The following evening, Clara found herself alone again. Benjamin had left early in the morning, and she hadn't seen or heard from him since.
She tried to distract herself with books and exploring the mansion, but unease gnawed at her. The staff seemed more tense than usual, their movements hurried and their voices hushed.
As night fell, Clara sat in the drawing room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. She stared into the flames, her mind wandering to the man who had so abruptly become the center of her world.
A sudden knock at the door startled her. She turned to see Gregory, Benjamin's trusted aide, standing in the doorway. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by something Clara couldn't quite place—an edge of urgency.
"Miss Hamilton," he said, his tone measured. "I need you to come with me."
Clara frowned, setting her book aside. "Why? What's going on?"
"It's not safe here," Gregory said bluntly.
Clara's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? Where's Benjamin?"
"He's handling the situation," Gregory replied. "But until it's resolved, we need to move you somewhere secure."
Alarm bells rang in Clara's mind. She wanted to argue, to demand more answers, but the look in Gregory's eyes told her it was serious. Reluctantly, she stood up and followed him out of the room.
As they made their way through the mansion, the tension in the air became palpable. Gregory led her to a side entrance where a sleek black car was waiting.
"Get in," he instructed, holding the door open for her.
Clara hesitated. "Are you coming with me?"
"I'll be right behind you," Gregory assured her. "We're just taking precautions."
With a knot in her stomach, Clara climbed into the car. As it pulled away from the mansion, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
The city streets blurred past her window, the usual bustle replaced by an eerie stillness. After what felt like an eternity, the car came to a stop in front of a nondescript building.
The driver opened her door, and Clara stepped out, her nerves fraying with every passing second.
"This way, Miss Hamilton," the driver said, gesturing toward the building.
Clara followed him inside, her senses on high alert. The hallway was dimly lit, the air heavy with silence.
When they reached a small room at the end of the hall, the driver opened the door for her.
"Wait here," he said.
Clara stepped inside, her unease growing. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a table and a few chairs. The walls were bare, and the single window was covered with thick curtains.
She turned back to the driver, but the door had already closed, the sound of the lock clicking into place sending a chill down her spine.
"Hello, Clara," a voice said from the shadows.
She spun around to see a man step into the light, his sharp features and cold eyes instantly recognizable from the photos Benjamin had shown her.
"Moriarti," she whispered, her blood running cold.
The man smiled, his expression predatory. "I've been waiting to meet you."