"The South Wing shift from the night of the murders," the lead guard announced, bowing his head. "As ordered, Sire."
I walked the line, my boots clicking rhythmically on the stone. I looked at each of them—a young girl with trembling hands, an older woman with a stoic expression, two middle-aged servants who looked ready to faint. None of them were the woman from the footage.
I pulled out my phone and held the screen in front of the first girl's face. "Tell me her name."
The girl peered at the grainy image, her eyes darting. "I... I don't know, Sire. I've never seen her."
I moved to the next, then the third. "Look closer. She wears your uniform. She has the South Wing embroidery. How does a woman walk your halls and remain a stranger?"
