CHAPTER 267: CHAPTER 267: IGNORING THE BASEMENT

The next morning broke clean and sharp over the Capital manor, the kind of pale sunlight that made even the marble halls look stripped bare.

Down in the cellar, however, the air was no lighter. Trevor had not left the interrogation wing since Alan was dragged to a cell the night before. He hadn’t needed to. His suits were brought down freshly pressed, his meals set untouched at the corner of the room, and every servant dragged before him left with either a signed dismissal or the weight of his pheromones seared into their memory.

By the end of the night, the numbers spoke for themselves.

Ninety percent of the Capital staff, once the pride of the manor, had broken under questioning only to reveal what Trevor already knew: they were pawns. Alan’s pawns. They had passed along schedules, repeated his instructions, and looked the other way when certain guests appeared where they shouldn’t have. Most of them were guilty of cowardice, not treason.

As promised, Trevor honored their contracts to the letter. Full pay, severance, and pensions signed and sealed by his hand. Their dismissal letters carried the Fitzgeralt crest, though not a single one of them bore a recommendation. To the outside world, they would be tainted, their careers finished. But they would live, and that was more mercy than Trevor usually gave.

The other ten percent, though... Trevor kept them.

They were incarcerated in reinforced rooms, cut off from each other, stripped of anything but their names and the silence that waited to be broken. These were the ones Alan had leaned on hardest. The ones who had not only obeyed but enjoyed their obedience. The ones who had looked at Lucas and seen opportunity.

Windstone stood outside the last interrogation chamber when Trevor emerged, clipboard against his chest, pale green eyes flicking briefly to the Duke’s unbuttoned cuffs, the faint scuff of exhaustion under his eyes. He said nothing about it.

Trevor closed the door behind him, his jaw tight, his voice clipped. "Ninety percent cleared. Freed as promised."

"And the rest?" Windstone asked evenly.

Trevor’s violet eyes burned like coals in the sterile light. "The rest don’t breathe until I say they can."

Windstone inclined his head, the faintest twitch at his temple betraying approval. "Efficient."

Trevor adjusted his cufflinks, each click precise, a man who would rather focus on neat lines of gold than the weight of what lay behind him. "Mercy buys loyalty in the long run. Fear buys silence. I intend to keep both."

Windstone allowed himself the faintest edge of sarcasm, dry as old brandy. "And Alan?"

Trevor’s mouth curved, though there was no humor in it. "Alan has ten years to confess. He’ll be here until he remembers every one of them."

—

The windows of the Capital manor looked out onto sunlit streets, the kind of morning that should’ve belonged to open cafés and careless walks with paper cups of coffee. Instead, the only thing Lucas saw were the black cars pulling away one by one, each carrying former staff with their severance envelopes clutched like lifelines.

He’d stood at the window long enough to count at least twenty. All of them in stiff lines, flanked by men in black suits, escorted past the gates with quiet precision. None of them screamed. None of them were dragged.

Which meant Trevor hadn’t killed them. Yet.

Lucas dropped the curtain back into place and sprawled onto the couch with a sigh. His phone sat untouched on the coffee table, the news feed already flashing with speculation about why a hundred Capital staff had been "relieved of duty." He ignored it. If Trevor wanted him to know the full story, he’d tell him. And until then? Lucas wasn’t interested in guessing how many bodies were still breathing in the cellar.

He reached for the remote, flicked through channels, then tossed it aside with a groan. Boredom was worse than the thought of Trevor’s interrogations. At least downstairs there was movement, purpose, and adrenaline. Up here, there was just silence broken by the hum of the air conditioning.

Lucas sat up, raking a hand through his hair. He’d already learned not to ask to go outside, not when the streets weren’t safe, not when Benedict’s reach could stretch into alleys and church doors. Freedom was a luxury Trevor didn’t intend to risk for him, and Lucas wasn’t stupid enough to argue.

But he wasn’t going to sit here counting ceiling tiles either.

He grabbed his phone and thumbed out a quick message to the one person who’d at least give him gossip instead of silence:

You busy?

The reply came before he even set the phone down.

Mia: For you? Never. Want company or want fries?

Lucas smirked, tapping back fast. Both. Bring the fries if Windstone doesn’t glare you into oblivion first.

The three dots pulsed, then: Challenge accepted.

The reply left Lucas grinning at the phone like an idiot, but he didn’t care. He shoved it under a throw pillow before Windstone could walk in and catch him looking too pleased at the prospect of contraband fries.

It didn’t take long. Less than an hour later, there was a discreet knock, two taps, a pause, then one more. Not Windstone’s stiff, judgmental rhythm. Lucas called out, "Come in," already knowing.

Mia slipped through the door with a paper bag hugged to her chest like it was state treasure. She shut the door with her foot, lowered her hood, and flashed a grin. "Operation Fries has succeeded. Target acquired."

Lucas sat up straighter, feigning solemnity. "And Windstone?"

Her eyes widened in mock horror. "Don’t even get me started. He saw me on the stairs, looked directly at the bag, then at me, and raised one eyebrow. Just one. I swear I lost three years of my life."

Lucas laughed, reaching for the bag like a starving man. "He probably filed a mental report titled ’Fries: suspicious activity, watch closely.’"

"Or," Mia said, plopping down beside him, "he was deciding whether fries count as treason. Jury’s still out."

Lucas tore the bag open, the scent of grease and salt curling into the air like salvation itself. He bit into one, closing his eyes as if this was the single most luxurious thing he’d tasted all week. "Gods, I needed this."

Mia leaned back, amused. "You’re sitting in one of the safest houses in the Empire, guarded by enough men to start a small war, and what you need is fries?"

"Exactly." Lucas pointed a fry at her. "It’s the little things. Survival, Mia. Survival through fried food."

She shook her head, laughing. "You’re impossible."

"And you," Lucas said through another mouthful, "are officially promoted to Chief of Fries and Gossip. Perks include immunity from Trevor’s scary looks, if I feel generous enough to shield you."

Mia smirked, snagging one fry for herself. "Oh good. I was starting to think I’d peaked in life. Now. do you want to know what one of the maids said about the guards, or do you want the Windstone gossip first?"

Lucas perked up immediately, his mouth curving into a sharp grin. "Always Windstone first."