Mannerheim

A door creaked open on the mansion's second floor.

"I smell beasts," a voice—cold as a winter night—echoed down the staircase. The room stilled.

Slow, deliberate footsteps followed, descending with the weight of authority. Emerging from the shadows was a man dressed in a butler's uniform. Age had lined his face, his once-dark hair now a mix of white and ash. Despite his years, his frame remained solid, and his sharp, piercing gaze spoke of a hidden strength. Every movement he made was precise, deliberate, and commanding.

The three maids halted their tasks immediately, their postures rigid.

"Sir Mannerheim," they greeted in unison, bowing deeply.

Mannerheim's gaze swept over the room with scrutinizing disapproval. He ran a gloved hand along the edge of a wooden table, pausing to inspect the tips of his fingers for dust. He clicked his tongue softly, shaking his head as if confirming an unspoken disappointment.

Checking his pocket watch, he frowned. "You are three minutes and forty-seven seconds late."

His gaze flicked toward Laya and the child she held. "Lyndis Whitewood, it seems my time away has turned this household into a pigpen."

Lyndis met his gaze for half a second—an act of quiet defiance—before lowering her head. "Apologies, sir. My subordinate was tending to her child."

"It reeks." Mannerheim grimaced but waved a hand dismissively. "I am not here to lecture. I bring a message from the governor-general."

He reached into his coat, producing a sealed letter and handing it to Lyndis. "A VIP will be arriving in a year. Prepare."

The statement hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Mannerheim's sharp gaze lingered on Laya for a fraction longer than necessary, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without another word, he turned sharply, striding out of the mansion.

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving only the lingering scent of leather and bergamot in his wake.

Laya let out a quiet sigh. "Sorry, Lyn… because of me and Arch—"

"Don't worry. He's always like that," Lyndis interjected, already moving to dispose of the soiled linens.

Rin, still watching the door where Mannerheim had disappeared, furrowed her brows. "Miss Lyndis… you spoke like you knew him well. Did you work here long ago?"

Lyndis didn't answer immediately. She wrung out the linens, her hands steady.

Laya, shifting Archus in her arms, broke the silence. "Lyn worked here when the house was full of servants. Back then, Mannerheim wasn't just a visitor—he ran the mansion."

Rin's golden eyes widened. "What? Then why is he—"

"Enough chatter." Lyndis' voice cut through the air, calm but firm. She straightened, casting a look at both of them. "We have work to do."

The house fell into quiet efficiency. The maids resumed their work, and time continued its steady march forward.