The interior of the manor felt no different from the outside, the same wrong feeling.
Inside, the estate was grand in the way old wealth tended to be, polished floors, carved pillars, tapestries lining the walls but it all felt… abandoned as if the place that had been left behind while its occupants remained.
Just as the guard had said, there were only a handful of servants left.
Four in total.
An elderly woman stood near the far end of the hall, her hands dusted with flour, likely the cook. Her back was slightly bent, but her eyes were sharp for someone who had chosen to stay here willingly. Three others lingered nearby, younger.
They noticed the Count first.
"Count," one of them said, bowing slightly.
The Count acknowledged them with a distracted nod, though his attention was already shifting, then their eyes moved past him.
To the witchers.
The room grew subtly tense, it wasn't fear exactly.
Sebastian noticed it. Vesemir did too.
They exchanged a brief look.
The Count turned toward one of the servants a young woman, hands clasped tightly in front of her as if holding herself together.
"Is Elin awake?"
The servant hesitated before answering.
"No… I'm afraid not. The fever has worsened. She's been asleep since yesterday."
The Count's shoulders sank slightly, disappointment crushing what little hope he had left.
"I see…"
He turned toward the witchers, visibly conflicted.
"I'm afraid that… complicates things. You won't be able to question her. Learn anything directly."
Sebastian raised a hand lightly, stopping the spiral before it could begin.
"That's not a problem for us."
The Count blinked.
"It… isn't?"
"No," Seb replied calmly. "Whether she's awake or not, there's still plenty we can learn. Her condition, her surroundings, anything disturbed in the room, it all matters."
Vesemir stepped in smoothly,
"Sometimes more than conversation does. People lie, but the world around them does not."
The Count exhaled, some of the tension easing.
"…Right. Yes.. Of course! That makes sense!"
He gestured toward the corridor ahead.
"Then follow me please."
They moved deeper into the manor.
The further in they went, the colder it felt, and at the end of the corridor, they stopped.
The Count reached the door.
Even before entering, the signs were there.
Scratches, deep ones.
Human ones.
Sebastian's eyes lingered on them for half a second longer than necessary. Vesemir saw them too.
Neither spoke.
The Count pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was a bit gloomy, curtains drawn just enough to let in some light. The air was stale, like the room had been sealed off from the rest of the world.
And there she lay.
Elin.
Resting in bed, her expression strangely peaceful despite everything described. Too peaceful, perhaps. Her breathing was steady, but shallow, her skin pale with the faint sheen of fever.
The Count stepped in, his voice instinctively soft.
"You may search whatever you need. Just… if she wakes… she can be unpredictable. The fever worsens her temper."
He hesitated at the doorway, then added quietly,
"She wasn't like this before."
Sebastian didn't look at him.
"We'll manage."
The Count nodded, lingering for a moment longer before forcing himself to leave.
The door closed behind him.
Silence settled again.
Vesemir exhaled through his nose.
"Well… one thing's certain."
Sebastian didn't look up.
"We're dealing with a specter."
Vesemir nodded faintly.
"Signs line up."
Seb crouched near the bed, his eyes already scanning the ground, the furniture, the small details others overlooked.
"I agree," he said. "Though this case feels… off, some specters kill their victims outright, this one doesn't seem like a curse either, so..."
A faint smirk touched Vesemir's lips.
"Lucky you. First contract, and you get something interesting."
Seb let out a quiet breath, focused.
"I don't mind."
His fingers brushed against something near the floor.
He picked it up.
A broken piece of jewelry, once delicate, now snapped clean. Dark, dried blood marked its edge.
"…That's not supposed to be here."
Vesemir stepped closer.
"Belongs to her?"
"Most likely," Seb said, turning it slightly. "What's strange is that it's still here. Servants come and go. Something like this…" he glanced toward the door briefly, "…usually disappears."
Vesemir gave a low grunt.
"Unless they're too scared to take anything."
Seb huffed faintly.
"In this world? Fear doesn't stop greed.. But yes, maybe they are honest folk."
He stood, moving to the bed.
"Looks like it was torn off."
Carefully, he moved aside the fabric at Elin's neck.
There it was.
A small cut. Thin, but visible.
"Confirms it," Seb murmured. "Something or someone removed it forcefully."
Vesemir crossed his arms.
"Doesn't sound like any wraith I've dealt with."
"Exactly."
Seb stepped back, thinking.
"Could've been a struggle. With someone real."
"The Count?" Vesemir suggested.
"Maybe," Seb said, though his tone wasn't convinced. "But he didn't strike me as someone violent, his concern for his wife seems genuine so something's missing here."
Vesemir moved closer to the bed, placing a hand lightly near Elin's forehead.
"…The fever's real.. but it is not natural, that's for sure."
Behind him, Seb had moved to the dresser.
"What a strange mix," he muttered, looking over the items. "Expensive things… and then this."
"What is it?" Vesemir asked.
Seb lifted a comb.
Then another.
Both were damaged, teeth bent, cracked.
Hair tangled through them.
And something darker.
"…Dried blood."
He turned one slightly, grimacing.
"And even skin."
Vesemir stepped closer, taking one to inspect.
Seb, already moving, returned to the bed quickly. He began checking her arms, her legs, lifting fabric just enough to see beneath.
Cuts, bruises and scratches.
And they were not defensive, clearly self-inflicted.
He exhaled slowly.
"She did this to herself.."
Vesemir's eyes darkened.
"That explains the servants' conclusions."
Seb glanced at her hair next, fingers brushing lightly against damaged strands, patches where the scalp had been irritated, even torn in places.
Before he could say more,
Her lips moved.
"No… no…"
Both witchers froze.
"…what do you mean… I have to… no… I can't… please… I'm sorry!"
Her voice was faint and boken, trapped in whatever nightmare held her for the moment.
Sebastian and Vesemir exchanged a look.
No doubt now.
"Not enough to name it," Seb said quietly. "But it's a specter. I'm sure of it."
Vesemir nodded once.
"We need more information, specters are tricky better know exactly what we are dealing with."
Seb straightened.
"Then we ask the Count again. He's not telling us everything."
They turned toward the door.
But Seb stopped.
Something caught his eye, it was subtle and almost invisible to the naked eye.
Faint marks along the wooden floor beneath the bed, thin lines, repeated, like something had been dragged in and out… again and again.
His gaze sharpened.
"Hold on."
Vesemir paused.
Seb crouched again, slower this time, following the marks.
Then he leaned down.
And looked beneath the bed.
There it was a small chest hidden deliberately, it looked like a personal item, locked.
Sebastian smiled. "…Now that," he murmured, "looks important."
Sebastian slid his arm beneath the bed and dragged the object out slowly, careful not to scrape it too loudly against the wooden floor. It emerged inch by inch a compact chest, dark-stained wood reinforced with iron bands, its surface worn smooth in places as if it had been handled often… and recently.
"It's locked," Seb muttered, turning it slightly in his hands. His fingers tested the edges, the hinges, the seams. "But that's not the interesting part." He lifted it just a little, checking the weight again, "For something this size… the damn thing is heavier than it should be."
Vesemir crouched beside him, one knee cracking faintly as he lowered himself. His eyes lingered on the chest.
"And hidden under the bed," he added. "Looks very personal."
Sebastian gave a faint nod.
"Exactly, either belongs to the Count or his wife Elin."
He shifted his grip, one hand wrapping around the small iron lock at the front. For a brief moment, he simply stared at it, as if considering more conventional methods.
Then he exhaled.
"Let's not waste time then."
His fingers tightened.
And in the next breath, his hand ignited in flames.
It was controlled fire as it wrapped around his hand, heat building rapidly but contained, focused entirely on the lock itself. The iron began to darken, then glow faintly, then brighter orange bleeding into white as the metal softened under the pressure.
Vesemir watched without flinching, though there was a look of approval in his eyes.
"Handy."
The lock warped, sagged… then gave way completely with a soft, molten snap. A small piece of glowing metal dropped to the floor with a hiss as the flame vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
Sebastian then nudged the ruined lock aside.
"Let's see what's worth hiding this carefully."
He lifted the lid.
It opened with a slow creak, Sebastian leaned slightly closer, eyes narrowing as he took in the contents.
"…What do we have here."
/-\
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