While the guards sank into their usual small talk with the driver — voices low, casual, bored — I made my move.
Breath tight in my chest, I slipped around the rear wheel, boots quiet on gravel. One step. Another. Heart thundering so loud I swore they'd hear it before they saw me.
Then — crouched low — I ducked under the carriage itself. Cold iron brushed my palms. My fingertips searched, found the railing beneath the frame. With a quiet grunt, I pulled myself up and pressed flat, hugging the chill metal like an old lover.
Every breath felt too loud. Every heartbeat felt like it could echo off the cobbles. But the guards kept talking, oblivious.
The moment the final nod came and the gates creaked open, the carriage rolled forward. Slowly at first, wheels groaning over stone, then picking up that gentle, bone-deep rhythm of travel.
Above me, the world was a blur of shifting shadows: the undercarriage swayed, the scent of old wood and oiled leather thick in my nose. Around me, the garden stretched wide and lush, bursting with flowers that perfumed the air until it was almost dizzying.
But my arms burned. Palms sweating, fingers aching, shoulders screaming from the strain. Every stone the wheels rolled over sent a judder through my bones.
'Not yet. Hold on.'
At last, after what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than minutes, the carriage slowed. A final roll forward. The grand front steps rose into view, carved stone glowing in the late sun.
I peeked from beneath, sweat dripping down my brow. All I saw were polished shoes stepping onto cobbles, the graceful sweep of a long coat, and a tall, sharp-eyed butler waiting with perfect poise.
"Doctor Stone," the butler intoned with a bow. "Mr. Lerrington is waiting for you in his master bedroom, as usual."
The man nodded wordlessly, footsteps heavy but unhurried as they crossed the grand steps and vanished inside.
The driver clucked his tongue, gave the reins a light flick, and guided the carriage onward toward the coach house. One final stretch.
Every nerve in my arms screamed rebellion. Fingers slipping. Jaw clenched. Breath held. 'Just a little more…'
Finally — the carriage slowed to a stop in the quiet, dusty cool of the coach house. The driver hopped down, gave a tired stretch, then wandered off, probably in search of ale or a nap.
The moment his footsteps faded, I let go. Dropped lightly to the packed dirt. My knees buckled, and I caught myself on trembling hands.
My arms felt like wet rope. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead.
"Whew," I panted, stretching my back until it cracked. "That was hard work. Never knew sneaking into a house could be this tough."
I brushed dust off my coat, forced my legs to obey, and took a breath of the straw-scented air. So far, so good.
But standing still wouldn't get me anywhere.
"Standing here won't help much," I muttered, more to remind myself than anything. "Let's explore."
With careful steps, I eased open the creaky wooden door and slipped out into the open. Sunlight painted long gold streaks over gravel and hedge. The breeze smelled of cut grass and rose petals.
I barely took three steps before —
"Hmm? Who are you, lad?"
I froze, mid-step.
A man in a grease-stained vest stood nearby, rag in hand. Cap pulled low, but his gaze was sharp as a hawk's. His eyes flicked over me, slow, thorough, and far too observant for comfort.
"Never seen you here before," he said, voice as calm as it was dangerous. "You with the doctor?"
I scratched the back of my head, flashing the friendliest grin I could muster. "That's right! The doctor hired me as his assistant."
His brow rose. "Then why aren't you with the doctor?"
Beads of sweat pooled at my temple. 'Think, Llyne. Think!'
Before I could spit out another lie, the driver wandered back into view, wiping his palms on dusty trousers.
He eyed me, frown deepening. "Who's this lad?"
"Isn't she the doctor's assistant?" the first staffer asked, nodding at me.
The driver's gaze sharpened, cutting straight through me. "The doctor doesn't have an assistant."
Two pairs of eyes fixed on me, suspicion thick as fog.
I blinked, knocked my forehead lightly with a finger, and stuck out my tongue. "Oopsie. I got caught. Teehee!"
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then both men roared at once: "Catch her!"
They lunged, arms swinging like rusty gates. But clumsy desperation is easy to dodge — I sidestepped, and they collided shoulder-first into each other, crashing to the ground with a groan.
"Nyahahaha! It's like a comedy skit!" I burst into laughter.
The noise drew a new spectator. Another staffer jogged around the corner, took in the scene — me standing over two groaning bodies — and his face drained of color.
"M-MURDER!" he shrieked, voice cracking like a rooster.
I blinked. "Murder? Who?"
I spun around, expecting to see some new threat—but no, it was just me and the two unfortunate souls still tangled up on the ground. The horrified staff member was pointing a shaking finger straight at me.
I blinked, pointing to myself. "Me? From trespasser to murderer? Oui, that took a quick turn."
And then came the barking.
My blood iced over.
A pack of hounds rounded the hedge, guards at their heels, boots pounding gravel.
Guards I could outsmart. Guards I could outrun. But dogs? Dogs had a special talent for ruining my day.
For some reason, every animal in this place seemed to carry a personal vendetta against me, and I wasn't about to hang around and find out why.
Without a second thought, I turned and ran like the wind itself had kicked me.
"Stop! Stop running, murderer!" a guard bellowed, breath ragged behind me.
"You think just because you say stop, I'm just gonna freeze? What kind of fool do you take me for? I ain't brainless, you armored onion!"
Flower beds blurred past. Gravel sprayed under my boots. Behind me, furious barking, steel on stone, heavy footfalls.
"And who are you to call me a murderer?!" I shouted over my shoulder. "You haven't even heard my side of the story yet!"
"That's what all murderers say!" the guard roared back.
I stumbled, almost tripping over my own feet. "What?! That's—Wait... is he... right?!"
A part of me genuinely considered stopping to argue. But logic had no place with snapping jaws inches away.
"Nope! Not today!"
Adrenaline burned away doubt. My legs flew over cobblestones, heart battering my ribs like a war drum.
Bushes blurred past. Roses clawed at my sleeves. Boots thudded, dogs snarled, breath tore from my lungs.
"I swear," I gasped between ragged breaths, "if I make it out alive, I'm suing every last one of these rich nutjobs for emotional damage!"
Ahead, the garden opened into a maze of hedges — shadowy, narrow, perfect.
And vanish, I would.