Chapter 9 - Shadows on the Perimeter Feed
The figure on the gallery landing didn't move immediately. The blue light from the tablet cast a ghostly, artificial glow across the man's sharp jawline and the edge of his headset receiver. It was one of the perimeter guards—the ones Moretti had ordered Julian to deploy just an hour earlier following the late-night kitchen confrontation.
I kept my hand resting on the heavy velvet of the drape, my fingers curling into the thick fabric as I tried to blend into the shadows cast by the towering bookshelves. If the guard was up here reviewing feeds at four in the morning, it meant the eastern gate logs weren't just a matter of routine administrative check; something had triggered a red flag in the system that bypassed the standard morning briefing.
"Report," a low, gravelly voice murmured from the small earpiece the guard wore. The volume was low, but in the acoustic quiet of the library, every syllable carried clearly across the open space.
"Nothing on the primary sector," the guard replied softly into his collar mic, his thumb swiping across the glass screen of the tablet. "Perimeter fence sensors are nominal. But the internal telemetry from the old pump house near the service lane showed a brief handshake protocol at 02:14. Someone accessed the junction box."
My breath hitched in my throat. The pump house was located midway between the outer servant quarters and the main gate—the exact route I had taken three nights ago when I thought I was entirely alone in the dark.
"Verify if it was maintenance," the voice on the other end commanded—a voice I recognized instantly as belonging to Moretti’s head of security, a man named Vance whose cold efficiency matched the master's own.
"Negative on maintenance schedule," the guard answered, his eyes scanning the data stream on his screen before lifting slowly to sweep across the darkened expanse of the lower library floor. His gaze paused for a fraction of a second in my direction, though the dim light kept me largely concealed behind the velvet drapery. "The ID badge pinged against a legacy administrative profile. One that hasn't been active in the main roster for over six months."
"Whose profile?" Vance’s voice cut through the earpiece with sudden, sharp authority.
The guard tapped the screen twice, bringing up a magnified sub-file. "It’s logged under the credentials of the former kitchen supervisor. The one who left abruptly last autumn."
The silence that followed was heavy and absolute, broken only by the distant hum of the library's climate control system. My pulse thudded against my ribs like a trapped bird. The former supervisor hadn't just left abruptly; everyone on staff knew the quiet rumors that had circulated below stairs—rumors of a midnight departure, an unsigned severance check, and a locked personnel file that no one dared ask about. If someone was using those dead credentials to ping the estate's internal network from the pump house, it meant the intrusion wasn't a random trespasser or a village drifter. It was someone who knew the estate's digital architecture from the inside out.
And they were looking for me.
The guard on the landing straightened up, slipping the tablet into his jacket pocket and resting his hand casually near the holster at his hip. "I’m heading down to check the western service corridor. If anyone’s still moving around the lower levels, I’ll find them."
May you like
As he turned toward the spiral staircase, I slipped backward into the deep archway of the tall window recess, pressing my back flat against the cold plaster behind the drapes. The heavy oak doors at the opposite end of the library clicked open with a slow, deliberate motion, and the tall, unmistakable silhouette of Mr. Moretti stepped into the room, his dark tailored suit jacket catching the first pale rays of morning light as he walked silently across the parquet floor to intercept the guard before he could descend.
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