Chapter 212 - Two Hundred And Twelve
Knock...
Knock..
Knock.
The heavy oak door of the study muffled the insistent knocking at first. Ryan sat hunched over his desk, the remnants of his recent recovery showing in the slight paleness beneath the weary lines around his eyes. Papers were spread haphazardly across the polished wood – maps of the city marked with the locations of the recent, horrific murders, lists of victims, fragmented notes from his time leading the investigation before... before everything changed. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache pulsing there. A long sigh escaped him.
Why? The question echoed relentlessly in his mind. Why did they stop? Count Edmund found murdered like the others – and then, silence. Time had passed with no new victims, no more clues left at the scenes. Had the killer, or killers, achieved their twisted objective? Had they simply grown bored, or perhaps, scared? Or was it something else? Did removing him, Duke Ryan, from the investigation somehow satisfy them, or inadvertently cut off their access? He felt useless, sidelined, gnawing on fragmented information while the real currents moved beneath the surface. He ran a hand through his dark hair, disheveling it further in frustration. What was he supposed to do now? He had no authority, no resources, only nagging suspicions and the chilling memory of the attack that had nearly cost him his life.
"Enter," he called out, his voice rough, barely looking up from the tangle of papers and thoughts. He assumed it was Davis with another unyielding report or one of the maids with unwanted tea.
He heard the door open and close softly, but remained lost in his frustrating circle of questions. A faint sound gradually penetrated his thoughts – a soft, repeated word.
"...Your Grace... Your Grace..."
The repetition grew clearer, pulling him reluctantly back to the present. He looked up, blinking. Mrs. Madelyn stood a few feet away, her hands clasped patiently, a concerned look on her face.