entirely. Selene did not cry. Not yet. Something inside her was too open to produce tears. She folded the letter carefully.
— We get out. Eden nodded.
— And then? Selene looked at the photograph of the fig tree.
— Then I talk to Noe.
— He knows something? Maelys asked.
— He knows the rhythm. Maybe other pieces. And I want to stop learning my family from the dead before the living. Maelys nodded.
— Good decision. Terrifying, but good. They left through a narrow staircase that opened behind a service door near the kitchens. Day had fully broken. Ashfall looked almost normal. It was insulting.
Noe arrived late that afternoon. He had not wanted to come at first. Then Selene sent him the photograph of the fig tree. He called back within a minute.
— Where did you find that? His voice was trembling. Not with surprise. With recognition. Now he stood in the Berries salon, paler than usual, eyes fixed on the open white door.
— I know this corridor, he said. Selene came closer.
— You remember it?
— Not like a memory. Like a nightmare that had a smell. Maelys stayed near him, strangely gentle. Eden was there too, at a distance. Livia guarded the access. Noe looked at Selene.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— Dad used to make me tap the rhythm when I was little.
— I know.
— I thought it was a game.
— Maybe he wanted it to be one.
— That is worse.
— Yes. He gave a brief laugh, almost painful.
— You were always better than me at saying yes to horrible things.
— No. I just have less energy to wrap them up. Noe looked at the door. Then at Eden.
— Did your family kill my mother? The question was brutal. It had to be. Eden answered:
— I do not know yet. But my family helped erase what happened to her. That, yes. Noe absorbed it. So did Selene. The partial truth tasted like blood. But it was better than fog. Noe placed his hand on the white door.
— Dad used to say: if she gets out of there, take Selene and go to the fig tree. Selene felt her heart tighten.
— You remember that?
— Now, yes.
— Where is the fig tree? Noe shook his head.
— I do not know. Then he looked at the corridor.
— But I think Dad was afraid of the port. Eden straightened.
— The Orsini port? Noe went even paler.
— Yes. That name. Orsini. The white door had delivered its first exit. It led to the port. And from there, nothing could remain in the house anymore.