I slowly looked at Sykelion. "...That’s not normal."

"This," Sykelion said calmly beside me, like we weren’t listening to furniture being murdered, "is how severe the situation has become, Miss Crimson. The Duke can no longer manage his Hysteria."

Another violent impact rattled the chains.

"Understandable," I crossed my arms. "So when is he supposed to calm down? I need to see his beast form properly if I’m going to carve anything useful."

Sykelion didn’t answer immediately which was already a bad sign. "I’m afraid... he can’t be calmed down."

I turned my head slowly. "...I beg your pardon?"

"He’s beyond that stage."

I stared at him.

"...Then what exactly am I doing here?" I asked flatly. "I can’t carve blindly, and I certainly didn’t come here just to listen to a man redecorate his room with his own sanity."

"There is one way."

"Then say it," I replied instantly. "We’re wasting time and I value mine."

He hesitated for a moment.

I should have known that was already a bad sign.

"Promise me you won’t get angry," he added.

"I’m already annoyed," I replied, tapping my heels impatiently. "You’re running out of time before that upgrades."

He inhaled slowly. "...Then I apologize in advance, Miss Crimson."

I frowned. "Wait—"

Before I could react, he shoved me forward.

Hard.

"What are you—?!"

The door swung open just enough for me to stumble inside, my balance completely gone as I caught myself mid-fall.

I spun around immediately as I caught a glimpse of Finnian, who, apparently, had already undone the chains at record speed.

Sykelion stepped back and clasped his hands together, looking like he was praying for my soul while Finnian only gave me thumbs up.

"You fuck—!"

SLAM!

My voice got cut off mid-threat as the sound of metal sealed my fate, locks snapping back into place, and chains rewrapping around the door.

I slammed the door with my fists and yelled angrily. "Let me out you psychos! I swear once I get out I will rip you two to shre-"

Huff...

Huff...

I froze and stood there very still when I heard a slow, heavy breathing from behind me.

I don’t want to turn around because I already knew I had just been—very professionally—sacrificed.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Mind telling me why we just offered Miss Crimson as a sacrificial lamb to the Duke?" Finnian asked as they walked away from the now ominously quiet room.

Sykelion didn’t even slow down. "We did not offer her as a sacrificial lamb—"

"Right," Finnian cut in dryly. "We just locked her in a room with a man who was actively trying to redecorate his walls with violence five seconds ago. Totally different."

Sykelion shot him a glare. "I assure you, she will be fine."

"I just became an accessory to murder," Finnian muttered, already spiraling into existential regret. "My mother warned me about jobs like this."

"You’re overreacting."

"I watched you push her inside. With your hands. Your very own hands. That’s not overreacting—that’s eyewitness testimony."

"And you unlocked the door," Sykelion shot back without missing a beat. "So if we’re assigning blame, you’re very much included. Congratulations! You’re also an accomplice."

Finnian stopped walking, slowly turned his head, and pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I was following orders!"

"And I was making decisions," Sykelion replied calmly. "We all have our roles."

Finnian stared at him like he was witnessing the collapse of logic in real time. "...We’re both going to jail."

"That won’t happen," Sykelion said, already continuing down the hall like he hadn’t just destroyed a man’s sense of security. "She’s in good hands."

Finnian let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh and hurried after him. "Good hands? GOOD HANDS?"

He grabbed Sykelion by the shoulder and spun him slightly. "Pray tell... Did you even see how the Duke is in his right mind right now?"

There was a brief pause.

Sykelion looked at him then sighed. "No."

Finnian blinked. "...No?"

"No," Sykelion repeated, completely unfazed.

Finnian’s face went blank. "...And you put her in there."

"Yes."

"With him."

"Yes."

"Alone."

"...Yes."

Finnian took a deep breath.

Another one.

Then pointed back towards the door they had just walked away from.

"You didn’t put her in ’good hands,’" he said slowly. "You put her in dangerous, unstable, possibly homicidal hands."

Sykelion was quiet for a moment. "...Depends on your perspective."

Finnian made a strangled noise. "WHAT perspective makes this sound reasonable?!"

Sykelion finally stopped walking again, his expression shifting to less composed and more serious.

"The one where she might be the only person who can stop him."

Finnian froze. "...You’re joking."

"No."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"...And if you’re wrong?" Finnian asked quietly.

Sykelion didn’t answer immediately as his gaze drifted slightly, back towards the direction of the sealed room. "...Then," he said at last, voice low, "we will deal with the consequences."

Finnian stared at him. "...That is the worst plan I have ever heard in my life."

Sykelion exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

There was no point arguing with him. Finnian had already committed himself to the role of "traumatized bystander."

Even as Finnian continued mumbling about legal consequences and prison meals, Sykelion’s thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Back at the boutique where he had seen the Duke, for the first time, being calm, gentle, and even holding a lady as if she were something fragile.

He frowned slightly.

He was almost certain that the lady from the boutique and the lady right now was the same.

She carried the same presence but the only detail he couldn’t confirm was her eyes.

It bothered him more than it should.

Snow leopards weren’t rare, there were plenty across the empire, but her... it’s rare to have red eyes.

He accidentally heard the Duke mumbling about having crimson eyes that sparkle when hit by the light.

Yet he couldn’t even confirm if it was really her because of the veil covering her eyes.

He dragged a hand down his face, when a certain memory pressed heavier.

"If fate really exists, then you will meet again."

He had said it so casually back then.

Almost mockingly.

As if fate was just another convenient excuse people used to explain coincidence.

But now?

Now it sounded like a warning he should have taken seriously.

He stopped walking for a moment.

"...No," he muttered, his fingers dragging through his hair as the thought circled back again. "This can’t be happening."

"See?!" Finnian pointed at him immediately. "You’re having a breakdown too! This is how it starts!"

"I am not—"

"If we both go down, I’m telling them you pushed her!"

Sykelion ignored him as his hand tightened into his hair, fingers curling as the realization settled in deeper than he liked.

"...Wait."

’If he was the one who brought her here, if he was the one who insisted, who pushed, who made the call, then wasn’t this his own doing?’

He froze then immediately shook his head.

"No. No, that’s—"

His thoughts stumbled, refusing to align because the alternative that he had unknowingly played a role in something as absurd as fate was not something he was prepared to accept.

He didn’t know what to feel.

Relief?

Because if she was the Duke’s fated mate, then perhaps this could end the Duke’s sufferings.

Anxiety?

Because he knew nothing about her.

No records.

No history.

No trace of her existence within the Imperial Database.

It was as if she had simply... appeared.

The only thing he did know?

She owned Crimson Snow Atelier.

That was it.

He needed her real name.

Without it, he couldn’t run a proper background check about her.

What if she wasn’t just a carver?

What if she was something else entirely?

What if she was an assassin sent to finish what no one else could?

Sykelion turned to him, already moving. "We need to go back."

Finnian, who had just started to regain a fragile sense of peace, froze mid-step. "...What?"

"We need to go back."

Finnian physically recoiled. "So we can what? Witness the aftermath? Maybe identify which limb belongs to who? No, thank you. I choose life."

Sykelion grabbed his collar without hesitation and started dragging him. "It’s not the lady I’m worried about."

Finnian blinked.

"It’s the Duke."

Finnian let himself be dragged, arms crossed like a man who had accepted his fate but refused to agree with it. "...You’re joking."

"We don’t know anything about her," Sykelion continued. "Not her real name. Not her background. Nothing except that she’s skilled in carving."

"That sounds like a good thing."

"It sounds like a hidden thing."

Finnian shot him a confused look. "...You sound like a mother who just realized she left her kid alone with a suspicious babysitter."

Sykelion shot him a look. "This is not a joke."

"It absolutely is," Finnian snorted. "Because a few minutes ago, you were very confident about your decision."

"I was working with limited variables."

"And now?"

"...Now I’m reconsidering those variables."

Finnian let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Incredible," he muttered. "First we commit potential murder, now we’re running back to stop potential reverse murder."

Sykelion ignored him, already approaching the sealed door again. "...Just be ready."

"For what?" Finnian asked.

Sykelion didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the door. "...Anything."