A little more gothic noir, this time. All cats are gray after midnight, Morgan thought silently. There was a phrase for it in French, but damned if she could remember how it went. She'd never liked French - a habit she'd picked up from him, of course.
The stone of the castle was gray. The sky was black, but the moon cast gray shadows, gray light. Silence reigned, and it made her uneasy. The night was never truly silent on the firth, where crickets chirped and frogs croaked in the summer and the wind whistled through the fallen leaves in the colder months. The silence was unsettling, and gave Morgan a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold as she came down from the parapet back into the hallway. It was like even the land knew.
"You feel it?"
Morgan jumped, gasping as she whirled around to face the unexpected voice. "Madog," she sighed, relieved to see her brother rather than...something else.
He took her reaction as his answer, and proceeded on. "The police are on their way. They're bringing someone with them."
"...someone?" The word rang out, echoing in the darkness and the stone. She could imagine so many someones, but deep in her heart, she knew there was only one. There was only one man they would send when her grandfather had been killed and the suspects were all right here in the castle.
"Inspector Harrow."
"Of course."
Inspector Harrow, the most brilliant man Scotland Yard had to offer. Inspector Harrow, who always got his man. Inspector Harrow, who had broken her heart so thoroughly that her grandfather had never spoken to him again. Of course he was the one they would send.
"If you like, I can break his arm," Madog calmly offered.
Morgan shook her head, and a bolt of lightning flashed outside, lighting both their faces in stark relief.
"Let him come," she murmured. "He'll never know the truth. Not this time."