Chapter 3

“…What am I even thinking?”

Charlotte lifted her pen and scratched out Lucy’s name with thick, forceful strokes.

Even after that, it wasn’t enough.

She meticulously darkened the ink, covering it over and over again until no one would ever be able to tell what had been written there.

There was no way Lucy could have done it.

Charlotte prided herself on rational decision-making, never letting personal relationships cloud her judgment.

But this—this was different.

She knew Lucy.

Lucy was kind. Lucy was gentle.

Even if the world collapsed, even if everything she knew fell apart, one truth remained.

Lucy was not a murderer.

Charlotte exhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair.

A memory surfaced—small, warm, familiar.

Toby.

She could still picture him—a tiny, fluffy ball of fur, his stubby tail wagging excitedly.

Charlotte and Lucy had raised Toby together when they shared a dormitory at the academy.

Lucy had found him—a shivering, whimpering puppy, abandoned in an alleyway.

She couldn’t ignore him.

She wouldn’t.

Despite knowing that keeping animals on school grounds was strictly forbidden, Lucy had carried him back to the dormitory, hidden in her cloak.

Charlotte had protested, of course. It was against the rules.

But Lucy, despite feeling genuinely sorry, never wavered in her decision.

She had done everything to ensure Charlotte wouldn’t get in trouble.

Every morning, she woke up early to feed Toby.

She played with him, kept him quiet, made sure he never felt lonely in the cramped dormitory.

Even after classes, when their friends invited them out, Lucy always declined—rushing back to care for him instead.

At first, Charlotte had been reluctant.

But little by little, Toby won her over.

The feeling of his soft fur beneath her fingers, the way he would lick her hand, tail wagging in pure joy—those small things filled her with an inexplicable sense of contentment.

Together, she and Lucy cared for Toby, watching as he grew round and healthy, their hearts swelling with pride at every small milestone.

The walk.

Yes, the walk—that was their mistake.

As Toby grew, he longed for the outside world.

No matter how much Charlotte and Lucy tried to entertain him indoors, he was never truly satisfied.

Eventually, they gave in.

One weekend, under the excuse of going out for an errand, they snuck Toby out of the academy.

It was the happiest they had ever seen him.

He ran wildly, darting from place to place, sniffing, digging, tumbling through the dirt.

He was fast—incredibly fast.

At first, they chased after him, but keeping up with an energetic puppy was impossible.

Still, Toby had a good sense of his boundaries.

Even when he ran far ahead, he would always turn back, returning to their side before bounding off again.

It happened so many times that eventually, they stopped worrying when he was out of sight.

It was a careless mistake.

By the time they decided to head back to the academy, Toby was gone.

Panic set in.

Charlotte and Lucy searched desperately, their faces pale as they ran through the winding streets.

And then—

They found him.

No—

They found his traces.

Because it wasn’t Toby they discovered.

It was only what remained of him.

In a shadowy alley—a place neither of them should have ever stepped foot in—they found a small group of ragged children huddled around a fire.

They were eating.

Charlotte saw the fur first.

Then the bones.

And the smell—a sickening, charred scent that made her stomach churn.

It was Toby.

Charlotte was furious.

She screamed, her voice sharp and filled with rage.

The children—small, filthy, terrified—flinched at the sight of an angry noblewoman.

Their fear quickly turned into sobs, their thin shoulders trembling.

They had only been hungry.

For three days, they had gone without food.

Then, they had spotted a plump, well-fed puppy wandering nearby.

Their stomachs ached. Their minds went blank. They acted on instinct.

If they had been thinking clearly, they would have realized—Toby wasn’t a stray.

His shiny coat, his bright, lively eyes—they should have known.

But starvation erases reason.

Faced with the chance to survive, they hadn’t hesitated.

In the midst of the chaos, Lucy quietly stepped forward.

She knelt beside the fire.

And with careful hands, she picked up Toby’s discarded pelt.

Then, she spoke softly, soothing Charlotte, calming the children.

Charlotte was seething.

She wanted to call the authorities.

Make them pay.

But Lucy stopped her.

She pleaded with her.

And in the end—Charlotte relented.

That night, as soon as they returned to the academy, Lucy buried what was left of Toby.

She chose a quiet spot, deep in the garden, beneath a beech tree where no one would disturb him.

She had no tools—only her bare hands, clawing at the dirt.

Her fragile nails cracked and broke, but she never stopped.

Charlotte watched—her heart burning with anger.

Lucy’s face was calm.

Too calm.

She didn’t cry.

Didn’t say a word.

To Charlotte, it looked as though Lucy felt nothing.

It infuriated her.

So she refused to speak to her.

Not a single word.

But that night—

From the other bed, Charlotte heard it.

Soft, muffled sobs.

Lucy was crying, desperately trying not to be heard.

The sound lasted until dawn.

The next morning, Lucy climbed out of bed—her eyes raw and red.

She barely touched her food.

And for a week, she remained that way—silent, hollow, and utterly broken.

Charlotte couldn’t stand it anymore.

Late one night, she grabbed a single cookie and crawled onto Lucy’s bed.

The moment she did—

Lucy finally broke down.

She sobbed, loudly, uncontrollably, clutching her chest as if she were trying to tear the grief out of herself.

She called Toby’s name, over and over, her entire body trembling.

It was devastating to watch.

And suddenly, Charlotte felt ashamed of herself.

How petty she had been.

How cruel she had been—to have ever resented Lucy for not crying sooner.

Lucy sniffled, forcing down bites of the cookie Charlotte had offered.

She barely managed to chew, but she ate—because Charlotte had brought it for her.

That night, they held each other close under the blankets.

They mourned Toby together.

That was who Lucy was.

She was the kind of person who couldn’t even scold starving children for making a terrible mistake.

The kind of person who let her own friend misunderstand her—because explaining herself wasn’t as important as keeping the peace.

The kind of person who buried her grief in silence, swallowing it whole, until it ate her alive.

And now, someone wanted Charlotte to believe that Lucy had poisoned her husband?

That was a joke. A bad one. The kind that would make even a stray dog laugh.

Without hesitation, Charlotte crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the waste bin.

Then, she pulled out a fresh sheet—

And started writing her autopsy report again.

* * *

“…I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

As Charlotte placed a steaming cup of tea into Lucy’s hands, her friend whispered those words so softly, they were almost lost in the air.

“What are you even apologizing for?”

“…You wouldn’t have gone through any of this if it weren’t for me.”

Lucy’s expression was troubled, her voice completely drained of strength.

Hearing that, Charlotte immediately waved a hand, her tone urgent.

“Don’t say things like that. None of this is your fault.”

Lucy smiled—just slightly, as if grateful.

It was the first time Charlotte had seen even the smallest hint of ease on her friend’s face.

That alone was enough to make Charlotte finally relax—and smile back.

When Charlotte finally arrived at work, expecting a calm morning, she was greeted with absolute chaos.

Waiting for her—or rather, causing a scene right in front of her—was none other than Baron Turove’s family.

They hadn’t been waiting for her, specifically.

But she arrived just in time to witness them losing their minds.

“It was you, wasn’t it?! You killed my brother!”

The man lunged at Lucy with wild, violent movements, his voice booming with rage.

Several staff members rushed to hold him back, but he was a noble—they couldn’t forcibly restrain him.

And so, he managed to push through, raising his hand high as he closed in on Lucy.

Without thinking, Charlotte threw herself forward.

She wrapped her arms around Lucy just as—

Smack!

A sharp crack rang through the air.

Pain bloomed across her shoulder.

It wasn’t as bad as she had braced for, but that didn’t lessen her fury.

That bastard—he was aiming for her face, wasn’t he?!

Charlotte shielded Lucy behind her, keeping her trembling figure tucked safely against her back.

She turned a seething glare on the man.

He hesitated, eyes widening as if only now realizing he had hit the wrong person.

But the shock didn’t last long.

“You—who the hell do you think you are, interfering?!”

Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed, his face red and contorted in anger.

His unfocused eyes and unsteady footing told Charlotte everything she needed to know.

He was drunk.

Disgusted, Charlotte glanced around.

The rest of Turove’s family stood nearby—watching.

Not one of them stepped in to stop him.

Not one of them tried to defend Lucy.

Instead, they cleared their throats awkwardly, pretending to adjust their cuffs, as if this was all beneath them.

And their eyes—

Their gazes on Lucy were cold as ice.

Charlotte could smell the alcohol reeking off the man in front of her.

Pathetic.

“Step back,” Charlotte said coldly.

She could feel Lucy trembling, clutching at the fabric of her clothes with shaking fingers.

What kind of trash is this?

Charlotte’s anger boiled over, her hands clenching into tight fists.

Then—

A new voice cut through the tension.

“You’re causing quite the disturbance.”

The director had arrived.

Moving swiftly, she stepped between Charlotte and the drunken nobleman, raising a hand in warning.

At the same time, she subtly gestured to Charlotte—telling her to take Lucy and leave.

“Enough, Robert,” she said sternly.

Only then did the rest of the Turove family step in.

Robert’s face twisted with rage, his glare burning into Lucy.

But no matter how furious he was, he couldn’t simply ignore his family’s intervention.

With a huff, he snapped his head away, his body still trembling with barely restrained anger.

Charlotte seized the chance.

While the director kept the attention on Robert, she guided Lucy away.

She led her straight to her office, settling her into a chair before pressing a warm cup of tea into her hands.

Lucy sat motionless, watching Charlotte’s movements as if in a daze.

Only after taking a sip did she finally—barely—manage to smile.

But something about it was off.

The way her lips curved—it looked more like she was crying than smiling.

Charlotte hesitated for a moment before breaking the silence.

“Those people… Lucy, I mean—”

“My husband’s family.”

Lucy spoke flatly, as if it didn’t bother her.

But that only made it worse.

“We weren’t always like this,” she continued, voice distant. “I don’t really understand. Maybe I did something wrong. If I did, I’d like to apologize. If there’s been a misunderstanding, I want to clear it up. I just… wish we could talk properly.”

“Oh, Lucy…”

Charlotte reached out and grasped Lucy’s hand.

How can she be this naive?

Her kindness was so stupidly pure, it made Charlotte want to grab herself from yesterday and shake some sense into her for ever suspecting Lucy.

Then Lucy’s eyes flickered toward her shoulder.

“Does it hurt?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“It sounded worse than it was. He barely got me—it doesn’t hurt that much.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte… Robert isn’t a bad person, really. He just… has a temper.”

Charlotte resisted the urge to scoff.

Bad person or not, he acted like a complete thug.

But she bit her tongue and kept that thought to herself.

“He was really close with my husband,” Lucy continued.

“Since Robert was the youngest, my husband always felt bad for him—he thought he had been overlooked by their parents. He tried to make up for it, always looking out for him, helping him however he could. They were really close… which is why I think this has hit him even harder.”

“I see…”

Or maybe Robert’s own parents had given up on him, because he was nothing but a violent drunk.

Charlotte kept her expression neutral, offering only a small, polite smile.

She already knew Lucy was only defending him out of guilt.

“Actually… the day before my husband… passed away…” Lucy hesitated, fingers tightening around her teacup. “He and Robert argued. Not terribly, but…”

Charlotte snapped to attention.

“They fought?”

Her grip tightened around Lucy’s hand.

Lucy looked startled, unsure why Charlotte was so suddenly intense.

“Lucy, tell me—did they really fight? Why? What was it about?”

“I… I don’t really know.”

Lucy paused, thinking carefully.

“But lately, things had been a little off between them. My husband used to let Robert stay over at the estate for days at a time whenever he visited, but recently… he stopped. Whenever Robert came by, he’d only speak to him briefly, then send him home. And Robert seemed… upset about it.”

“And the night before…?”

“That day, they did raise their voices a little. But by evening, they were drinking together, so I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“…I see.”

Charlotte let go of Lucy’s hand, her mind racing.

The night before the baron’s death, they had a fight.

They drank together that night.

And the next morning—one of them was dead from poisoning.

Charlotte’s eyes gleamed with realization.

A prime suspect had just emerged.

Lucy, however, simply looked confused—as if she couldn’t understand why Charlotte was so focused on this.

Charlotte was just about to ask more about that thug of a brother-in-law when—

A knock sounded at the door.