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A s they left the manor and followed the familiar wooded path, the gentle rustle of leaves and quiet crunch of underbrush slowly replaced the hum of estate life.

In the subdued light of the late afternoon, Grenville and Bridget exchanged a brief, knowing glance.

They would find the answers and give Alastair justice.

As they stepped into the clearing, a young footman straightened from where he had been leaning against a tree. His face was pale but composed, and he quickly adjusted his coat as they drew closer.

“All’s been calm here, Captain,” the footman said, addressing Grenville with a faint bow. “No visitors, no animals. Just as Lord Barrington ordered.” He hesitated, glancing toward the body. “It’s been a grim watch, my lord, but no one’s disturbed the site.”

Grenville nodded curtly, his tone clipped. “You’ve done well. Lord Barrington and Mr. Townsend will be here shortly. Stay close and make certain no one bothers us.”

The footman took a step back, the tight line of his shoulders easing slightly, though his gaze lingered on the covered body. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured, his voice betraying his exhaustion and unease. “Didn’t want to leave him alone.”

Grenville gave a curt nod, his gaze flicking toward the shrouded form on the ground. “You did right in staying as long as you could,” he said, his voice steady. “But he’s not alone. Not now.”

The footman exhaled, some of the tension in his stance releasing at Grenville’s reassurance.

Grenville stood with his arms crossed and his expression dark. He barely noticed Bridget pacing until her voice broke the silence.

“I spoke with Marjory,” she said softly, stopping a few steps away.

Grenville turned, his sharp gaze meeting hers. “What did she say?”

“Alastair was supposed to meet someone,” Bridget continued, moving closer. “She thought it might be Barrington. He had been secretive, and she saw someone, a rider, through the trees just before she rode ahead.”

Grenville frowned, processing her words. “Did she say who it was?”

“No,” Bridget admitted. “She couldn’t see clearly. But she mentioned Alastair seemed… determined. Like he’d already made up his mind about something.”

Grenville exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping the clearing. “If he was meeting someone, why here? Why not at the house? Whatever it was, he didn’t want anyone else to overhear or know about it.”

Bridget followed his gaze to the spot where Mark’s body lay. Her stomach churned at the memory. “We assumed he had nothing with him. But what if we were wrong? What if there was something we overlooked, something the killer never found?”

Grenville gave a grim nod. “Then we look again.”

They crouched near the disturbed ground, and Grenville carefully pulled down the blanket covering Mark’s body. The sight made Bridget avert her eyes for a moment, but she steeled herself, determined to help.

The sound of hoofbeats cut through the silence, the rhythm steady and purposeful. Grenville rose instinctively, turning toward the approaching riders.

Barrington and Townsend emerged from the trees, their expressions taut. Barrington swung off his horse, his sharp gaze sweeping the clearing before settling on Alastair’s body.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low.

Grenville motioned to Bridget, who was still crouching near the body. “We were just about to examine him further.”

Barrington nodded, stepping forward, scanning the ground with a practiced eye. Townsend, meanwhile, dismounted more slowly, his gaze lingering on the surrounding trees as if assessing the space for hidden dangers.

“No signs of a struggle?” Townsend observed. “He didn’t have time to fight back.”

Grenville shook his head. “Whoever did this was swift and precise.”

Bridget’s breath caught as she leaned in. There was something, something wrong. A smudge of dirt, a shadow? No… not just dirt. It was deliberate. Her pulse quickened. “Captain.” Her voice broke through, low and urgent.

Grenville followed her gaze, his expression tensing as he noticed the same thing. He reached for his handkerchief before carefully tilting Mark’s head. A sliver of parchment protruded between the man’s lips.

His breath caught as he drew it free. “What the hell is this?”

Barrington, now kneeling on Alastair’s other side, also leaned in, his eyes sharp. “There’s a symbol drawn on the parchment. Faint, but deliberate.”

Bridget’s stomach churned. “It looks similar to something I saw earlier.”

Using the handkerchief, Grenville carefully wiped away more of the grime, revealing the symbol in full.

The ink caught the light, uneven, deliberate, and Bridget’s stomach turned.

“That’s no accident,” Townsend murmured. “That symbol. It’s a message.”

Barrington exchanged a look with Grenville. “They left it on purpose. Someone wanted us to find it.”

Grenville’s jaw tightened. “Whoever he was meeting was afraid of what he was about to share.”

Bridget stared at the symbol, her mind racing. “Alastair must have known he was in danger. That’s why he was so secretive. But why now? Why during the chase?”

“To scatter everyone,” Grenville said. “It was the perfect opportunity to isolate him and leave a message.”

The symbol was small, no larger than a coin, inked with care. A stylized raven perched on a branch with its wings partially spread, as if caught midturn. Beneath it, a single word had been scrawled in tight, slanted letters: Watch.

Barrington stood slowly, his face grim. “We need to move the body back to Alastair Court. But we also need to find out what this marking means.”

Townsend exhaled sharply. “If it’s what I suspect… we’re dealing with something far more calculated than a mere rivalry or personal grudge.”

Bridget swallowed hard, her resolve hardening. “Then we need to figure out who he was meeting, and why this message was meant for us.”

Grenville met her gaze, his expression grim but determined. “We will. But we have to tread carefully. Whoever did this isn’t finished yet.”

With grim efficiency, they set to work, wrapping Mark’s body for moving. The footman stepped forward hesitantly, his face tight with unease as he assisted. No one spoke as they lifted him onto a makeshift stretcher. The scent of damp earth and blood clung to the air, thick and unshakable.

Bridget swallowed hard, her fingers clenching around the reins as they prepared to ride.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As the party turned toward Alastair Court, the rhythmic thud of hooves against the softened ground carried them forward in a silence no one dared break.