Scene 1 – (Corridor Collision)
The mansion that night was no longer silent as it breathed 'danger' and 'intruder' at once. Every wall hummed with the sound generators; every chandelier chain swayed with whispers of the wind crawling through unseen cracks. To Alexa, though, it wasn't ambience. It was a warning.
She gripped her slim blade as if it were an arm extension, as her fingers curled so tightly that it looked pale. She padded her way barefoot through the corridor as every shadow looked deeper and hungrier than in the daylight.
But overall, that creak...
That sound at her door was definitely not her imagination.
And whoever made that sound was about to cost her her life.
Alexa's chest rose and fell in deliberate and shallow breaths, the way she had been trained long before this job ever came to her. In her head, she was already starting to mark exits, corners, and places an enemy could hide.
She whispered to herself, If you're here, don't think you'll leave alive.
Meanwhile, in another hall snaking toward the kitchens, Nina was moving just as cautiously, though her fear was less refined and more raw, as her slippered feet scraped lightly against the polished marble as she held the frying pan she had swiped from the kitchen. Her palms were sweaty, and her lip was between her teeth.
She doesn't belong here, Nina's thoughts raced; they were tangled between anger and nerves. She's going to ruin everything. Mr. Marcus will see… I'll make him see.
Her heart drummed so hard it almost felt like the entire house was going to hear it. The pan trembled in her grip, but she forced her arms steady.
The air was thick with that fragile tension that exists just before glass shatters.
And then—fate played its cruel game, as both women turned into the same corridor at the same time. Alexa's eyes caught movement; they were small, nervous, but in this darkness, they screamed threat. Without hesitation, instinct commanded her body as she lunged, slim blade raised low, sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
Nina, seeing a figure glide out of the shadows toward her, panicked. She shrieked, swinging the frying pan down with everything in her.
CLANG!
The steel-on-iron impact echoed so loudly that the walls seemed to vibrate. Then sparks danced off the blade as metal screamed against metal, then they both froze in the collision, faces mere inches apart, eyes burning with shock and fury.
"You—?!" Alexa hissed as her breath was sharp and her eyes narrowed like blades.
Nina's chest heaved, her grip was unsteady, but her anger flared brighter than her fear. "Y-You tried to stab me! I knew it—you're dangerous!"
"You're lucky my slim blade isn't in your chest," Alexa shot back, her voice low and unusually lethal calm. "What in hell are you doing skulking around in the dark with a pan?"
"I thought you were the intruder!" Nina's voice cracked as she trembled, but she didn't lower her pan.
"And I thought you were," Alexa retorted, pressing harder against the pan's underside. "Guess we were both wrong. Or maybe not." Her eyes narrowed. "Funny how you're always where you shouldn't be."
Nina flushed red as guilt and fury mixed, but before she could bite back, a shout pierced the standoff.
"Someone's in the gardens!"
Both women whipped their heads toward the window. The gardener, Theo, rang out again, desperate and loud enough to even shake the night. "An intruder!"
Harris's heavy boots boomed up the staircase seconds later. He appeared at the top, armed and cold-eyed, as his gaze cut straight through the two women. "Enough games. You—both of you—downstairs. Now."
Alexa slid her dagger away with surgical precision, eyes still locked on Nina's. "We'll finish this later."
Nina's lip trembled, but she muttered back, "Try me."
Neither realized their little war had only just begun.
But the intruder shifted everything.
When they entered the living room, the house had already gathered. Every servant, every maid, every guard stood in anxious half-circles, as their eyes were wide and fearful.
Two guards shoved a figure forward, masked, bound, silent. The stranger knelt on the marble like it was some offering to the devil..... because it clearly was.
And in that moment, Alexa and Nina both realized—whatever personal battle they were fighting… the mansion itself was under siege.
Scene 2 – (The Silent Intruder)
The masked man didn't twitch, didn't breathe loudly, didn't even fight the guards pinning him. He was too still, and in that stillness, he radiated something that made everyone's stomachs knot.
The living room glowed with firelight, as shadows lapped the walls like restless spirits. Every servant kept their distance as they whispered prayers under their breath. Harris stood nearest, his sharp gaze dissecting every twitch of the bound figure. Alexa remained behind the circle, her arms folded, dagger (slim blade) still hidden in her sleeve, as her eyes never left the intruder.
"Speak," Harris ordered, as his voice was like gravel dragged across stone. No answer.
One guard, braver than most, kicked the stranger in the side. "Answer him!"
The intruder only let out a low grunt, head tilting lazily back up. That mask was plain, featureless, made from some dull metal, and reflected the firelight in warped colors.
"Why here?" Harris pressed, as his words were cold but oddly calm. "Why this house?"
The masked man shifted, as the chains rattled softly, but his silence was almost deafening.
Winona, clutching her apron, whispered a tremor of fear: "Maybe he isn't alone…"
That single thought scattered across the room like gunpowder, as the servants recoiled, muttering, panic threatening to bubble.
"Enough," Harris barked as he silenced them. His gaze returned to the stranger. "You've walked into the wrong den, now speak, or I'll make you."
Still nothing.
Alexa took a step forward, her voice low, blade-light sharp. "He won't talk here. He's trained. Look at the way he sits—no fear, no trembling. He knew what he was walking into."
Nina, who was lingering in the shadows, muttered bitterly, "Maybe because someone invited him."
Alexa shot her a look so poisonous it could have cut through stone, but before the air could break again—
The front doors groaned, and every head turned. The iron locks clanged open, and Marcus stepped through.
Not storming, not rushing, but he was simply walking, with the kind of control that made silence fall across the entire house like a heavy blanket. His coat was still damp with the night air, his hair slicked back, steel-gray eyes hard as carved ice.
The guards straightened instantly, and even Harris inclined his head.
Marcus's gaze swept the room once before locking on the kneeling intruder. "Bring him up."
The guards pulled the masked man to his feet; he still didn't resist.
Marcus studied him for a moment, jaw working as if grinding stone. Then he turned to the gardener. "Theo. You caught him?"
Theo stepped forward, broad-shouldered, his hands still dusted with soil, but his eyes sharp. He bowed his head slightly. "Yes, sir."
"Tell me," Marcus said, voice low but heavy, "everything."
Theo nodded once. "I was tending the orchids by the west garden wall when I saw movement near the trellis. At first, I thought it was a stray animal, too quiet for a thief. But then he scaled the wall."
The room leaned in. Every ear is hungry for the details.
"He didn't fumble. Didn't hesitate. Moved like he had done it before." Theo's eyes glanced at the intruder. "He didn't waste time searching, either. He went straight toward the upper rooms. Toward where the boy sleeps."
Aaron. The thought rang in every heart, and Alexa's grip tightened.
Theo continued, his voice a little heavier now. "But before he reached the stairs, he shifted. As if he knew the halls. He turned sharply, heading straight toward the kitchens. Like…" His eyes darkened. "…like he had a map in his head."
Gasps. Murmurs. The fire seemed to spit sparks as the weight of his words sank in.
Marcus's face betrayed nothing, but his silence was heavier than stone. Finally, he stepped closer to the masked man. One gloved hand reached out, slow, deliberate, and tugged at the edge of the mask.
The room held its breath.
The mask scraped as it lifted—metal against flesh, peeling back the stranger's face from shadow.
Marcus's eyes narrowed, his entire body going still. The air seemed to die.
And then, in a voice quieter than a whisper but sharper than a blade, he said:
"…You?"