The carriage lunged forward, cutting through the capital's fog with the metallic screech of its wheels. Inside, Mathias remained retreated in the gloom, a ghost of a cold smile reflecting against the windowpane.
He reached slowly toward his inner pocket; the texture of the rough paper beneath his fingers summoned a scene from the recent past—the moment he had entered Olivia's room carrying that small kitten.
There, the envelope had lain like a trap waiting for its prey. Ordinarily, he would never touch her things, but the name "Elvira," written in an elegant, sharp hand, had shimmered under the candlelight, provoking his ruthless curiosity.
He had gazed at Olivia while she slept, knowing full well that no good ever came from that madwoman's letters. And so, with a protective selfishness, he had claimed it for himself, determined to shield her with every ounce of strength he had left.
