The morning sun cast a pale light through the dusty windows of Viscount Conrad's study, highlighting the grim scene that remained. Ryan, his face etched with a night's worth of restless contemplation, stood before the desk where the tobacco box still lay. The air, however, had lost its cloying sweetness, replaced by a sterile smell that did little to alleviate the tension.
"The report, Thorne?" Ryan asked, his voice raspy from lack of sleep.
Thorne, his face equally grim, handed him a rolled-up parchment. "The doctor confirms arsenic poisoning, Your Grace. Traces were found in the Viscount's system."
Ryan's jaw clenched. Arsenic – a silent killer, a poison that could leave few outward signs. It fit the scene – an unassuming tea tray, a victim alone in his study.
