Those who sort him

Reginald exited the records room, locking the door behind him with a quiet click. The file rested in his grasp, its presence an unsettling reminder of what lay within. His footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors of Ravenspire as he made his way back to Cassius's chambers, his mind carefully sorting through the implications of the master's sudden interest.

Elias had been in this estate for years, unnoticed and unimportant. His existence had been one of quiet servitude, never drawing any attention. Yet now, Cassius had turned his gaze toward him, and that was never a coincidence.

Stopping before the grand doors, Reginald took a steady breath before knocking twice.

"Enter."

Cassius's voice was smooth, unhurried, yet there was an underlying expectation that allowed no delay.

Reginald stepped inside, shutting the door behind him before approaching the master's desk. With practiced motion, he placed the file onto the polished wood and straightened his back.

"As requested, Master."

Cassius's gloved fingers traced the edges of the file before flipping it open. His gaze swept across the pages, scanning them quietly. Though his expression remained impassive, the weight of his scrutiny was unmistakable.

Reginald remained still, watching as the master read.

The chamber was silent except for the faint rustling of parchment. Page after page turned, but Cassius's expression did not change. The quietness stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Then, without lifting his gaze, Cassius spoke.

"This is incomplete."

Reginald's fingers curled slightly at his sides.

"I assure you, Master, that is the full record."

Cassius finally looked up, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Is that so?"

Reginald did not waver. "Yes, Master."

Cassius remained still, studying him. Then, with deliberate care, he closed the file and rested his fingers atop the cover.

"I see."

His voice revealed nothing, yet the shift in the atmosphere was unmistakable. Cassius did not tolerate missing information, and he never abandoned a thread once he had begun pulling it.

Reginald inclined his head. "Will there be anything else, Master?"

Cassius tapped his fingers against the closed file, considering his next words.

"…No. That will be all for now."

Reginald bowed. "Very well, Master."

As he turned to leave, he felt Cassius's gaze lingering on him, sharp and calculating. This was far from over.

Cassius's fingers ghosted over the parchment, his eyes skimming over the neatly inked script.

Elias had arrived at Ravenspire at the age of ten. His current age wasn't recorded, but Cassius didn't need it to do the math. Fifteen years had passed since then. That would make him twenty-five.

A deliberate omission or mere negligence?

The next few lines provided the answer he had expected. Elias had not come here by choice. His servitude was inherited, the weight of another's debt shackled to his name.

Matthais and Lirienne Beaumont. The original debtors. The ones who had failed to repay what they owed.

Three million gold coins.

Cassius's fingers stilled. That was no minor merchant debt. A number that high was not the result of a few bad investments or a failed business venture. It was ruinous, an amount that suggested either breathtaking foolishness or the kind of betrayal that left no room for redemption.

And so, instead of paying with their own labor, they had sold their son to do it for them.

A minimum of twenty-five years. Elias had already endured fifteen.

Cassius's lips curled. How convenient that no one had bothered to update the records since.

He turned the page, eyes narrowing slightly. The details of Elias's arrival were noted, though they did not make for pleasant reading. Malnourished. Multiple untreated injuries. A fractured rib, a deep laceration along his back. He had been unresponsive for three days after arriving.

Cassius exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the desk.

That explained a few things. The way Elias flinched at raised voices, how he shrank from sudden movement—these were not learned behaviors, but ones ingrained long before he had set foot in Ravenspire.

Further down, another detail caught his attention.

An escape attempt.

Cassius's brows lifted slightly. Elias had tried to run in his first year here. He hadn't made it far, captured before he could even leave the estate grounds. And after that?

No further attempts.

Cassius hummed.

It wasn't compliance that kept someone from running. It was fear.

Something—or someone—had ensured that Elias never tried that again.

His eyes flicked over the rest of the page. There were other incidents, though none so telling. A burn injury in his second year, left untreated until it worsened. An illness in his fifth year, ignored until he collapsed.

But by year seven, the records became… dull. No further infractions. No recorded disobedience. No trouble at all.

Nothing.

Cassius turned the page, only to be met with blank parchment.

His fingers drummed against the desk.

How interesting.

Slowly, he shut the file, his mind already working through the implications. Reginald had been truthful—this was indeed the full record.

Backdated records. Was it a glaring oversight—or a carefully maintained one?

Reginald was meticulous. He did not make mistakes. If Elias's file had remained untouched for years, it was because someone had intended for it to be forgotten.

And Cassius had little patience for deception within his own household.

A reprimand was in order.

He exhaled, a quiet breath of finality, before rising to his feet. The morning sun had begun its slow ascent beyond the frosted glass of his window, casting long shadows across the study. It was time to begin the day's affairs.

Crossing the room with unhurried ease, he reached for his comb, tugging his into place with a practiced efficiency.

Then came the mask. He lifted it with care, securing it over his face. The polished surface reflected the flickering candlelight, obscuring his features beneath a cold, unreadable façade.

The persona of the Master of Ravenspire was not something he wore lightly.

Straightening the lapels of his coat, Cassius took a final glance at the file upon his desk. Elias Beaumont. A name that had been left to gather dust, yet had somehow found its way back into his attention.

He had no use for half-truths.

And he would see to it that every missing detail was uncovered.

Turning sharply on his heel, he strode toward the door, his movements fluid and assured. The day awaited him, as did those who sought his favor, his time, his attention.

But first—Reginald.

There was a lesson that needed to be learnt today.