//CLARA//

The streets were a blur of grey slush and indifferent faces.

Every shadow between the buildings seemed to breathe. Every carriage that rolled past made my heart seize. I kept checking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Casimir’s tall silhouette cutting through the fog, or worse, the heavy-set men with the thick boots who had pounded on Gary’s door.

Do not be followed, Mr. Cromwell’s letter had said.

I wasn’t sure I’d succeeded. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Mr. Cromwell was already standing when I arrived, his face ashen, his hands pressed flat against his desk as if he needed the wood to keep himself upright. The gas lamp hissed low, casting shadows across the cluttered room. The usual stacks of paper looked like they’d been shuffled and reshuffled a dozen times.

"Miss Thorne." His voice was thin, reedy. "Close the door, please. Lock it."

I did.

"Sit down. Please."

I didn’t argue. My knees were shaking anyway. I sank into the chair across from him.

"You said you found something." I prompted.

Mr. Cromwell took a breath. Then another.

"Mr. Elias Russell," he began, "is a man with a very bad habit."

"How bad?"

"He inherited a fortune. The Stonehurst line. His mother’s side, left him enough to live ten lifetimes without lifting a finger." Mr. Cromwell’s voice was clinical, as if he were reading from a ledger he wished didn’t exist. "He lost it all in eighteen months. Cards. Horses. Whatever took his fancy at the moment."

Uh-oh... this is bad. Bad, bad news.

"So he’s broke," I said. "That’s why the thugs are knocking on his door?"

"It’s worse than that, Miss Thorne." Mr. Cromwell’s jaw tightened. "He borrowed money after the gambling losses. Loans from men who charge interest in blood. He thought he could win back what he’d lost. Instead, he lost more. Then more. It piled up. One debt after another, until he owed more than his life was worth."

"Let me guess." I leaned back, though my spine refused to relax. "The men who came for him, they work for the people he owes."

"Loan sharks. Yes." He nodded slowly. "Or rather, the men who work for their employers. The ones who collect when words stop working and the threat of broken bones becomes more persuasive."

I’d seen enough true crime documentaries in my own time to know where this was heading. But this wasn’t Netflix. This was real. And Gary was trapped in the middle of it.

"What did Elias do?" I asked. "He must have done something to make them this angry. People don’t threaten to burn down buildings over unpaid debts."

Mr. Cromwell pressed on. "In desperation, he stole a ledger."

The ledger. My blood went cold.

"A ledger from one of the money lenders," he continued. "He thought he could use it as leverage. Names. Debts. Transactions that certain men would prefer stay in the dark."

He paused, choosing his next words with visible care. "But that night, while he was fleeing, he saw something he shouldn’t."

The room seemed to shrink.

"He witnessed a murder, Miss Thorne. At the docks. A shipping businessman named Mr. William Cuthbert. Killed for treason against the organization he’d once served."

I stared at him, my mind racing to keep up. "What organization?"

Mr. Cromwell’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes went very still.

"There are... parties in this city who operate beyond the reach of the law. They control certain industries. Certain docks. Certain men. Some call them a syndicate. Others use blunter language."

I blinked at him. "So... like a mafia?"

Mr. Cromwell’s face went through a fascinating series of micro-expressions, confusion, then dawning understanding, then a kind of horrified realization that I’d just said something I absolutely should not know about.

"I—" He faltered. "I’m not familiar with that particular... term, Miss Thorne."

Right. Because the Italian mafia as we know it isn’t really a thing yet. Or if it is, it’s not called that in polite New York society.

"Never mind," I said quickly, filing that particular slip under things Aunt Cornelia would have me committed for. "A criminal organization. Got it. Go on. What happened to Mr. Cuthbert?"

"His murder remains unsolved." Mr. Cromwell’s voice dropped lower, as if the walls themselves might be listening. "The police have no witnesses. No one has come forward. The case has grown cold, and the men who ordered the killing have continued about their business as if nothing happened."

"But Elias saw it."

"Mr. Russell saw it." He nodded slowly. "And he took the ledger. Two crimes for the price of one. He’s been hiding ever since, moving from room to room, city to city, never staying long enough to be found."

I thought of Gary again. The way he’d flinched at every sound. He was wearing the terror of a dead man who’d spent years running from people who wanted him dead.

"So the ledger," I said, piecing it together. "It’s not just about the money. It’s about the murder. About who ordered it."

"The ledger contains names, Miss Thorne. Every name. Everyone involved in the organization’s operations. The men who fund it. The men who run it. The men who kill for it." Mr. Cromwell paused. "And the man who operates here. In New York."

The floor tilted beneath me. I gripped the armrests tighter.

"How did Elias even survive this long? If these people are as powerful as you’re making them sound, he should have been dead years ago."

"Mr. Elias Russell is slimy as an eel. He has a talent for disappearing. And until recently, no one had heard a whisper of his whereabouts." Mr. Cromwell’s eyes met mine. "This is the first real trace of him in years and someone had finally picked up his trail."

My palms went cold and slick. Because he was no longer Elias. He was Gary now, and Gary had just inherited gambling debts and a murder scene he didn’t even know existed.

"If Mr. Russell were to come forward and surrender the ledger to the authorities, he would have protection. The syndicate couldn’t touch him without exposing themselves. They’d have to let him go."

Mr. Cromwell’s words felt like a lifeline. But I knew a noose when I saw one and there was something he wasn’t telling me.

"But?"

Mr. Cromwell’s jaw worked.

"But the authorities in this city are not always what they seem. Protection can be bought. Witnesses can disappear. And Mr. Elias Russell is a gambler and a thief. His word against theirs?"

He let the sentence hang.

"There has to be another option," I said slowly. "Right?"

Mr. Cromwell looked at me.

"Talk to Mr. Guggenheim."

The name landed like stones in a pond. Ripples spread through my chest.

"Casimir?"

"He can settle the debts. Clear Mr. Russell’s name. Have his life spared." He spoke carefully, as if reading from a script he’d rehearsed a hundred times. "Your uncle has resources, Miss Thorne. Influence. He could make this go away."

I shook my head, trying to understand. "What does the ledger have to do with my uncle?"

"I cannot—" He stopped. Swallowed. "You must speak with him about this matter, Miss Thorne. I am not the one who can explain."

"Explain what?"

His silence was deafening.

"Mr. Cromwell." My voice was shaking now, though I couldn’t tell if it was fear or fury. "What does my uncle have to do with any of this?"

He finally met my eyes, looking like a man who had already said too much and knew he couldn’t take it back.

"Your uncle’s power," he added quietly, "has reached beyond what the eyes can see."

The words didn’t make sense.

"You’re saying—" I started.

"I’m saying nothing." He cut me off. "I am advising you to speak with Mr. Guggenheim. That is all. The rest is between you and him."

I sat there, frozen.

Casimir.

The syndicate.

The ledger.

A murder at the docks.

I thought of the way he’d looked at me in the conservatory. The way his hands had trembled when he’d pulled me from the harbor. The way he’d said, "I’ve killed before. There have been others."

I thought of the broken axle. The crash. Silas Thurston. How Casimir had easily dismantled his father’s empire.

"My hands are already soaked with more blood than you know, little bird."

"Miss Thorne?" Mr. Cromwell’s voice pulled me back from the edge. "Are you alright?"

I stood up. My legs held, which was more than I deserved.

"Thank you, Mr. Cromwell," I said, the words hollow. "You’ve been very helpful."

"Miss Thorne—"

"I need to go."

I was at the door before he could say anything else. I pulled my hood low and walked.

I didn’t know where I was going. Mr. Cromwell’s words still echoing in my head.

"Your uncle’s power has reached beyond what the eyes can see."

I thought of Casimir.

Who was I in love with?