The Evans family was baronial, true—but with such abilities, Julies could have aimed higher. He might have fought for the family headship, or secured himself as a knight under her own Voss dukedom. He could have courted prestige, power, everything their society valued.
But he didn't.
He abandoned it all, slipped away to the north, and took service in another's household.
What kind of man makes such a choice unless he's hiding something?
Her suspicion grew sharper the more she recalled. Especially the night of the auction.
The night Lady Draken herself had crossed paths with the Faceless Imposter.
That very week, Julies had conveniently taken leave. A "holiday," he called it. Gone just before the incident—and back again just after.
Too precise. Too clean.
Perfect coincidence was no coincidence at all.
With such circumstances stacked, maintaining neutrality was no longer wisdom—it was willful blindness.
