The morning arrived with an unnatural stillness. Aron woke to the faint sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the room, though there were no visible timepieces. He sat up, wincing as a sharp pain radiated through his left arm.
Zander was already awake, seated near the wardrobe, meticulously tying his boots.
"You're injured," Zander said, his voice low but observant. "Take a rest."
"It's not bad," Aron replied, rotating his shoulder and grimacing. "I can still move with this, I think."
"Better to get it checked," Zander said. "There might be an infirmary in the mansion. We'll look after breakfast."
Aron nodded, appreciating the pragmatic approach. "Fine. Let's go."
-
The group reconvened in the dining hall, a cavernous room dominated by a long mahogany table set with a lavish breakfast spread. Platters of eggs, sausages, and pastries were laid out, along with steaming pots of coffee and tea.
Zane and Livia were already seated, helping themselves to food. Zane waved lazily at them, while Livia sipped her tea, looking vaguely amused at the tension that lingered in the air.
The six experienced players sat farther down the table, eating in silence. Their guarded expressions and minimal interactions made it clear they weren't interested in working with the newcomers.
"I'm guessing this is part of the setup," Aron said quietly to Zander as they took their seats beside Zane and Livia.
"Probably," Zander replied, scanning the room with a soldier's instinct for detail. "If this is a game, they wouldn't leave us starving."
Moments later, the double doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. Two NPCs stepped in, both dressed in period attire that matched the mansion's 1920s aesthetic.
The first was a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and a tailored three-piece suit. His presence exuded wealth and authority. The second was a younger man, slim and fidgety, with a nervous energy that suggested he wasn't used to such grand surroundings.
"Guests," the older man announced in a booming voice, his tone formal. "My name is Edward Harrington, and this is my associate, Samuel Whitmore. We are leaving shortly for personal matters."
Zane raised an eyebrow. "Leaving? Where exactly do you think you're going?"
Edward's mustache twitched with annoyance. "That's none of your concern, young man."
Livia stood, her pink hair catching the light. "Actually, it might be. Last night, Mr. Thornhill was murdered, and I don't think it's a coincidence that you're eager to leave the scene."
Edward's face darkened. "How dare you insinuate—"
Samuel stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. "We—we didn't do anything wrong! We just don't want to stay in this dreadful place any longer. It's cursed, I tell you. Cursed!"
Aron exchanged a glance with Zander. "We need to know where they're going," he murmured.
Zane was already on it. He leaned forward, his tone disarmingly casual. "Look, we're all in the same mess here. If you know something about last night, anything at all, it could help us figure out what's going on."
Edward hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Samuel, who looked like he was on the verge of spilling everything.
"It's not much," Samuel stammered. "But... we saw someone leaving the study last night. A shadow. It—it didn't look like a servant or a guest."
Edward frowned. "That's enough, Samuel. We're leaving."
He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, Samuel trailing behind him like a nervous puppy.
-
"Well, that was cryptic," Livia said, dropping back into her seat.
"They're hiding something," Zander said flatly. "That much is obvious."
"Yeah, but what?" Zane asked, tapping his fork against his plate. "If they saw something, why not come forward? Unless they're guilty."
"Or scared," Aron said.
Livia tilted her head. "You think they're being threatened?"
"Possibly," Aron replied. "Or they might know something that makes them a target."
Zander pushed his plate aside. "We'll follow up later. Right now, Aron needs to get that arm checked. We'll use the search as an excuse to map out the mansion."
"I'll keep an eye on the others," Zane said. "Let you know if anything happens."
"Good. Let's go," Zander said, standing and gesturing for Aron to follow.
-
The mansion was a labyrinth of corridors, each lined with ornate wallpaper and adorned with paintings of stern-faced aristocrats. Zander led the way, his movements purposeful as he studied the layout. Aron trailed behind, noting details as they passed: the faint smell of polish, the creak of floorboards, the way the windows seemed to let in no natural light despite their size.
"This place feels wrong," Aron muttered.
"Everything about this place feels wrong," Zander replied without looking back. "Focus on the objective. We need to find the infirmary."
They passed several closed doors, some marked with brass plaques—Library, Study, Ballroom—but none indicating a medical facility.
"Why would a mansion like this even have an infirmary?" Aron wondered aloud.
"For the staff, maybe," Zander said. "Big estates like this had their own doctors on call."
As they turned a corner, they spotted a door slightly ajar. Faint sunlight filtered through the crack, illuminating a sign that read Infirmary in faded gold lettering.
"Found it," Zander said, pushing the door open.
-
The room was small but well-equipped, with shelves lined with glass jars and bottles of various tinctures. A narrow bed sat against one wall, and a wooden cabinet in the corner held medical tools.
Aron hesitated at the doorway. The air here felt heavier, like the lingering residue of pain and sickness.
Zander stepped inside first, his eyes scanning the space for threats. Satisfied, he gestured for Aron to enter.
"Sit," Zander said, motioning to the bed.
Aron complied, and Zander rummaged through the cabinet, pulling out a roll of bandages and a jar labeled Pain Salve.
"You know what you're doing?" Aron asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Basic first aid. Comes with the job," Zander replied, kneeling beside him. He unrolled the bandages and inspected Aron's arm. "Doesn't look broken. Probably just a sprain."
As Zander worked, Aron's thoughts wandered. "That shadow Samuel mentioned... you think it was the murderer?"
"Could be," Zander said without looking up. "Or it could be another player. We don't know how many of us there are yet."
"That's unsettling," Aron muttered.
"Everything about this is unsettling," Zander said, tying off the bandage. "Done. Try not to move it too much."
"Thanks," Aron said, flexing his fingers experimentally.
Zander stood and glanced around the room. "We've got what we need here. Let's keep moving. The more we learn about this place, the better our chances."
-
They continued their exploration, methodically checking each corridor and room. Zander made mental notes of potential choke points and areas that could be used for ambushes or traps, while Aron focused on spotting anything out of place—clues that might hint at the murderer's identity.
In the study, they found an overturned chair and a faint smear of blood on the edge of the desk.
"Looks like the scene of the crime," Aron said, crouching to examine the bloodstain.
Zander scanned the room. "No signs of a struggle. Either the victim didn't resist, or the attack was fast enough to prevent it."
"Poison, maybe?" Aron suggested.
"Possible," Zander said. "We'll need more evidence."
By the time they returned to the dining hall, Zane and Livia were waiting, both looking impatient.
"Find anything?" Zane asked.
"Mapped most of the mansion," Zander said. "Found the infirmary and the study. Bloodstains on the desk—probably the murder scene."
"Interesting," Livia said. "While you were gone, Edward and Samuel left. They didn't say where they were going."
"Did they take anything with them?" Aron asked.
"Nothing obvious," Zane replied. "But they were in a hurry."
"Then they're hiding something," Zander said.
"And we're going to find out what," Aron added, determination hardening in his voice.