The study felt colder than usual.
Mrs. Keene stood rigid by the dark oak desk, her arms crossed, eyes fixed on Veyn. The low hum of the manor outside seemed distant, like a world apart from this small room.
"Mr. Hask told me you were recommended by Gideon Brackett himself," Mrs. Keene's voice was smooth.
Gideon, leaning casually against the wall, his expression unreadable, spoke with precision. "I never gave any such recommendation. No letter, no verbal. I didn't even know anyone by the name Crowe until yesterday."
Veyn met their eyes, heart hammering but voice steady. "There must be some kind of misunderstanding. Perhaps Mr. Hask confused me with another applicant. It's not uncommon, names are mixed up, especially in busy households."
Mrs. Keene's eyes narrowed slightly. "You do go by Crowe. The steward was quite clear on that point."
Veyn took a slow breath. The chill in the room seemed to press in on him, but he stayed calm. "I understand. But it's possible Mr. Hask assumed some connection to Mr. Brackett based on information I might have mentioned. Perhaps I referred to him, and Mr. Hask inferred a recommendation."
Gideon pushed off the wall. "That seems a stretch, but I did try to offer you the job in the street. I'm listening."
Veyn shifted his weight, fingers brushing briefly against the smooth surface of the desk. "Manor hiring processes can be... complicated. Letters get misplaced. Sometimes verbal confirmations carry weight, and rumors fill in the gaps. I might have been accepted on such grounds, a misunderstanding or a hopeful assumption."
Mrs. Keene tapped a nail on the desk, the crisp sound echoing in the quiet room. "Then why did you present a recommendation letter at all?"
A flicker of something cold passed through Veyn's chest. He lowered his eyes for a heartbeat. "The letter... was a formality. Something I used to smooth the process. I destroyed it afterward, worried it might complicate things if it were discovered to be... inaccurate."
Veyn understood that confessing to a single falsehood might make the others seem more credible.
Gideon's gaze hardened. "Destroying evidence is never wise."
Veyn's throat tightened, but he kept his voice even. "I'm here now. I work. My worth should be judged by what I do, not by paperwork or formalities."
Mrs. Keene exchanged a glance with Gideon, a silent conversation conveyed in the tilt of a head.
"We'll need to verify everything," Mrs. Keene said finally.
She glanced sharply at Gideon. "Take him to the steward. And don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Rumors are poison, and the last thing this house needs right now is more poison."
Gideon gave a nod as she disappeared down the corridor, her footsteps fading into the distant clatter.
Gideon fixed Veyn with a sharp look. "Mr. Crowe, come with me."
Veyn's pulse surged, his every instinct screaming that this was a turning point. He stood quickly, muscles tense. His mind spun, desperately looking for a way out, a loophole, anything.
Claim mistaken identity? Impossible, they've got me locked in.
Feign illness? Too slow, too obvious.
Run? Not without a plan.
Veyn's gaze sharpened, voice dropping into a low. "Look, I'm not here to make enemies. I'm just a kid who lost everything, home gone in flames, no coin, no shelter, nothing but this uniform and a work ethic. I came here hoping for a roof, some meals, maybe enough pay to last a week."
He leaned in, eyes flickering at Gideon. "But… I've been around. Heard whispers, talks behind closed doors. This house? It's got skeletons. If those skeletons got rattled loose, well… the walls wouldn't just shake, they'd crumble." A bluff, one too solid to simply brush aside.
Gideon's eyes narrowed, a crease forming between his brows. "You say you've heard whispers, that this house has skeletons. Care to share more, Mr. Crowe? Or is this just the ramblings of a desperate boy grasping at shadows?"
Veyn met his gaze steadily, voice calm but edged with steel. "I'm not one for gossip. I've heard enough to know this house isn't as spotless as it pretends to be."
Gideon's lip twitched, a flicker of unease crossing his composed mask. "You expect us to believe you stumbled upon these... irregularities while chasing a warm bed and bread?"
Veyn shrugged, letting a smirk show. "Life's strange like that. When you have nothing, you learn to listen. And when you listen long enough, you pick up on truths that most want buried."
Gideon stepped forward. "And what exactly do you plan to do with this knowledge? Spread rumors? Sell secrets? Burn the house down just to save your own skin?"
"No," Veyn said smoothly. "I'm no pyromaniac. I want a chance, just enough time and shelter to figure out my next move. You keep me here, and my lips stay sealed. You show me the door, and you might find yourself dealing with some problems."
He had nothing. Not really. But fear was louder than truth if you played it right.
Gideon's gaze hardened. "And what makes you think we fear you, Mr. Crowe? That we don't have our own means to silence troublemakers before they spread a single word?"
Veyn smiled, a slow, confident curve. "Because this city isn't just bricks and ice, it's people. People who listen. People who talk. A whisper from me, and your little secrets don't stay hidden for long. You might have power here, but out there, my voice can carry. You don't want to test that."
Gideon studied him for a long moment, the room heavy with silence. Finally, he gave a nod. "Very well. For now, you stay. But be warned, one slip, one careless word, and you won't find shelter anywhere in Frostpoint."
Gideon's eyes flicked to Veyn. "Keep your wits about you, Crowe, I'm serious."
Veyn grinned, the first genuine smile since this whole mess began. "Neither am I."