Mervyn's arms tightened desperately around the boy, his tears falling faster, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
The sobs that wracked his frame were raw with grief—but in the depths of his eyes, he couldn't hide the remnants of anger and despair roiling inside him like a cornered animal.
Yet he kept his mouth clamped shut, refusing to speak.
Alfie's voice finally cracked the silence, wavering as he stepped forward.
"Y-Young Master Morgan… was playing with the gift you gave him… he was so excited… i-it happened so fast… he tripped… a-and fell down the stairs…"
Clyde's head snapped toward Alfie, his eyes burning cold, promising that any failure to protect the boy would not go unpunished.
However, the air itself seemed to freeze around Clyde the instant his gaze caught something else—a faint, spreading bruise blooming across Alfie's temple, half-hidden beneath the strands of his hair.
Time slowed. A dreadful clarity settled into Clyde's mind, cold and razor-sharp.
