Chapter 2 — Interrogation at Ashfield Manor

Third Person

The stone walls of Ashfield Manor loomed like a fortress of memory and duty, an unyielding bastion against the golden light that bathed the world outside. Shadows clung stubbornly to corners and crevices within its austere halls, defying Thornwood’s perpetual daylight. Clarice sat in a high-backed wooden chair at the center of the grand hall, her posture deceptively relaxed despite the tension thrumming in the air. The room smelled faintly of smoke and aged wood, the lingering weight of generations pressing down upon her like an unseen hand—a silent witness to countless decisions etched into Thornwood’s history.

Knox stood across from her, his amber eyes sharp and unrelenting beneath a furrowed brow. He leaned against the long oak table, arms crossed over his broad chest, his stance brimming with the kind of tension that threatened to snap at any moment. Every line of his body radiated suspicion and disdain, his presence an unyielding force.

Cain stood nearby, quieter but no less attentive. His pale blue eyes studied Clarice with calm intensity, as though every breath she took was a puzzle he sought to solve. The contrast between the brothers was stark—Knox was the storm, Cain the still water. Yet both had their focus locked entirely on her.

“It’s simple,” Knox said, his voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade. “Who are you, and why were you skulking around in our woods?”

Clarice met his searing gaze with her own silver-gray eyes, their coolness a deliberate counterpoint to the fire in his. She let the silence stretch for a moment longer than was comfortable, refusing to react to the weight of his scrutiny. “I already told you,” she said at last, her tone even, measured. “My name is Clarice, and I’m seeking refuge.”

Knox pushed away from the table, his boots striking the wooden floor with deliberate weight as he stepped closer. “Refuge,” he repeated, his tone laced with disdain. “Do you think we’re fools? You expect me to believe you just happened to stumble into Thornwood? That you’re some poor traveler who wandered too far from home?”

“I didn’t say I expected you to believe me,” she replied evenly, a faint undercurrent of sarcasm threading her words. “But it’s the truth, whether you like it or not.”

Knox’s jaw tightened. “You’re hiding something.”

Cain shifted slightly, his presence acting as a buffer between Knox’s simmering anger and Clarice’s calm defiance. “Knox,” Cain said quietly, his tone steady but firm. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t know enough yet.”

Knox turned on him, his frustration flaring like a barely contained wildfire. “We know enough. She evaded the patrol long enough to reach the clearing, and she’s far too composed for someone who’s ‘seeking refuge.’” He gestured sharply toward Clarice, his voice rising. “Look at her. She’s not afraid. She’s calculating.”

Clarice tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Your brother is quite observant,” she said with quiet amusement, her tone a razor-thin edge. “But has it occurred to you that composure might be a survival skill where I come from?”

Cain’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile surfacing briefly before vanishing. “Where exactly do you come from, Clarice?”

The question was simple in phrasing but heavy in implication. Clarice hesitated, her mind turning over the possibilities. The Bloodstone Pendant beneath her jacket pressed against her chest, its faint rhythmic pulse grounding her. “Far from here,” she said at last, her voice quieter now, tinged with a note of bitterness. “A place that no longer exists, thanks to hunters who saw to its destruction.”

The lie was close enough to the truth to hold, but bitterness welled in her throat regardless. She caught the flicker of something—recognition or perhaps empathy—in Cain’s eyes, though he said nothing.

Knox, however, was unmoved. “How convenient,” he said, his skepticism biting. “A tragic backstory to justify trespassing on protected land.”

Before Clarice could reply, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. Evelyn Greaves entered with the unhurried grace of someone who carried the weight of time itself. Her silver-streaked hair was braided into an intricate crown, and her emerald-green eyes, sharp as flint, swept across the room. Her flowing, earth-toned robes rippled subtly with each step, the faint shimmer of runes in the fabric catching the light. She moved deliberately, her presence commanding without effort.

“That’s enough,” Evelyn said, her voice calm but firm. It rang with quiet authority that brooked no argument.

Knox turned toward her, his frustration barely contained. “Evelyn, she—”

“I heard,” Evelyn interrupted, her tone leaving no room for debate. She crossed the room with measured steps, her gaze settling on Clarice with unnerving precision. It wasn’t just scrutiny—it was as though Evelyn could strip away the layers of pretense and see the raw truth beneath.

Clarice tensed, though outwardly she betrayed nothing. She met Evelyn’s gaze head-on, refusing to flinch under the weight of it. But inside, her thoughts raced. This woman was not to be underestimated.

“You wear secrets like armor,” Evelyn said at last, her voice quieter now, contemplative. She tilted her head slightly, her emerald eyes narrowing. “But armor has cracks. And secrets… have a way of unraveling when tested.”

Clarice’s fingers curled imperceptibly against the armrests of the chair. “I’m not here to unravel anything,” she said carefully, her voice steady. “I’m here to survive.”

Evelyn’s gaze flickered toward the faint bulge of the Bloodstone Pendant beneath Clarice’s jacket. Her expression didn’t change, but the air between them tightened, subtle and electric. “And yet survival often requires trust,” Evelyn said. “Do you trust us, Clarice?”

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Clarice hesitated, knowing any answer carried risks. “I trust that you haven’t killed me yet,” she said finally, her tone measured and neutral.

Cain’s mouth twitched in faint amusement, and even Evelyn allowed the barest curve of a smile. Knox, however, remained stone-faced.

“She’s a liability,” Knox said sharply, breaking the brief moment of levity. “You can’t seriously be considering letting her stay.”

Evelyn turned to him with a calm but unyielding expression. “I’m considering what’s best for Thornwood, as I always do.”

Knox’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing further.

Evelyn’s gaze returned to Clarice, her expression softening just enough to reveal a glimmer of understanding—or warning. “You’ll remain under strict supervision,” she said. “Your movements will be limited. You will answer our questions truthfully when asked. Betray our trust, and there will be consequences.”

Clarice inclined her head slightly, accepting the terms with the same measured calm that had carried her this far. She knew better than to push her luck—not yet.

Knox exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “This is a mistake,” he muttered under his breath.

“Perhaps,” Evelyn said, her tone enigmatic. “But even mistakes can lead to truth.”

Cain stepped forward, his pale blue gaze locking briefly with Clarice’s. “I’ll escort her to a room,” he said, his tone steady but laced with an unspoken challenge directed at his brother. Knox glared but didn’t argue.

As Cain gestured for her to follow, Clarice rose from the chair. She felt the weight of their gazes—Knox’s simmering suspicion, Evelyn’s piercing curiosity, and Cain’s quiet consideration—pressing against her as she left the grand hall.

The manor’s corridors were dimly lit, the stone walls lined with faded tapestries depicting battles and rituals long past. Their colors had dulled with time, but their presence spoke of a history steeped in pride and sacrifice. Cain walked a step ahead of her, his pace steady and unhurried, his presence a quiet contrast to Knox’s dominating energy.

“You handled that well,” he said after a moment, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

“Did I?” she replied, her tone faintly amused.

He glanced back at her, the corners of his lips lifting in a fleeting, half-smile. “You didn’t let Knox intimidate you. That alone is impressive.”

Clarice raised an eyebrow. “Is he always so... relentless?”

Cain’s smile faded, his expression thoughtful. “He’s protecting what’s his,” he said. “Thornwood is all we have left. He takes that responsibility seriously.”

“And you?” she pressed, her tone soft but probing. “What do you take seriously?”

Cain hesitated, the faintest hitch in his step betraying an inner conflict. “The same,” he said simply, though his tone carried an undercurrent of something more complicated.

When they reached the room, Cain pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter. The space was modest but comfortable, with a single bed, a wooden desk, and a small window overlooking the golden valley below. Thornwood’s magic cast an otherworldly glow across the room, its beauty tinged with suffocating weight.

“You’ll be safe here,” Cain said, his voice softer now.

Clarice stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling back on him. “Safe is a relative term,” she said.

Cain nodded, as though he understood perfectly. “Good night, Clarice.”

With that, he closed the door, leaving her alone.

Clarice leaned against the desk, her fingers brushing the Bloodstone Pendant beneath her jacket. Its steady, faint pulse was a reminder of everything she carried—her mission, her family, her secrets. She moved to the window and stared out at the eternal sunlight that gilded the valley, an unyielding barrier between her and the shadows she bore.

Trust was dangerous. But survival? That was non-negotiable.