Lord Rowe staggered through the archway of his mansion’s grand courtyard, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel.
His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were clouded with exhaustion and grief.
At the center of the courtyard, illuminated by the pale light of dusk, stood a black carriage bearing the crest of the Investigation Authority.
Before it, resting solemnly on an iron stand, was a coffin.
His steps slowed. His throat closed. The world seemed to narrow until all he could see was that dark lid.
If there was one thing he was known for, it was his iron will. The ability to stand before grave odds and not waver a tiny bit. But right now... his hand trembled as he reached for the coffin. He lifted it open.
Inside lay his precious daughter.
She looked as if she were merely sleeping, dressed in a gown of white silk embroidered with gold, her hair neatly arranged across her shoulders.
Her face, pale but untouched, seemed almost peaceful. To anyone else, she might appear like a maiden preparing for a ball. To him, she was his daughter, his little girl, lifeless in a coffin.
A sound broke through the suffocating silence.
"Is it true?!"
It was his wife. Lady Rowe came rushing into the courtyard, her gown billowing as she ran.
She saw the coffin, saw Juniper’s face, and her legs buckled. With a cry that ripped through the night air, she collapsed against the coffin, clutching at her daughter’s pale form.
"Juniper!" She wailed, pressing her face against the silk gown, shaking as sobs wracked her. "My baby! My baby!"
Lord Rowe closed the lid halfway, unable to bear seeing his wife press her face against their daughter’s corpse. He caught her by the shoulders, pulling her against him. She struck his chest with her fists, her voice breaking with anguish.
"Why?" She cried. "Why couldn’t you protect her? Why weren’t you there? You swore! You swore to protect our daughter!"
He took it all in silence. Blow after blow, accusation after accusation, he absorbed it as though each strike were his punishment. His arms never loosened, holding her close as she unraveled in grief.
Finally, she slumped against him, her strength spent. Tears streamed down her face as she buried her head in his chest.
Lord Rowe lowered his chin, pressing his lips to her hair, and for the first time in a long time, he whispered, not to her, but to the memory of the day their daughter had been born.
"Do you remember, love?" His voice cracked, his words raw. "When she came into this world, and the nurse placed her in my arms?"
"She was so small, so fragile... and I swore... I swore to the heavens that no harm would ever come to her. That I would be her shield. That I would give her anything she ever wanted."
He drew in a shuddering breath. "But I failed. I failed you. I failed her. I let her walk into the jaws of monsters, and now she’s gone."
Lady Rowe sobbed harder, her fingers clutching his tunic as though holding him might anchor her to what little remained of her world.
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "But listen to me. I promise you, even if it is the last thing I ever do, her killer will not walk free. I will see to it myself."
Lady Rowe trembled in his embrace. He kissed her brow, then gently guided her into the waiting arms of a maid who had been standing nearby, pale-faced and silent.
"Take her inside." He instructed softly. The maid bowed and led his broken wife away, her cries fading into the corridors of the mansion.
Lord Rowe turned back to the coffin, pressing the lid down until it sealed with a muted thud.
The sound echoed through him like a final goodbye. His eyes hardened, no longer wet with grief but burning with wrath.
He straightened and turned toward the black carriage. An Investigation Authority agent stood stiffly beside it, hands clasped behind his back, his face expressionless.
"You!" He snarled. He knew the man was not Osiris. Or the monster that had killed his daughter. But he was of the Investigation Authority. People who couldn’t save his daughter. "Why are you still here?!"
The man stepped forward hesitantly, producing a sealed letter bearing the mark of Lord Lawless.
"My lord." The agent said, bowing slightly.
Lord Rowe snatched the letter from his hand, broke the seal, and scanned its contents.
His lips curled in disgust as he read it. Rage smoldered in his eyes. He knew what Osiris intended by sending him this letter. He knew what that man wanted.
Lord Rowe folded the letter, keeping his face blank as he tucked it into his coat.
"You may return to your master." He said coldly. "Tell Osiris Lawless that this changes nothing. Returning her body does not erase his sins. He will answer for them in time."
The agent bowed again, then climbed into the carriage. The driver nodded, and the dark vehicle pulled away, the wheels rattling until they vanished through the gates.
The courtyard was silent once more. Silent but for the sound of Lord Rowe’s ragged breathing.
He turned, his gaze settling on the shadows cast against the walls of his estate. His right hand man, Garret, stepped forward, a grim figure dressed in chainmail beneath a dark cloak.
"Garret," Lord Rowe said, his voice low.
"My lord?"
"Summon the soldiers of House Rowe." His eyes glinted like steel in the dying light. "We have an ambush to prepare. And when the time comes, we will strike without mercy."
Garret bowed, his hand pressed to his chest. "As you command."
Lord Rowe glanced back at the coffin one last time, his expression a storm of grief and fury.
His heart whispered her name, but his lips did not move. There was no need. His vow had already been made.
And in the silence of his courtyard, with dusk settling into night, House Rowe began to march towards vengeance.