Maya’s knuckles touched the locked door once.
A soft sound.
Nothing dramatic.
Yet behind her, Arthur Penhaligon reacted as though the entire house had cracked open.
Maya did not know he was standing at the end of the corridor.
She had left him downstairs beneath the wool throw, apparently asleep beside a gold watch, several banknotes, and a silver key placed so obviously that the arrangement had felt almost insulting.
She had not touched any of it.
Now she crouched and placed the small white flower beside the door.
For a few seconds she simply looked at the faded stars painted along the lower frame.
Then she spoke quietly.
“I don’t know who this room belonged to,” she said, “but I don’t think pretending it isn’t here makes it disappear.”
Arthur stopped breathing normally.
Maya straightened.
“Good night,” she said toward the closed door.
“Why did you knock?”
She spun around.
Arthur stood ten feet away.
The softness vanished from his face so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.
His eyes went to the flower.
Then to her.
“I thought you were asleep,” Maya said.
“You were supposed to.”
The answer confirmed everything.
Maya’s expression hardened.
“The watch.”
Arthur said nothing.
“The money.
The key.
You put them there for me.”
“Yes.”
“To see whether I’d steal from you?”
“Among other things.”
Maya stared at him.
For four days she had swallowed the clipped orders, the suspicion, the way conversations stopped when he entered a room.
She had told herself that rich households had strange rules and that Catherine needed medicine more than Maya needed pride.
But this was different.
“You hired me,” she said, “and then set a trap.”
“I verified that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.”
Maya gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
“That is a very expensive way of saying you don’t trust anyone.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
Most employees apologized when his voice cooled.
Maya did not.
He glanced at the door.
“You were specifically told never to come here.”
“I was told not to open it.”
“You came anyway.”
“Without your key.”
Arthur looked at her empty hands.
“Why?”
Maya pointed toward the study downstairs, though neither of them could see it from where they stood.
“Because you left a photograph beside your hand.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Maya saw it.
“You looked at it?”
