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"You little…" He raised his hand to strike Jane, but Lydia threw herself forward, screaming as loudly as she could.

"Help! Someone help us! Fire! Thief! Murder!"

His hand connected with her instead, sending her stumbling backward. The world spun crazily as her head struck something hard—the corner of a wall perhaps—and the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She was dimly aware of more shouting, of running footsteps, of her sisters calling her name through the roaring in her ears.

"Lydia! No! Oh, no… Oh, no, she's bleeding!"

"Help! Somebody please help!"

"Diana, run for the doctor! Quickly!"

The voices seemed to come from very far away, as if she were underwater. She tried to open her eyes, to tell them she was fine, but the darkness kept pulling at her, dragging her down into its depths.

When consciousness returned, it came in fragments. Pain, sharp and throbbing at the back of her head, making even the faintest light unbearable. Voices, familiar and worried, speaking over her. The sensation of movement, of being carried, though she couldn't tell by whom.

"Lydia?" That was Marian's voice, thick with tears. "Can you hear me? Please, please open your eyes."

She tried to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Everything felt heavy, distant, as if she were trapped in a dream she couldn't wake from. Someone was pressing something cool against her head, but even that gentle touch sent waves of agony through her skull.

"The doctor's coming," another voice said—Jane? "And I've sent word to Fyre Manor. They need to know..."

Fyre Manor. Elias. Would they tell him? Would he care? Or would this be just another inconvenience to be handled with proper dignity?

"Peter," she tried to say, but she wasn't sure if the word actually left her lips. "Tell Peter... I'm sorry... promised to write..."

The darkness pulled at her again, stronger this time, and she was too tired to fight it anymore. Her last coherent thought was of Peter's face, of how his eyes lit up when he smiled—Elias's eyes, but warmer, full of a love he didn't try to hide.

Then there was nothing but silence, and the endless dark.

But even as consciousness fled, some part of her held onto a single truth: Elias needed to know about Lord Blackwood. Diana wasn't safe, none of them were, as long as that man walked free. Elias would be able to take care of it, he would protect them…

The thought followed her down into the darkness, a final prayer before everything faded away: Please, let me wake up. Let me keep them safe. Let me see them one more time...

Then even that was gone, leaving nothing but the quiet dark and the distant sound of her sisters' frightened voices, calling her name as if from very far away.

CHAPTER 30

The longer Lydia was gone, the more pressing and suffocating the silence in Fyre Manor became.

Elias had told himself that Peter needed time, space to explore his feelings on his own. But he was beginning to see the flaws in his reasoning. Peter was only a boy—one who had come to rely on Lydia's warmth, her gentle understanding, and the life she had brought to Fyre Manor. Without her, Elias could see that his son was withdrawing further each day, growing quieter, more remote . And tonight, as Elias stood outside Peter's door, he felt the weight of that guilt pressing down on him.

From within the room, he could hear a soft, muffled sound—a sniffling, so quiet that it would have been easy to overlook. But Elias knew immediately what it was, and the sound pierced him in a way he hadn't expected. It was the sound of a child trying to hold back tears, of someone who didn't want to be heard or seen in their pain. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked softly, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

Inside, Peter lay curled up on his bed, his small frame swallowed by the thick blankets around him. Mug lay beside him, pressed close against Peter's side, his head resting protectively on the boy's arm. At the sight of Elias, Mug lifted his head, giving a soft, concerned whine, but Peter sat up quickly, swiping at his cheeks, trying to compose himself in front of his father.

"Peter," Elias said quietly, stepping further into the room. He kept his tone gentle, steady, though his heart twisted at the sight of his son's red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. "May I sit with you?"

Peter glanced away, nodding stiffly, his shoulders tense. "If you want to," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elias crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. For a long moment, he simply sat in silence, watching Peter, unsure of how to start, of what to say. The right words, the reassurances he should have given days ago, eluded him, leaving him feeling uncharacteristically uncertain.

Finally, after a pause, he reached out, his hand resting gently on Peter's shoulder. "You don't have to pretend, Peter," he said softly. "Not with me. At least… at least not anymore."

At his words, Peter's shoulders began to shake, and he let out a shuddering breath. Fresh tears filled his eyes, and he looked up at his father with a vulnerability that Elias hadn't seen before. "I miss her so much, Father," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Why won't she come home?"

The raw pain in his son's voice struck Elias deeply, more than he'd expected. Without thinking, he moved closer, gathering Peter into his arms. Peter's small frame trembled against him, and Elias could feel the boy's carefully constructed composure crumbling entirely.

"I'm sorry," Peter sobbed, his voice muffled against Elias's coat. "I'm trying to be brave, I promise. But everything feels wrong without her here. The house is too quiet, and nothing feels right."