Nico had spent eight months being treated like a broken man—until one exhausted nurse finally stepped between him and the woman everyone else feared.

Adeline stepped away from the door.

Not far.

Just enough.

Camille stopped when she saw her.

"You're still here," Camille said.

"I work here."

"Not for much longer." Camille's voice was pleasant in the way that knives are flat.

"I spoke with the agency this morning.

Your contract is being reviewed."

"On what grounds?"

"Unprofessional conduct.

Emotional attachment to a patient.

Interference with household management." She tilted her head.

"Take your pick."

Adeline didn't move from the center of the corridor.

"You'll want to speak to Nico before you make any calls," she said.

"I don't need Nico's permission to manage his staff."

"No.

But you might want to know what he found in the account files before you walk through that door."

Camille went very still.

It was only a second.

But Adeline had spent eight months reading the small signals in people's bodies — the held breath, the jaw that tightens, the hands that stop moving.

She saw all three.

"I don't know what you think you've found," Camille said.

"I haven't found anything.

Nico has."

"Nico is unwell.

He's been unwell for months.

His judgment—"

"Is significantly clearer than it was three weeks ago." Adeline kept her voice even.

"Funny how that happens when the medication is correct."

Camille took one step forward.

"You have no idea what you're involved in," she said.

"This family.

This estate.

The history here.

You walked in eight months ago with a nursing bag and you think you understand something."

"I understand what was in those tablets."

"You understand nothing."

"Then explain it to me."

Camille's mouth tightened.

"Get out of my way."

"He's expecting his solicitor at ten," Adeline said.

"Not you."

For a moment, Camille looked at her with something that was almost respect — the cold, assessing kind that predators show other predators.

Then she turned and walked back down the corridor.

Adeline watched her go.

She watched until Camille turned the corner.

Then she took out her phone and typed a single message to Nico: *She knows.

Don't open the door until Marcus arrives.*

His reply came in under a minute: *Already locked.

Good work.*

At nine forty-five, Marcus Hale arrived — Nico's solicitor, a compact man in his sixties with the unhurried manner of someone who had seen worse than this and charged accordingly.

Adeline met him at the door and walked him through what she knew: the tablets, the dates, the cabinet, Dorian's reaction in the corridor.

Marcus listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he held out his hand.

"The bag," he said.

She gave it to him.

He looked at it for a moment, then placed it carefully in his briefcase.

"These will go to a private lab today," he said.

"Results in forty-eight hours." He looked at her steadily.

"You've been careful."

"I tried to be."

"Don't speak to Camille again without a witness present.

Don't speak to Dorian at all." He snapped the briefcase closed.

"And don't go anywhere.

I may need a formal statement."

"I'm not going anywhere," Adeline said.

Marcus nodded once, as if that settled something, and walked toward Nico's room.

Adeline stood in the entrance hall.

The house was quiet.

The guests from the night before were gone.

The foyer where Camille had raised her hand looked ordinary in the morning light — marble floor, tall windows, a vase of white flowers on the side table.

She thought about Nico's face when she'd said it.

*Then she'll say something true.*

She hadn't planned to say it.

It had simply been the most accurate thing available.

She was still standing there when she heard the front door open behind her.

She turned.

A woman she didn't recognize stepped inside — older, perhaps seventy, in a grey coat, with the kind of face that had once been very beautiful and was now something better than that.

The woman looked around the foyer slowly.

Then she looked at Adeline.

"You must be the nurse," she said.

"I am."

"I'm Nico's grandmother." She pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time.

"I came as soon as I heard what happened last night." She looked toward the corridor.

"Is my grandson awake?"

"Yes."

"Good." She tucked the gloves into her coat pocket.

"And is Camille still in this house?"

"Yes."

The old woman's expression didn't change.