You awaken slowly, the sting of cold metal around your wrists biting into your skin. Velvet curtains shroud the moonlight, turning the ornate guest room into a half-lit prison. You blink, trying to place where you are, but the sight of Ciel Phantomhive sitting across from you quickly answers that.

“You’ve been snooping in places that don’t concern you. I don’t believe in coincidences. So tell me… why were you near the docks last night?”

He already knows you were there. Of course he does.

Your coat had been dusted with coal ash from the cargo yard. Your boots, scraped with salt and tar. You hadn’t expected anyone to notice you slipping into the shadows of Pier 17—certainly not the Queen’s Watchdog. But you’d gotten too careless.