Music I listened to while writing :Shades of Marble - Trentemøller(OST La Piel que Habito)

Chapter 3: The White Fools

In this chapter, you discover the identity of the killer, and Sebastian finally returns.
There is a yaoi / M/M scene, a bit daring, though I still keep it within the soft boundaries. The passage is in italics.

The inn's room was silent. The man who had rented it for the night hadn't bothered to light a candle to illuminate the single room. Sitting by the window, he watched the rain violently striking the panes, almost shattering them.
The night was pitch-black, no light illuminated his face. Darkness seemed to have engulfed the world, just like his heart.
"You bit a man? Wasn't it supposed to be a boy?"he asked in a whisper.
A sharp, hissing sound like that of a serpent cut through the darkness.
"Then you made a mistake…"the man continued, emotionless. "Do you remember Smile? He's the one you were supposed to bite."
The creature slid onto his shoulder, coiled around his neck, and moved closer to the young man's face, who lazily reached out a hand to stroke its head.
"It's nothing, I'm not angry. Next time, we will succeed."
A bolt of lightning tore through the black sky, illuminating the isolated countryside. And at the foot of his window, the boy with the serpent glimpsed a man with long red hair staring at him, standing in the pouring rain, his eyes gleaming and a wide, sharp-toothed grin stretching across his lips.

Finni hung up the phone receiver with a sigh and shook his head towards Meirin and Bard. With the storm, Tanaka had warned them that the communications would be cut off, but they had still tried to reach London and call the hospital to find out if Sebastian was alive.

Finni leaned back in his young master's chair. He had never sat in that large leather seat before, and now, with his heart feeling so heavy, he wondered if he would even be able to stand up again. He had this lingering feeling that his world was in peril.

Before arriving at the manor, he didn't know this unpleasant sensation, the pain you feel when you lose something precious. After all, before coming here, he had nothing. But the Young Master knew what it was like to lose everything, and yet, he was strong enough to keep going and stand tall.

"We need to get back to the kitchen. Tanaka asked us to serve tea at eleven in the drawing room," Bard said, stretching his arms, already exhausted by the prospect of the work ahead. He walked towards the door, opening it but not stepping out, waiting for his companions.

Finni, still seated in the chair, didn't raise his head. Meirin circled the desk, approached him, and took his hand.

He looked up at her with tired eyes.

"It wasn't him," he murmured, "Sebastian wouldn't have killed Mr. Phelps. They're all wrong."

"Finni, they're only speculating…"

"They're wrong! You heard them this morning. They think only the Young Master killed Mr. Siemens and that Sebastian murdered Mr. Phelps. But it's not true, I know it's not true! They want to take everything from us— the Young Master, Sebastian, and our lives…"

He buried his head in his hands, fighting back the tears welling up in his clear eyes.

He felt a small hand gently touch his head. He turned towards the young woman, who looked at him with kindness.

"It'll be alright, you'll see. But for now, we have to take care of the Young Master," she said softly before taking his hand and leading him toward the office door.

Arthur stood in front of the glass door to the grand drawing room. This storm was a real curse and a torment on his nerves. Furious voices echoed behind him.

After establishing a chart with the timelines of the murders and potential suspects, he had been appointed leader, as he was the only one who couldn't have committed any of the killings. Abberline would assist him.

The tone had quickly escalated when Lau suggested that the killers might be elsewhere, not one among them, offering hypotheses that were more supernatural and terrifying with each turn. Frustrated by these dubious, unscientific speculations, Carl Woodley had thrown an empty cup at the young Chinese man's face, before Ran Mao intervened and hurled a teapot that would have likely broken his nose if Tanaka hadn't caught it mid-air.

Although Arthur had asked the guests to remain calm, the tension had hardly lessened, especially when the butler also announced that they would need to ration the food…

Arthur had distanced himself a little to clear his mind, though he still listened with one ear to the conversations taking place around the small drawing room table behind him.

Another person… another killer…?

At the time of the first murder, he would have immediately rejected such a possibility. And he had, in fact. Clinging to his pragmatic mind and scientific reasoning, he had concluded that the killer was undoubtedly one of them. But now, much had changed, and his intuition told him that this manor harbored secrets far beyond the realm of reality.

Or perhaps he could no longer be objective…?

If his suspect chart was correct, and the killer was among them, that would mean Ciel had murdered Lord Siemens. And that idea deeply disturbed him.

He turned towards the young man, sitting upright in the red velvet Voltaire armchair. Silent, he observed the guests with a sharp and unforgiving eye. Despite his impeccable posture, his frame was fragile.

How could such a frail boy have plunged a dagger into the body of a strong, middle-aged man? Of course, Lord Siemens had been drunk and drowsy when he was brought to his room; the earl could have attacked him by surprise...

Ah! Damn, why hadn't he had time to get more details from the coroner? If he had known the depth of the wound, he would have known if a boy or a grown man had delivered the fatal blow!

He gently shook his head, causing the bones in his stiff neck to crack satisfyingly. He was thinking too much, so tired, and last night hadn't been as restful as he'd hoped.

He heard someone approaching and knew who it was before they even spoke.

"Lord Randall was wrong," Abberline said, leaning against the wall next to the glass door through which Arthur was watching the muddy garden. "We should have evacuated the manor. I'm afraid some people's nerves will snap. Did you see Woodley? He might get violent."

Arthur made a small contemptuous sound and shook his head softly.

"It's not always who you think that cracks first. We need to watch them all. Keane's hot-tempered too. You never know who'll succumb to madness."

"Yes, you're right… It's common for people to lose their minds in an isolated house. And now, there's a killer trying to eliminate them. It's a volatile situation. They were right to choose you as the leader…" The detective hesitated for a moment, then added, "I just hope you're being careful and know what you're doing."

Arthur stiffened and suddenly turned his head towards the detective, still leaning against the wall, staring at him with bright, insistent eyes, as if trying to convey something important. Abberline sighed, tapping his fingers nervously on his thighs.

"Don't let yourself be manipulated by the Earl Phantomhive," he finally said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur replied with a hard look. "The Earl hasn't said anything to influence me in this matter."

He liked the young man, but he couldn't stand unjustified warnings, especially concerning Ciel, as he himself doubted his ability to handle a case that might put the boy in danger. He nodded gently, signaling the conversation was over, and prepared to rejoin the other guests, but Abberline grabbed his shoulder. Arthur turned, trying to remain calm.

The young officer sighed softly and whispered:

"Last night, when the guests were panicking over that snake story, I came to get you from your room to back up my statements, to explain that it was all just speculation, because I couldn't calm them down on my own…"

Arthur felt the blood freeze in his veins, and a feverish heat overcame him as his mind registered the implications of the detective's words. Abberline had come looking for him last night…

He didn't respond, letting the man before him find the words, hoping he was wrong about the revelation the young detective was about to make.

"I heard you."

Arthur let out a soft laugh, but without humor. Shame coursed through his body. There was no doubt, Abberline had caught him and Ciel in the middle of their affair. He nervously ran a hand through his black hair and let it rest on the back of his neck, massaging it firmly. He took a deep breath, eyes closed.

"So what?" he finally asked, somewhat exasperated, "We were both consenting and…

"This isn't about morality," Abberline said slowly and deliberately. "He's one of the main suspects in this case. You know that better than anyone."

"Fine…" Arthur sighed. He bit his lower lip and continued, "So you think I can't be objective anymore? That I can't solve this case? You want to take over?"

"No, I trust your judgment. I'm just warning you to be careful. It's always harder to accuse someone you've become intimate with. The last thing we need is an ambiguous relationship between a suspect and an investigator. I don't know what you expect, but nothing good can come of this relationship, because if it's serious, your judgment will be clouded, and we'll be in danger."

"No… it's not serious, not for him, nor for me," Arthur said softly, though his words sounded false and hollow to his own ears. But he continued in a low voice, "It was a mistake…"

"I understand, you found a way to release the tension, but it has to stop. Otherwise, in the end, you'll suffer."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"Sebastian might be alive. And for Ciel, you'll never come before his butler."

Arthur once again felt an invisible thread stitching violently to his heart, sending sharp pains through his chest. He tried to show nothing, but he felt his hands trembling.

"So, there is something between them…" he said softly, eyes lost in thought.

"No," Abberline said slowly, as if considering. "Actually, I don't know. I'm just saying there's a powerful bond between them, too powerful for my liking. It's almost unhealthy."

"Something unhealthy," Arthur repeated as memories of their first night resurfaced in his mind, Ciel's troubling words, his evasive answers, his nervous fingers touching his eyepatch. What was he hiding…?

He realized then that Ciel was watching them, clearly intrigued, shifting his gaze between him and the detective as if trying to figure out what they were discussing.

"Listen," Abberline's voice cut through his thoughts. "I had to tell you, otherwise our trust in each other would be broken. Know that I don't judge you. I'm just warning you."

Arthur nodded softly, a faint shadow of a smile on his lips. The detective patted his shoulder and left to return to the others at the drawing room table.

Arthur massaged his tired eyelids with one hand. Abberline knew. And that made his shame unbearable. Yet, the time for regrets had passed, and he didn't want to erase the last two nights from his memory. Blush crept up his cheeks, and he tried to push away the memories flooding his mind.

He turned again towards the young earl, who was now talking animatedly with Abberline. The young detective had moved closer to Ciel and was speaking to him quietly, leaning in. Despite himself, Arthur felt his throat tighten, annoyed because he suspected the earl was asking for an explanation about the conversation he and the detective had shared, but also because this sudden closeness between Ciel and the young officer from Scotland Yard irritated him.

He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the surge of possessiveness overwhelming him.

Since when had he felt this way? He had never felt jealous of the men surrounding his wife, not even suspicious. He was usually calm, confident, and gentle, but the more time he spent in this manor, the more he felt like a stranger to himself.

Or perhaps he was finally discovering who he truly was, and the horrific events he was living through were revealing parts of his personality he had never suspected… And Ciel wasn't a stranger to that… Never had he known such a consuming passion, nor such devastating feelings. He had shed his shell of a timid, moral writer.

Last night, he had no regrets, no doubts. He had held and caressed Ciel as if his life depended on the softness of the young man's body. He had been more passionate, more violent. When Ciel had kissed him, the last shred of morality within him had torn, and at that moment, he knew he could offer him his soul.

The previous night...

"Stop, Ciel," he murmured, "it's... it's wrong."

"Yes, I know," whispered the Earl before kissing the man who was already tightening his arms around his trembling body.

Arthur held the boy close, tasting his soft, cool lips, troubled by the delicate hands caressing his face and gliding through his black hair. The kiss broke off suddenly, and to his surprise, the young writer watched Ciel push away the strong arms encircling his waist and sit atop him, straddling his hips, creating a delightful friction between them despite the barrier of their clothes.

The Earl smiled, tilting his head mischievously as he untied the scarf around his neck and removed his jacket. Arthur tried to help by unbuttoning his shirt, but Ciel pushed his hands away, shaking his head.

He wanted to dominate the young writer that night. Arthur chuckled softly, amused, and rested his head back on the pillow, letting his young lover show what he was capable of. Ciel rocked his hips gently, squeezed his thighs, intensifying the friction between their bodies, drawing moans from his lover's lips.

Pleasantly surprised by the Earl's bold actions, Arthur grabbed his hips to control the delicious movements, but again, Ciel rejected him, holding the novelist's wrists in his slender fingers to prevent him from touching while he rode him with slow, controlled movements that drove the young man mad.

He never took his eyes off the boy's face, who bit his lip to suppress murmurs of pleasure. Arthur found him beautiful, fascinating. At that moment, he could have loved him.

He didn't try to free his hands, allowing Ciel to dictate the cruel pace as the burning pleasure between his legs intensified.

His sighs grew louder, and he couldn't help but raise his hips to meet Ciel's movements. Amused and proud of Arthur's reactions, the Earl leaned over him, pinning the writer's hands above his head, capturing his mouth in a clumsy yet tender kiss. Arthur freed his hands from the boy's grip and began exploring his body, slipping under his shirt, caressing his skin, while Ciel continued kissing him. He felt the boy tremble beneath his fingers. The Earl had drunk cherry tea, and Arthur enjoyed the sweet taste of his lips, relished his muffled moans against his own mouth.

Ciel broke the kiss, his breath ragged, and Arthur felt his wet lips trail down his neck, hands gently tugging on his tie, loosening it before throwing it aside. The same slender hands then unbuttoned Arthur's shirt, revealing the finely toned, hairless chest of his lover, upon which the boy planted a line of passionate kisses.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat in a gasp of surprise and pleasure. He threw his head back as Ciel's tongue glided over his soft skin, moving from one nipple to the other, gently biting the flesh. Then he felt trembling, clumsy hands open his trousers and try to pull them down. He suddenly sat up, shocked and overwhelmed with desire, before Ciel could reach his member. He grabbed the boy by the hips, lifted him, and slammed him down onto the bed, pressing his body over him.

He kissed him, stopping him from speaking, from saying he didn't want this, that tonight he wanted to lead, dominate, to give himself the illusion of power. But Arthur was tired of being led by the young noble; he wanted to love him, and that was all.

To hell with moral conventions, social status, circumstances, marital fidelity. Nothing was real, except Ciel's arms. He stifled the boy's frustration with his lips, but felt weak hands pushing him away, hitting his head, pulling his hair, and scratching his shoulders. He left his lips and moved to his neck, roughly tearing the shirt that shielded his lover's skin from his lips hungry for tenderness. He barely registered the faint reproaches between moans. "You didn't let me do it," "you're not listening," "stop, let me, I'm angry," "are you listening?" "Why don't you obey me!"

Arthur laughed softly, determined to ignore his lover as he continued to love his body with his hands and lips. When the complaints ceased and only sighs remained, the writer moved away from his body, opened his trousers, and slid them down his legs.

That's when he took a violent kick to the chest. He didn't have time to recover from the shock before Ciel pushed him down, sprawled him onto the bed, and took his place atop him again.

"And now, are you listening?" he heard Ciel whisper, naked on top of him, a satisfied expression on his face.

"You have my full attention," Arthur replied, smiling despite the sharp pain in his chest, before wrapping the boy in a powerful embrace. One arm around his body, the other hand slid under his thighs to lift him as he pleased. Arthur began his loving ministrations, gliding his member against Ciel's, intensifying the intimate contact that sent shivers through their bodies.

Ciel tried to pull away, digging his nails into Arthur's arms, but already the ecstasy robbed him of any desire to resist, troubled by the burning, wet pleasure rising between his legs, numbing his thighs and his reason. His head thrown back, his body trembling, he let the sighs flow freely from his parted lips as Arthur kissed his neck lovingly.

The movements became more violent, and Arthur felt Ciel wrap his arms around his neck, clinging to him while spreading his legs wider to meet his lover's energetic, skillful thrusts. He held the boy close, rested his head in the crook of his neck, and inhaled his scent while continuing to lift his body, feeling the pleasure consume him. The world disappeared as the room filled with moans and groans, in time with their burning bodies.

Ciel suddenly stiffened, his passion peaking. Blind, trembling, he sought Arthur's lips to stifle his cry of ecstasy. The room spun as the pleasure overtook him, and when the kiss broke, he thought he might faint, but the strong arms still held him tight.

He heard Arthur's final groan, felt nails digging into his skin, and then nothing more. The pleasure ebbed in waves, leaving him utterly empty. He fell asleep in his arms.

And Now...

Leaving his memories behind, Arthur turned away from the window and observed the small group huddled around the table, engaged in a lively conversation. Mr. Woodley seemed irritated.

"The police have already inspected our rooms, and I won't allow you to go through my belongings!"

"But it's necessary," Abberline sighed in frustration. The young policeman was struggling more and more to handle the guests' resistance. "The Scotland Yard officers probably didn't have time to open your suitcases, and we're still looking for one or even two murder weapons."

"And why should we accept such an invasion of our privacy?" Keane asked, wrapping an arm around the waist of the singer beside him.

"Because it would be a sign of goodwill and trust."

Everyone turned to Arthur, who had just spoken. He approached the table and took the empty seat next to Abberline on the sofa. He clasped his hands together and spoke slowly.

"We have two murders, three attacks, with three different weapons and three different methods. The killer's profile is impossible to establish, so, for me, you could all be guilty."

The guests shuddered.

"How can you say that?" exclaimed Irene, clutching her chest in outrage. "You're accusing us without evidence!"

"You could be exonerated if you at least let us proceed," Abberline interjected.

"We can only be guilty of the attack on the butler," Keane replied, standing up, clenching his fist. "And the weapon was found lodged in his chest. I'd like to know how we could have known where he was. We would have had to search every room to carry out such a deed! How could we have known he was changing the coal in all the fireplaces that night?"

Arthur froze, his hands tensing. It wasn't Keane's argument that caught him off guard—it was something else. Words came back to him, seemingly insignificant at the time, that he hadn't paid attention to. That night, when Ciel and he had been locked in the same room together, Ciel had asked something of his butler.

"It's going to be cold tonight. Don't let the coal run out in the rooms."

That night, Sebastian was changing the coal in all the fireplaces to ensure the fires didn't go out… even in Lord Siemens' room, though he was already dead. Was Sebastian worried a corpse might catch a chill in an empty room?

A sense of dread crept over him, and he became deaf to the conversation around him. He vaguely heard Abberline continuing to argue with the other guests, but it no longer mattered to him. He felt he had touched on a crucial aspect of the mystery.

He sensed inquisitive eyes on him and turned to the person watching him. Ciel's gaze was fixed on him. Though his face showed no emotion, it was clear he was curious about Arthur's sudden silence.

When their eyes met, Ciel quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the main conversation again. Yet Arthur continued to watch him, searching the boy's youthful features for answers to the new questions that flooded his mind. If Ciel realized he was being observed, he ignored it with his usual superiority.

Eventually, Arthur abandoned his analysis of the young lord and refocused on the debate. But he thought he saw Ciel exhale a little more forcefully, his throat tightening slightly, as if relieved that Arthur had stopped staring at him.

As the guests began to yield to Abberline's demands, a knock came at the door, and Tanaka entered to announce that lunch was served. Murmurs of appreciation filled the room as the guests stood to follow the butler.

"Earl, may I speak with you?"

Young Phantomhive turned to the young doctor who had remained seated on the sofa. Charles Gray and Abberline, who had not yet left the room, also turned around.

"Can't it wait?" Ciel replied in an irritated, almost hostile tone.

"It won't take long," Arthur insisted. "There are things I need to say, and I'd like to talk to you, alone."

He didn't want the young butler of the Queen or even the Scotland Yard officer to take offense at his request. But he knew he would get no answers from the young noble if anyone else was present. Though even if they were locked in a room for weeks, he doubted Ciel would reveal anything to him.

Ciel clicked his tongue in a sharp, dismissive manner, a typical sign of his aristocratic annoyance. But he eventually nodded towards the two men waiting by the door, indicating they should leave.

Abberline didn't look pleased to be excluded from the conversation but reluctantly left the room, taking Charles Gray with him, who cast a final suspicious glance at the two men before closing the door.

"So, what do you want to say?" Ciel asked, gracefully resuming the seat he had just vacated, his eye never leaving Arthur. "You're delaying my lunch, so I hope you have a good reason for this."

"It's just one detail that's troubling me," Arthur said. He enjoyed the switch to informal speech, which was becoming so natural between them. He moved closer to Ciel and took a seat. Leaning forward, he studied the boy's reactions and asked, "Why did you ask Sebastian to keep the coal from running out?"

Ciel appeared surprised, then smirked. He leaned back lazily in his chair.

"What a silly question! And why ask it when no one else can hear?" he replied, clearly amused. "You'll worry them for no reason."

"But you're not answering," Arthur pressed.

"Because the answer is obvious. I don't understand what you're getting at," Ciel said, shrugging his shoulders, his legs crossed, perfectly composed and innocent. "I didn't want the fire to go out in the rooms because of the cold. You may not have noticed, but the weather this March has been particularly unpleasant."

"Yes," Arthur said with a smile, casually rubbing his hands, "I know the comfort of your guests is important. But that doesn't explain why Sebastian was changing the coal in a dead man's room."

He looked up and watched as the smile gradually faded from the Earl's face.

Arthur leaned closer to the boy, letting his fingers trail along Ciel's thigh.

He knew the gesture would irritate him, and he didn't want him to relax.

"Why stoke the fire in an empty room where a man had just died?"

"I told my butler to take care of my guests and keep the cold out of the rooms, that's all." His voice was sharp and biting. He no longer enjoyed the conversation. "I don't know what he was doing in that room."

"But you did tell him to tend to the fireplaces."

"Yes, of course. You heard me give him that order."

"I did. And you two are close enough that he can pick up on subtle cues in your orders that no one else would notice."

"What exactly are you implying?" Ciel snapped, pushing away the hand that continued to stroke his leg.

"I want to know, what kind of killer can come and go through the chimneys?"

Ciel paled, his breath catching. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Arthur had suspected it, but now he was sure: Ciel knew... He knew who had committed these attacks—perhaps even why.

"You're delusional," Ciel finally muttered, standing up and heading toward the door.

"Oh no, things are becoming clearer and clearer," Arthur said, following him. "Even though I hate my own implications because they scare me."

Ciel was about to place his hand on the doorknob when Arthur grabbed his arm and pulled him back, forcing him to face him.

"You insisted on keeping the fires burning in every room of the manor because you didn't want him to come back," Arthur said, gripping Ciel's arm tightly. Ciel winced in pain, trying to break free. "But you didn't anticipate that Sebastian would be attacked while tending to the flames, or that the killer would use a snake to attack Phelps in your room, where the door was locked."

"Listen to yourself!" Ciel retorted, finally breaking free. "You're going mad!"

"Yes, you're right," Arthur replied softly.

He stepped closer to Ciel, running his fingers through the boy's hair. Ciel made no move to push him away, simply staring at him.

"Maybe I'm not thinking rationally anymore," Arthur said, cupping the boy's face in his hands. "Maybe I'm too close to you, and I refuse to believe you killed Lord Siemens. And to clear your name, I might invent anything. Because if I'm wrong, it means it's you—the murderer. That you used those delicate hands to drive a knife into the body of a drunk man."

"I didn't kill him," Ciel sighed.

"But all the evidence points to you! And if we don't solve this case, you'll be accused. And in this country, a noble accused of murder—he's beheaded. So, if it's not you, if I'm right and the killer is a thirteenth person, someone who isn't entirely human, you need to tell me who—or what—they are."

The dining room door reopened, and Tanaka bowed.

"Young Master, Sir, lunch is getting cold."

But Arthur didn't look at him; his hands were still on Ciel's cheeks, his eyes locked onto the boy's. Yet Ciel caught his wrists and gently pushed his hands away.

"They're waiting for us," he said before following Tanaka out without even glancing at the young writer who watched him leave.

"Nothing," Abberline said, closing the last suitcase with a grimace on his face, "but you have some very strange hobbies, Mr. Lau."

"I told you not to open that suitcase," Lau replied, lounging on the bench, perfectly relaxed. "It's kind of my portable playroom."

After much negotiation, the guests had agreed to have their personal belongings inspected. Lau's room had been the last, but once again, Abberline and Arthur found nothing, despite several hours of searching.

"Are you close to the Earl Phatomhive?" Abberline asked Lau while closing the suitcases and boxes he had opened. The young detective ignored the questioning look Arthur gave him as he was putting objects back into the drawers.

"Let's say we are business partners and sometimes share common interests," Lau explained without looking at the two men, one arm behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Arthur wondered if anything in this world could frighten or even slightly alarm the young Chinese man. None of this seemed to surprise him at all. He seemed almost... amused.

"Do you think he and his butler are capable of committing these two murders?" Abberline continued.

Lau suddenly sat up, observing the young inspector who had frozen in place.

"Mr. Abberline," he said in a sweet tone, taking care that each of his words was clearly heard, "I believe they are capable of anything."

Abberline was about to interrupt, but Lau cut him off sharply:

"However, I also know they are too clever to get caught, so if you're suspecting them this much... it means they didn't do anything."

"You seem to know them well," Arthur interjected.

The young Chinese man slowly turned his face towards him.

"I stay with the Earl because I find him interesting, Mr. Conan Doyle. One is never bored in his company. He and his butler make life fascinating. Don't you think?"

"So for you, this is all just a game?" Arthur murmured. Lau's presence was becoming increasingly unpleasant to him.

"But of course!" Lau exclaimed, standing up with his arms raised, his large billowing sleeves giving him a grand theatrical air. "I can't wait to see how all of this will end."

Arthur was about to reply when the door suddenly burst open, and Meirin rushed into the room.

"Sebastian is back!"

The three men froze.

"What did you say, miss?" Abberline asked, convinced he had misunderstood the young woman's words.

"Sebastian… he's downstairs in the main hall, come!" the young woman managed to say, visibly out of breath from running to find them, before rushing out again. Arthur and Abberline quickly followed, and Arthur heard Lau's laughter as they left the room.

"Ha ha… They are incredible..."

They arrived at the top of the Grand Staircase, running, and in the large Hall, they saw Sebastian, still wearing his uniform stained with his own blood. The butler's black clothes were soaked, and white bandages, bloodied and dirty, covered his head, concealing his forehead. He stood less upright than usual, but he hadn't lost any of his dignity. The maid was supporting him, though he didn't seem to need it. Bard was holding Finni to prevent him from jumping on the new arrival.

"How on earth did you get back here?" Abberline exclaimed as he descended the stairs, followed by Arthur and Lau.

Sebastian didn't have time to respond as the other guests arrived from the lounge to welcome the man who had returned from the brink. Annoying murmurs and questions filled the room. Everyone watched Sebastian, but the butler had eyes only for Ciel, who entered the room last. There was a moment of silence and forgetting as their eyes met, as if the world vanished to give them more space. The young boy remained apart, not seeking to approach but never taking his eyes off his butler.

"Wait, move back, he needs to sit down," Bard said, grabbing Sebastian's arm. He pushed the crowd aside and led him into the lounge.

"So," Abberline began, "how did you make it back?"

Due to his injuries, the butler was allowed to sit with the other guests in the lounge. He bore their inquisitive gazes without discomfort. Finni had brought him a towel to dry his damp black hair and to keep him from catching cold. Sebastian accepted the towel with a smile, more to avoid dirtying the sofa than for his own sake. The demon loved the rain, and the idea of "falling ill" was simply ridiculous to him. But it would have been suspicious to refuse this human comfort. He was already tired of playing the severely wounded. He had been forced to wrap his head in this medical bandage he had stolen from the hospital and had to absurdly fake the pain. Fortunately, the demon's acting skills were extraordinary.

He observed the guests, still clustered around him, scrutinizing him with curiosity. They seemed tense, their faces tired. Looking at Carl Woodley, he knew that some of them were reaching their limits and would soon act foolishly, maybe even dangerously. He had been right to return and present himself in this way to all the guests. This way, he could provide some explanations that might calm them... before the danger returned.

Abberline and Arthur caught his attention. It was clear that the two men had taken on the role of leaders in the group and were fulfilling their duty with all the conscience and rigor that their human nature demanded.

In the world of humans, they were what one would call men of value… or even men of convictions. Sebastian restrained a disdainful grimace. If the world were only populated by men of their caliber, demons would no longer be able to make contracts. For to such noble and pure minds, the soul had a profound meaning. Good men... What an illusion!

The writer had changed since his departure. He had gained a strength and charisma previously unknown to him. His timid and polite demeanor had disappeared, and now a determined man with a piercing gaze stood before him. But a darkness colored his expression, and a new fear had invaded his heart, making him vulnerable and yet driving him to appear stronger.

Sebastian couldn't help but smile as he looked at the young doctor. His young master had a certain talent for enchanting souls. At this thought, he felt his own heart swell with pride.

"I made part of the journey by carriage, of course," he finally deigned to answer the officer.

"In this rain!" Charles exclaimed, astonished.

"Yes, the manor is a little over two hours from London. With the rain, the travel time was doubled, and I had to make a detour to avoid the flooded riverbed. It took me the entire day to arrive. Naturally, the journey exhausted me, so I stopped at a very interesting inn about an hour from the estate."

He had imperceptibly raised his eyes toward his master. Ciel met his gaze but revealed nothing of their silent exchange. Nothing visible to human eyes at least, but Sebastian detected a faint change in the boy's heartbeat. By this invisible reaction, Ciel acknowledged his understanding of his words. Sebastian had important information. They needed to talk, and soon.

"I don't know if you're aware," Arthur said, observing the butler's reactions, "but Mr. Phelps was killed the night you were injured."

"I didn't know," Sebastian said simply, turning his gaze away from Ciel and focusing on the young writer. Of course he knew, but he wasn't supposed to. He did his best to appear somewhat intrigued in Arthur's eyes. "How did he die?"

Arthur explained the circumstances of the young man's death, but if Sebastian knew anything, he didn't let it show.

"The trouble is that only you could have committed this murder," Arthur continued. "So the Earl Phantomhive and you are the two main suspects for these two murders."

"That would be the case if the killer was among us," Sebastian said slowly, smiling, "but my attacker is not in this room. The person who tried to kill me that night is not one of you."

"Oh, thank God!" Irene exclaimed, sitting softly on the sofa, one hand resting on the armrest, relieved by this news.

"So it's true, then, there really is a thirteenth person?" Woodley asked.

It was necessary for the guests to believe that the killer wasn't one of them. Humans need to trust. That's how human nature works. They surround themselves with people they trust, whom they call "friends." They need to trust their family, their system, their values, their government, their currency... Everything revolves around trust; otherwise, fear and then madness consume them, and they end up killing each other.

"But what was their motive?" Arthur asked him.

"How would I know?" Sebastian replied with a smile. "I didn't have time to ask them anything."

"Judging by the injuries, the first blow was probably to the head, from behind no less. If it didn't kill you, the force likely knocked you unconscious. How can you be sure who struck you?"

"Mr. Conan Doyle, I am a robust man, in case you still doubt that. My assailant struck me in the chest because the first blow didn't finish me."

"You're an extraordinary man, Mr. Sebastian," Arthur murmured, his words devoid of any compliment.

The two men assessed each other. Their posture, seemingly polite, barely concealed a latent aggression. Sebastian smiled, knowing well that Arthur didn't believe a word he had said.

Ciel, who had not participated in the conversation until then, cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the guests as he stood up:

"I think Sebastian should change his clothes and his bandages as well…"

"We must not separate, Lord Phantomhive," interrupted Arthur, suspecting that Ciel wanted to speak with his butler alone.

"That is exactly why I will go with him. And I must," he continued, as Arthur was about to interrupt again, "discuss important matters with him."

This tone was familiar to the guests. It was the voice of the head of the Phantomhive Family, a voice that accepted no defiance or disobedience. Arthur glanced at Abberline, searching for an objection, but the inspector would not oppose the Earl.

"Come, Sebastian," said Ciel as he began to make his way to his butler's room.

The butler bowed, excused himself to the guests, and followed the boy. Arthur watched them disappear, searching for an explanation he could not quite grasp. Despite the respectful distance between the two young men, they seemed as close as if their very skins were touching.

Abberline was right. Arthur could feel it again—that bond, that dark aura emanating from their bodies, glowing even brighter when they were together, as if they absorbed the light only to suffocate it. This was the very definition of darkness, and they possessed its allure. Lau was right.

They were fascinating.

End of Chapter 3

I believe you now know who my killers are.

The title of the chapter refers to both Abberline and Arthur, who are leading the investigation to save everyone, as well as the two killers (they are the white pawns, while Ciel and Sebastian are the black ones).

The next chapter will mainly focus on the relationship between Sebastian and Ciel (finally...).

Don't forget to vote/like the chapters of this story;it helps me a lot as an author. And also feel free to comment on the chapters, during or after reading—I always find immense joy in reading your reactions.