The tension in the east wing of Grayhaven House had a weight you could feel in your teeth.

“Is there a problem here, Damian?” Viktor asked, his voice smooth, carrying that heavy Eastern European inflection that usually sent servants running. “I heard raised voices.”

Before I could speak, Damian let out a weak, wet groan from the bed. His hand trembled as he feebly gestured toward me.

“She... she spilled the water,” Damian rasped, his voice barely audible, playing his role so convincingly my heart skipped a beat. “Get her... out, Viktor. The noise... my head...”

Viktor’s eyes drifted to the spilled water on the nightstand, then back to my face. His lips curved into a cold, patronizing smile.

“You heard the boss, Mara,” Viktor said softly, stepping into the room to block my path. He reached out, his thick, scarred fingers hovering inches from Lila’s cheek. “A messy maid and a noisy child aren't good for a sick man’s nerves. Maybe you should take your little girl and go home for good.”

Lila shrank back behind my skirt, clutching her cloth rabbit tight. I felt a surge of hot rage, but I kept my posture humble, bowing my head just enough to play the frightened servant.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Sokolov,” I stammered, making my voice shake. “It was an accident. Please... I need this job. Mrs. Bell said I could work if I kept her out of the way.”

Viktor stared at me, searching my eyes for any sign of defiance, any hint that I knew what was happening in this room. I kept my expression completely blank, holding my breath.

“Viktor,” Damian’s faint voice called from the bed. “Leave her. She... she’s the only one who doesn't smell like a hospital. Just... make her bring fresh soup. No one else.”

Viktor turned his head slowly toward Damian. A flicker of annoyance—so brief I almost missed it—passed across his forehead.

“If that’s what you want, Damian,” Viktor said smoothly. He turned back to me, his smile disappearing completely. “You bring his food directly from the kitchen, Mara. You don't stop in the halls. You don't talk to the guards. And if he gets worse on your watch... I’ll personally ensure you never find work in this city again.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I whispered.

I grabbed Lila’s hand and rushed out of the room, my rain boots squeaking against the polished floor. As the heavy oak door closed behind us, I caught Viktor’s reflection in the glass cabinet at the end of the hall.

He wasn't looking at Damian. He was watching me.

I carried Lila down the service stairs to the vast, industrial kitchen in the basement. The air was filled with the smell of roasting meats, boiling broths, and polished copper. Mrs. Bell was standing by the center island, chopping vegetables with aggressive precision.

“You’re still here?” Mrs. Bell snapped, looking up. “I thought I told you—”

“Mr. Volkov wants me to handle his meals,” I interrupted quietly, setting Lila down on a small wooden stool in the corner behind the pantry.

Mrs. Bell froze, her knife hovering mid-air. The three kitchen aides stopped wiping counters.

“What did you say?” Mrs. Bell whispered, stepping closer, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Damian Volkov hasn't requested anyone in four months. He threw a bowl of soup at Nurse Clara on Sunday!”

“He asked for broth,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Fresh broth. I’m to bring it up myself.”

Mrs. Bell stared at me as if I had grown a second head. But then her eyes drifted to Lila, sitting quietly in the corner, holding her cloth rabbit.

“That child shouldn't be here, Mara,” Mrs. Bell said, her tone softening just a fraction into genuine concern. “This house isn't safe. It hasn't been safe since the shooting at the docks. Strange men are coming through the back gates at night. If Viktor finds out your girl is wandering—”

“I know,” I said, my voice dropping. “I know, Mrs. Bell. But I don't have anywhere else to go.”

She let out a long sigh, shook her head, and turned to the stove. She ladled hot, clear chicken broth into a small porcelain bowl and placed it on a silver tray.

“Take it,” she whispered. “And God help you if he doesn't like it.”

I picked up the tray, but as I reached for the salt shaker to add a dash of seasoning, my hand paused.

Standing near the walk-in pantry was Dr. Harrison, Grayhaven’s resident physician. He was a tall, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and a medical bag slung over his shoulder. He was carefully dropping small white pills into a glass of amber liquid on the counter.

When he saw me looking, he flinched slightly, quickly sliding the pill bottle into his pocket.

“Is that for Mr. Volkov?” I asked, keeping my tone innocent.

“His heart medication,” Dr. Harrison said quickly, his voice a little too high, his fingers twitching against his bag. “He needs to take it with his meal. I’ll bring it up.”

“Mr. Volkov said I had to bring everything,” I said, stepping toward him with the silver tray. “He was very specific, doctor.”

Harrison looked at the glass, then at me. His jaw tightened. “He’s a delusional, paranoid dying man, Mrs. Reyes. He doesn't know what he’s talking about.”

“Maybe,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “But if I don't bring it, Viktor said he’d fire me. Please, put it on the tray.”

Reluctantly, Harrison placed the glass on the corner of my silver tray.

I turned and walked out of the kitchen, my heart pounding in my ears. I didn't head straight for the east wing. Instead, I ducked into the small supply closet under the main staircase.

I set the tray down on a shelf, pulled a small empty specimen jar I had found in the laundry room out of my apron pocket, and carefully poured half of Dr. Harrison’s liquid into it.

Then, I looked at the remaining liquid in the glass.