//CLARA//

I didn’t know how long Oliver held me, or when I stopped crying. But eventually, I managed to pull myself together without shattering again.

I pulled back and offered him a weak smile.

"Sorry," I said, letting out a wet laugh. I wiped my face dry, then reached for his shoulders to smooth the wrinkles I’d left behind. "I didn’t mean to do that."

Oliver glanced down at his shirt. "That should be the least of your worries."

"Fair point." I sniffed. "Well, I should get going. As much as I want to hide in your office forever, I can’t."

"You’re pale, Eleanor." His brow furrowed with concern. "Do you want me to take you home? My carriage is right there."

I just shook my head. I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t talk. Not yet. The words Cuthbert and Syndicate were sitting on the back of my tongue like lit matches. One more sentence and I’d set the whole room on fire.

I needed to be alone. Just for a minute. To breathe without someone waiting for me to crack.

Oliver hesitated, his gaze lingering on my face with a softness that made my chest ache.

He knew I was lying, but he was too much of a gentleman to call me on it.

"Be careful, then," he whispered, his hand briefly brushing my arm before he stepped back and allowed me to stand on my own.

A hired carriage was waiting at the corner. I climbed in without telling the driver where to go.

"Central Park," I said finally. "The lake."

He nodded and flicked the reins.

The city blurred past the window. Women in woolen dresses. Men in top hats. Children chasing a stray dog down the sidewalk. I watched it all like I was watching a play I no longer understood.

The park was quieter than I expected.

The afternoon crowds had thinned. A few nannies pushed prams along the paths. An old man sat on a bench, feeding breadcrumbs to the sparrows. The trees stood bare, their branches clawing at the grey sky like skeleton fingers.

I found the lake and sat on a bench near the water’s edge.

"You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world, dear."

I turned.

An elderly woman had settled on the other end of the bench, her hands folded over the handle of a worn parasol. Her hair was silver-white, pinned up in a style that had gone out of fashion twenty years ago.

Her eyes were pale blue, crinkled at the corners. For a moment, I could have sworn they flickered gold in the afternoon light. But that was absurd. I must have been seeing things.

She was just looking at me with an expression that wasn’t pity or curiosity.

Just... recognition.

Like she’d seen a girl like me before. Maybe been one herself.

"I’m sorry?" I said.

"No need to apologize." She smiled, and her face transformed. She must have been beautiful once. Maybe she still was, in the way old things are beautiful, weathered but not broken.

"I just saw you sitting here, staring at those swans like they held the answers to all your problems. They don’t, by the way. Swans are terrible at keeping secrets."

I forced a smile. "I’ll keep that in mind."

"Suit yourself." She turned her gaze to the water. "I used to come here when I was young. When my husband was alive. We’d sit on this very bench and watch the swans and pretend the world wasn’t trying to eat us alive."

"Did it work?"

"The pretending?" She considered the question. "For a while. Then he died, and I realized pretending doesn’t keep you warm at night. Doesn’t bring anyone back."

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I just sat there, watching the swans with her.

"The thing about swans," she continued after a moment, "is they look peaceful from a distance. Graceful. Serene. But get too close, and you’ll see they’re always fighting. For food. For territory. For survival. They just make it look easy."

"Sounds familiar."

She turned to look at me then, really look. Her pale eyes swept over my face, taking in the dark circles, the pallor, the weight I hadn’t been able to hide.

"You’re in trouble," she said. It wasn’t a question.

"I’m... dealing with something."

"Something dangerous? Something you aren’t supposed to be doing?"

So much for being good at hiding. My face was apparently an open book. A very grim, poorly written one.

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

She hummed, like she’d expected that answer. Like she’d known it before I opened my mouth.

"My husband used to say that the hardest things in life don’t come with instructions. No map. No guidebook. Just you and the problem and the sinking feeling that you’re going to make it worse before it gets better."

"That’s... encouraging."

She laughed. It was a dry, papery sound, like autumn leaves.

"I’m not trying to encourage you, dear. I’m trying to tell you that the only way out is through. You can’t sit on a bench and watch the swans forever. Eventually, you have to stand up and walk into the dark."

"What if I don’t know where the dark leads?"

"Then you light a candle."

She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small stub of a candle, the wax yellowed with age. The wick was black, like it had been lit before—maybe many times—but it didn’t crumble when her fingers brushed against it.

She pressed it into my hands. "One step at a time. That’s all anyone can do."

I stared at the candle. It was small and unremarkable and probably worthless. But it was warm from her pocket, and her hands had been warm too.

"I can’t take this," I said.

"You already have."

She stood up, her joints creaking. The parasol went under her arm. She looked down at me with those pale, knowing eyes.

"You’re going to be fine, dear. Not because the path is easy. But because you’re still here. Still fighting. Still sitting on a cold bench, watching the swans, trying to figure out your next move." She smiled. "That’s more than most people ever do." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

And then she walked away, her skirts brushing against the gravel path, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared around the bend.

I sat there for a long time, the candle clutched in my hands.

The sun began to sink toward the west, painting the sky in shades of amber and bruised purple. The swans drifted toward the far shore. The nannies gathered their charges and headed home.

And sitting there on that cold bench with the evening creeping in, I made a decision.

I will find that ledger. No matter how long it takes.

I had no idea where to start. No idea what I was looking for or how to find it. Elias had been hiding for years, never staying long enough to be caught. If the ledger still existed, it could be anywhere. Buried. Locked in a vault under a false name.

But I didn’t care.

I would find it.

One step at a time.

The old woman’s words echoed in my head.

The only way out is through.

I tucked the candle into my reticule and stood up.