The morning light spilled through the windows of my bed-chamber, and for the first time in a couple of days, it seemed less like an intrusion and more like an invitation. Dr. Fitzwilliam's visit yesterday had been brief but encouraging. His precise, clipped voice echoed in my mind: “Marked improvement, Mr. Geldart. Keep to the regimen, and soon you’ll be quite yourself again.” His words were measured, as always, but beneath them, I thought I detected a note of genuine optimism. It had buoyed me, more than the bitter tinctures he prescribed ever could.

Lottie bustled in just as I was contemplating this, a bundle of linens balanced expertly on one arm. Her presence, as always, was brisk and reassuring. She’d been my shadow during these weeks of confinement when Eliza had to step away, though her patience had far outlasted my own.

"Will you please let me go out today? I'll get on my knees and beg if I have to." I pleaded with her.

“Well,” she said, smoothing the edge of my coverlet with practiced hands, “since Dr. Fitzwilliam says you’re on the mend, I suppose there’s no harm in letting you stretch your legs a bit today. But only for a bit, mind you. And don’t you think about wandering too far.”

The prospect of stepping outside, of feeling fresh air on my face rather than this musty, stale indoor atmosphere, nearly sent me bolting from the bed like a boy let loose from lessons. But I tempered myself, nodding with what I hoped was appropriate restraint. “Thank you, Lottie,” I said, careful not to sound neither too eager nor ungrateful.

She narrowed her eyes at me, a hint of suspicion flickering there, but said nothing more as she left the room. By the time I was properly dressed and leaning on my cane—a loathsome, clunky thing that had come to symbolize all I loathed about my weakness—I found myself at the door to the garden. It had rained in the night, and the air carried a crispness, cool and invigorating. The scent of damp earth and budding greenery greeted me, pulling me forward. I stepped gingerly onto the stone pathway, each movement cautious but deliberate. My body protested faintly, the lingering aches a reminder of how far I still had to go. But for now, I felt something close to triumph.

The world stretched out before me in shades of green and gray, muted and soft under the overcast sky. This garden had been my sanctuary once before illness had confined me to the dim, stifling walls of the house. My fingers brushed against the damp leaves of a bush as I walked by, a soft, unbidden smile playing at the corners of my lips.

Walking a bit further, my cane barely managing the gravel walkway, I made my way to the middle of the garden. Positioned on either side of me stood two benches, their backs set against a meticulously trimmed square of hedges with rose bushes and other flowers in the middle. The trees at the edge of the forest bristled in the wind that felt good on my hair. I sat down on one bench and leaned back, my face soaking up what little sun it could through the clouds.

I stayed like that for a time, my eyes closed and only focusing on my breathing. Not thinking about my illness, or the predicament we all found ourselves in with Bartholomew, or the nightly routine, or even my job. Allowing myself to feel peace, to not feel all of the anxiety from this past month, was a step closer to feeling better. And a much-needed one as my breathing felt easier as if the air didn't have so much to fight against. I felt my muscles relax, my jaw unclenched itself, my shoulders fell, and I let out a long, satisfying sigh.

The crunch of gravel underfoot reached me first, faint yet unmistakable against the quiet rustle of the garden. I opened my eyes, blinking against the faint light filtering through the clouds, and saw Eliza approaching. Her dress, a deep emerald green, swept softly around her as the breeze toyed with the edges of her skirts. Her hair was freshly pinned, and there was a brightness to her.

“So you’ve been hiding out here all along,” she said with a teasing lilt, stopping just in front of me. “Did you think you’d escape my company forever?”

“Hardly,” I replied, leaning forward slightly, my cane steady in my hand. My voice still carried a faint rasp, but I ignored it. “Though I see someone has gone to great lengths to impress the garden this morning.”

Eliza laughed lightly. “You may mock me all you wish, but some of us still have standards. You, on the other hand…” She trailed off, giving me a pointed once-over.

“I’m outside,” I said, raising a brow. “That alone should earn me some credit.”

Eliza laughed softly and glanced over me, gesturing to the cane in my hand. Her smile faded slightly. “You look pale still, Ezra. Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to be out here?”

“I’ve had enough of being cooped up inside,” I said, waving her concern away. “The air feels good. Besides, I’m improving. Slowly.”

“Slowly indeed,” she murmured, her tone laced with that familiar sisterly worry. “Have you eaten yet? Or is your recovery strategy limited to brooding in gardens and hoping the sun burns away your cough?”

I chuckled, though the motion sent a faint itch crawling up my throat. “Brooding suits me,” I said lightly, leaning on my cane to steady myself as I shifted on the bench. “But I’ll have you know, I did manage to take breakfast.”

Eliza shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. “You do make a fine martyr.” She sat down beside me, smoothing her skirts and setting a small book in her lap. “Though I’m glad you’re outside, even if only for a little while.”

“It feels better than being smothered by all the walls and well-meaning advice,” I said quietly, leaning back against the bench again. The wind brushed through the garden, bringing with it the scent of roses and damp earth. For a moment, we let the conversation lapse, the stillness between us comfortable and unspoken.

"Sir, Miss Geldart," Simon greeted us with a courteous bow, his deep voice resonating effortlessly across the garden. In one hand, he carried a sealed envelope, while the other held an umbrella. "A letter has arrived for you both from a Mr. Bennett, and I thought it prudent to inform you both without delay."

Eliza straightened, her brow furrowing slightly. “From Mr. Bennett? Is it urgent?”

Simon extended the envelope to me. I took it, feeling the weight of its significance even before glancing at the familiar handwriting. Mr. Bennett rarely sent correspondence that was marked unless there was something of importance to discuss regarding our work.

I glanced at Eliza, her expression mirroring my own sense of unease. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” I said. Before we could dwell further, a low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky, the first drops of rain began to fall, and the wind picked up.

“Quickly, inside,” Simon urged, opening the umbrella and gesturing back toward the house.

Eliza rose gracefully, clutching the book she’d brought with her. I followed more slowly, leaning heavily on my cane as Simon kept the umbrella aloft, shielding us from the increasing rain. By the time we reached the back entrance hall, the storm had fully descended, rain hammering against the windows in earnest. I handed the unopened letter to Eliza, shaking water from my coat sleeves.

“I wonder what he wants now,” she murmured, turning the envelope over in her hands.

“Something important, no doubt,” I replied, my tone weary.

Eliza nodded, tucking the letter close as we made our way to the Drawing room. The hearth was already lit, its warmth a welcome contrast to the chill that had followed us in. Once seated, she handed the letter back to me. “Shall we?”

I nodded, breaking the seal and unfolding the paper. Whatever message Mr. Bennett had deemed urgent enough to interrupt our morning, I could only hope it was something we were prepared to face. My eyes moved across the page as I read the message in silence.

"He wants to meet with all three of us tonight at eight o'clock at Grillon's. He paid for a room and wants to meet us there." I said, my voice laced with surprise.

Eliza took the letter from me as if she expected it to convey something different when she read it. "Why does he want to hold a meeting with all three of us? Isn't it typically just you he corresponds with? I have a bad feeling about this, brother." Her voice trembled slightly with anxiety.

I gently laid my hand on hers and tried my best to comfort her. "If he's going to these lengths, it's bound to be so important that it can't wait. Everything is going to be fine, Eliza."

"What if it's a ruse? What if Collins is just trying to gather more proof, or worse, setting a trap? The month he gave me is almost up, and I still haven’t given him an answer." The words tumbled out of her as if once started, they would never cease.

I could see the doubt in her eyes, the way her hands trembled as she spoke. My mind raced, trying to find the right words to calm her down, to convince her that she was wrong, that there was no trickery here. "Look," I began, my voice softer now, as if to match the gentle crackle of the fire, "I know you’re scared. It’s all too much." I paused, meeting her eyes, trying to find some way to break through her fear. "But I swear to you, that letter—it’s Mr. Bennett’s writing. I’ve seen it countless times over the past year. He’s meticulous, his hand, his phrasing... this is him. Collins, on the other hand, couldn’t mimic that even if he tried. It’s too... precise, too personal for him."

She shifted slightly, her fingers gripping the paper tighter. I could see the doubt in her expression, and it only made my chest tighten further. The silence between us stretched, thick with uncertainty, and I found myself wishing I could say something more—something to chase the shadows from her thoughts. But there was nothing more to say, not then.

The day seemed to drag on in slow motion after that, as we waited for the time to come when we'd finally take the carriage into town. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere inside the house mirrored the storm raging outside, though we were all too distracted to pay it much mind. The wind howled in gusts, rattling the windows, and rain lashed against the panes in furious sheets, but there was little I could do to ease the unease growing in Eliza's mind. She sat near the fire, absently stirring the teacup before her, her gaze distant, as if she were lost in thoughts of what the meeting might hold. Her brow furrowed in a way that made it clear she wasn’t comforted by my assurances. I sat opposite her, trying to look as calm as I could, but I knew better than to pretend that I wasn’t feeling a twinge of uncertainty myself.

Finally, the time came for us to leave. I rose slowly, feeling the familiar strain in my legs as I grasped the cane. Eliza looked up at me, her face pale but determined, and I gave her a reassuring smile—though it was more for her benefit than mine. The carriage ride into London was uneventful, save for the storm rattling the wooden frame of the coach. The rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves on the dirt road did little to settle the discomfort in my chest, nor did the steady thrum of rain against the carriage roof. I had little to say, and so did Eliza. The storm seemed to consume everything around us, including our thoughts.

When we arrived at Grillon's, the storm had only grown fiercer, and I took a moment before stepping out, leaning on my cane as I allowed the wind to whip against my coat. The cold penetrated my skin as I moved toward the door, each step a reminder of my weakened state. Inside, the warmth greeted us like a balm, though the tension was still thick in the air. Cameron was waiting for us in the parlour, pacing near the fire. His eyes lit up when he saw us, but there was no trace of the usual joviality in his expression. He looked... worried, perhaps even a little agitated.

“Finally,” he said, striding toward us, his voice low but hurried. “I thought you might have been delayed by the storm.” He gave Eliza a quick, assessing glance, then turned to me. “I’ve spoken with the landlord. He assured me everything is prepared. There’s a private room upstairs where we can wait for Bennett.”

I nodded, but the unease in his tone only deepened the knot in my chest. “Did he say anything about Bennett? When he’s expected, perhaps?”

Cameron shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. “Not a word. Only that the arrangements were made in advance, and Bennett paid well to ensure our privacy. No details beyond that.”

Eliza stepped closer, clutching her pelisse tighter around her. “Did you see anyone? Hear anything that might explain all this?” she asked, her voice quiet but insistent.

Cameron hesitated, glancing toward the staircase as though the very walls might be listening. “No, nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, though his tone suggested he’d been turning over every small detail in his mind. “But I don’t like how vague all of this is. Summoning us here, giving no explanation...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s unlike him.”

“Well,” I started, “we won’t find answers down here. Let’s go to the room and wait. Perhaps Bennett will arrive soon and finally explain what all this is about.”

Cameron nodded, leading the way toward the staircase, while Eliza and I followed. The landlord appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his face a careful mask of politeness, and gestured for us to follow him. As we climbed the narrow steps, the creak of the wood beneath our feet mingled with the distant rumble of thunder.

The room smelled faintly of damp wood and smoke from the hearth downstairs. We all hung our coats up, rain dripping off them and onto the wood floor. I sat down in the chair furthest from the door at the table in the center of the room, my cane resting propped up next to me. Eliza sat to my left, outwardly calm, though her fingers drummed a soft, uneven rhythm against the edge of the table. Across from her, Cameron sprawled back in his chair, his usual air of impatience made worse by the tight confines of the room.

“I still don’t like this,” Cameron muttered. “A meeting this sudden? In the middle of a storm? It reeks of trouble.”

I sighed, folding my arms. “Trouble or not, we’ll know soon enough. Bennett doesn’t waste words—if he says it’s urgent, it is.”

Cameron scoffed. “You’re too trusting, Ezra. For all we know, he’s gotten himself into some mess and means to drag us down with him.”

“Enough,” Eliza said sharply, shooting Cameron a glare. “Arguing won’t change anything. We’re here. Let’s hear what he has to say before you decide to write him off.”

Before Cameron could fire back, the door creaked open. Mr. Bennett stepped inside, his overcoat slick with rain. He shut the door firmly, drawing the latch before turning to face us. His usually composed expression was strained, his jaw tight, and his eyes darted briefly to the curtained window before he took off his coat and sat at the table.

“Thank you for coming,” he began, his voice low and clipped. “I know the hour is late and the weather is dreadful, but this couldn’t wait.”

I sat forward, resting my forearms on the table. “What’s happened? The letter didn’t give much detail.”

“I’m calling it off,” he said, the words clipped, deliberate. He glanced at each of us, his gaze lingering just long enough to confirm we understood the gravity of what he was saying. “Effective immediately. Everything stops. The work, the meetings, the experiments—every last piece of it. Destroy your notes, the equipment. Make it as if it never existed.” His tone was both resolute and resigned, a bell tolling the death knell of all we had built together.

“What do you mean, ‘everything stops’?” Eliza asked, her voice sharp.

“I mean exactly that,” Bennett said, his gaze steady but grim as he took the seat across from me. “The work is over. Burn your papers, destroy your tools. We cannot continue.”

“Why?” I asked, though deep down I already knew the answer.

“Rumors,” Bennett replied, his tone dark. “Someone’s been asking questions. Men in uniform. They’ve started pulling at threads, and it’s only a matter of time before they find the right one. If we keep going, we’ll all pay for it.”

Cameron sat up straight, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger. “Rumors? That’s what this is about? You hear a whisper or two, and you’re ready to throw everything away?”

“This isn’t about whispers,” Bennett snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the room.  “This is about survival. We’ve done good work, but we’ve pushed too far. They’re getting too close, and if we keep moving forward, we won’t have the chance to stop. The Crown won’t show mercy to people like us.”

Cameron fired back before I could even take a breath, his voice laced with frustration. “Why’d you agree to  increase our workload if rumors were spreading? Do you have any idea how many people we’ve disturbed in this month alone?” His voice was low, but the heat behind it was impossible to miss.

I leaned back in my chair, watching as Eliza bristled and turned on him. “Cameron, this isn’t just about rumors,” she said, her tone as sharp as Bennett’s. “Or about the people we’ve disturbed. You’ve felt the heat, same as the rest of us. This isn’t new. We all agreed this was necessary. You knew what you were signing up for.”

Cameron wasn’t about to back down. “Necessary? Sure. But reckless? That’s all on him.” His voice was sharp as he jabbed a finger in Bennett’s direction, the tension in the room spiking like a storm about to break. “He’s so focused on results, so blinded by his own ambition, that he doesn’t even see the cost—or worse, he doesn’t care. We’re not pawns in some grand experiment, Bennett. We’re people, with lives and limits, and you’re treating us like tools you can just use up and toss aside."

Bennett’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually lash out. “And what would you have me do, my lord?” His voice was quieter now but just as fierce, the anger simmering under the surface. “Sit back and wait for them to find us? Wait for The Crown to storm in and erase everything we’ve worked for? Everything we’ve sacrificed?” He gestured around the room, his voice cracking slightly. “Every choice I’ve made has been to keep us ahead. Or would you rather I let them put us all away behind bars?”

Eliza slapped her hand on the table between them, her voice rising. “Enough!” Her words hit like a whip, silencing the room. “This isn’t helping. We don’t have time for this. If anyone has a right to be upset, it’s Ezra.”

I blinked, surprised to hear my name. Slowly, everyone turned to me. They were expecting me to weigh in, to settle the fight. My chest felt heavy with the weight of it all, but I pushed myself forward, speaking for the first time since this whole mess had started. “Upset?” I said, my voice low. “Yeah, I guess I am. But more than that, I’m tired.” I paused, letting my gaze sweep across the room. “I’m tired of all of this. The fighting. The second-guessing. The arguing over things we can’t change. Cameron’s right—Bennett’s been pushing us too hard. But Eliza’s right, too—there’s no turning back. So, instead of blaming each other, let’s focus on the real question: What do we do now?”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of my words hanging in the air. No one moved, no one spoke, as if even breathing might shatter the fragile stillness. Finally, Cameron broke the quiet, his voice lower now, stripped of its earlier edge. “Fine,” he said, his tone measured, almost resigned. “What’s the plan, Bennett?”

"Like I said, destroy everything," Bennett commanded, his voice heavy with urgency, each word deliberate and weighted with the gravity of the situation. "Every letter, every scrap of paper—burn it all until there’s nothing left but ash. Get rid of the tools, the clothes, anything that could be traced back to this. Erase every trace, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem. Whatever it is, whatever you think might not matter—get rid of it. But do it quietly," he added, his sharp gaze cutting across the room like a blade. "No one can know what you’re doing. Not the neighbors, not the staff, not anyone. Be as careful and discreet now as you’ve been with everything else that brought us to this point. One mistake, one loose end, and it could all unravel. And if it does..." He paused, letting the silence stretch, his meaning unmistakable. "We won’t have the chance to fix it."

Eliza folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You’re asking us to destroy everything. All the work we’ve done, all the risks we’ve taken—it’ll all be for nothing.”

“It’ll be for your lives,” Bennett said firmly. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you. Burn it all. If they come looking, they’ll find nothing.” The weight of his words settled over me, heavy and suffocating. We’d always known the risks, but Bennett had always seemed untouchable. If he was worried, then the danger was real.

"And what if they don’t stop?” Cameron asked, his voice edged with unease. “What if they keep digging, even after we’ve silenced everything? What if quiet isn’t enough to make them turn away?"

"Then we deny everything," Bennett replied, his tone cold and resolute. "We’ve worked in the shadows, always careful, always one step ahead. If we erase every trace ourselves, there’ll be no trail left for them to follow. No documents, no tools, no evidence—nothing they can use to tie us to any of it. When they come looking, we play the fools, as though we’re as clueless as anyone else. Let them dig, let them question—they’ll find nothing to hold us on, nothing to build a case."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to steady my thoughts. “We trusted you because you weren’t reckless,” I said finally. “You weren’t in it for fame or coin. But if you’re sure it’s over, then we have to trust you now. We’ll do as you say.”

Eliza exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t like it. But I see the sense in it.” She turned to Bennett, her tone colder now. “If we’re doing this, you’d better make sure there’s nothing left for them to find.”

Bennett rose slowly, pulling on his coat with deliberate precision, his movements as controlled as his words. “There won’t be anything left. I’ll handle my end, and you’ll handle yours. No mistakes, no hesitation. And if you so much as hear a whisper about me... forget my name. Forget I ever existed.” His gaze swept over us, sharp and penetrating, lingering on me for a heartbeat longer, as if weighing something unspoken. Without another word, he turned and strode to the door, the weight of his presence still pressing down on the room even as the latch clicked behind him. For a moment, the only sound that remained was the relentless drum of rain against the window, echoing the tension he left in his wake.

Cameron leaned back in his chair, his expression stormy. “This doesn’t sit right. We’ve done too much—come too far—to just walk away.”

“We don’t have a choice,” I said quietly. “Bennett’s right. The Crown doesn’t play games. If they’re onto us, the only way out is to make everything disappear.”

Eliza leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “Then we make everything disappear. Burn it all. Leave nothing behind.”

I nodded, though my chest felt hollow. “Let’s hope it’s enough,” I murmured. But even as I said the words, I couldn’t shake the creeping sense of doubt.

The silence that hung in the air after my words was thick, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the windows and the occasional rumble of distant thunder. Around us, the murmur of other patrons carried on outside the door as they chatted and sipped their drinks, unaware of the tension that had settled over our room. Eliza, unable to sit still, pushed herself out of her chair and began to pace, her movements sharp and purposeful, her eyes flickering with a sudden intensity as though a spark had ignited within her.

“He’s got nothing now,” Eliza said suddenly, her voice firm but trembling with relief. “No papers. No witnesses. No more threats.” She exhaled sharply. “He can’t control me anymore. Not ever again.”

A wave of understanding washed over me as the truth finally sank in. She was absolutely right. With no evidence in sight, Bartholomew's menacing threat would lose its power, leaving me feeling strangely liberated yet on edge. Would this be enough to stop him?

“For weeks, I’ve danced to his tune. Lived every day knowing he could ruin me, ruin us, with a word, a letter. And now?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Now the great Mr. Collins has nothing. He’s gone, and everything he could have used to blackmail us is about to go up in smoke.”

I stared at Eliza, her defiance like a flame that could both warm and burn. Her words rang true, but the tension in my chest didn’t ease. Cameron leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had been uncharacteristically quiet, but I could see the wheels turning behind his green eyes.

“Gone,” I repeated softly, testing the word. “But men like Collins don’t stay gone for long, Eliza. They crawl back out of the shadows the moment they scent an advantage.”

Eliza’s eyes narrowed, her confidence flickering. “Then we ensure there’s nothing left for him to come back to. I won’t let him hold this over us anymore, Ezra. I won’t.”

Cameron shifted, “She’s right,” he said finally. “The only way to keep him from clawing his way back is to leave no loose ends. We’ll need to be thorough.”

“And careful,” I added, glancing between them. “Collins has allies. Powerful ones. If we move too boldly, we risk drawing their attention.”

Eliza stepped closer, her hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable urgency in her tone. “Ezra, you know what’s at stake. I’ve carried the weight of this for too long. I can’t stand by and let it happen again. I won’t. This isn’t just a choice anymore; it’s a responsibility. We need to finish this.” Her determination was unshakable, but doubt lingered at the edges of my mind.

Cameron, sensing my hesitation, straightened and met my gaze. “You’ve always been the cautious one,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But sometimes, caution can be a chain. We already made a plan to hopefully rid ourselves of him, but it can't all come down to you. We all have to do our part, sometimes without you. Do you trust us?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Then we do this together,” Cameron said, his voice steady. “And we do it right.”

Eliza exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Good. Then it’s settled. Tonight will be phase one of Collins' power over us dying. For good.”

The ride home was quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels on the slick cobblestones that turned into waterlogged  dirt roads. Eliza stared out of the rain-streaked window, I could see her thoughts swirling like the raindrops racing down the glass window beside her. As she gazed out, the world outside was a blur of gray and silver, the streetlamps casting faint halos amidst the downpour. Her expression was a complex mix of emotions, caught between a deep worry and an elation that sparkled in her eyes, a strange contrast to the somber weather outside. I sat opposite her, turning over Cameron’s words in my mind. They sounded so simple, but the weight of what lay ahead hung heavy over all of us.

When we arrived, the house was dark and still, save for the faint flicker of a single lamp left burning in the hall. The storm had abated, leaving behind an eerie calm. Without a word, Eliza and I moved quickly and deliberately, gathering everything—letters, notes, any scrap of evidence that tied us to Bennett. It felt as though we were exorcising a ghost, each piece fed to the roaring flames in the hearth. We went through the whole house twice, making sure to get every last piece.

The firelight danced across Eliza’s face as she watched the last remnants curl and blacken, the faintest hint of relief softening her features. “That’s everything,” she said quietly, as if speaking too loudly might summon some lingering specter from the ashes.

I nodded, stepping back from the hearth, the heat brushing my face. “It’s done. No one will ever trace it back to us.”

We were still standing there, staring into the dying flames, when the sound of hooves echoed faintly outside. A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. Eliza and I exchanged a glance, and, leaning on my cane, I made my way to the door.

Cameron stood on the threshold, his coat damp from the lingering mist, his expression grim but determined. “It’s done,” he said simply, stepping inside and shrugging off his coat. “I found one of the tenant farmers on my parents’ land—Harris. He’s been struggling to keep his family fed. I gave him the tools and clothes. Told him they were castoffs from the estate, no longer needed. He didn’t ask questions; he was just grateful.”

I closed the door behind him, my jaw tightening as I considered the risk he’d taken. “And you’re sure he won’t speak of it to anyone?”

Eliza stepped forward, her voice soft but resolute. “Then all that’s left is to wait.”

“And for Bennett to make his next move,” I added, my eyes meeting Cameron’s.

Cameron stepped farther into the room, shaking the lingering mist from his hair as he hung his damp coat on the rack by the door. “There’s one more thing,” he said, his tone low but resolute. “I paid the driver and footman. Handsomely.”

Eliza arched an eyebrow. “How handsomely?”

“Enough to set them up for life,” Cameron replied, meeting her gaze evenly. “It’s the only way to ensure their silence. I made it clear this was a matter of discretion, and I don’t think either of them is foolish enough to risk speaking out. They have too much to lose now.”

I folded my arms, a knot tightening in my chest. “That’s a lot of trust to place in two men who work for hire.”

Cameron exhaled, his expression unyielding. “It’s calculated. They know better than to cross someone who can pay them so well. Besides, this isn’t charity—it’s insurance. The kind we can’t afford to go without.”

Eliza stepped closer, her voice calm but pointed. “And what happens if someone else finds out? If Collins starts asking questions?”

“He won’t,” Cameron said firmly. “I’ve handled it. The driver and footman know this ends tonight. They won’t breathe a word. Their lives are on the line as well, just like ours.”

I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of the evening pressing down on me. “Let’s hope you’re right. Because if they slip, even once...”

“They won’t,” Cameron interrupted, his jaw tightening. “I’ve done my part. You've done yours. They've done theirs.”

Eliza’s gaze softened slightly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t entirely ease. “Then that’s it,” she said quietly. “We’ve done all we can.”

The three of us stood in the flickering glow of the fire, the enormity of what we’d done settling over us like a heavy cloak. The evidence was gone, the tools and clothes were with Harris, and the only witnesses had been paid to silence. But there was no undoing what had been set into motion. Eliza glanced at the hearth one last time, watching the final embers fade into ash. “This is how it ends,” she murmured, her voice resolute. “Tonight marks the beginning of our freedom. And nothing—not Collins, not anyone—will take that from us.”