Evelyne stood in the library, her fingers brushing against the spines of countless tomes. The musty scent of old paper and ink filled the air, and the quiet of the room offered her a rare solace. The vast collection of books around her felt like a comforting embrace—a place where she could hide from the unsettling reality of the world outside, but also a place where answers could be found.

Today, though, she wasn't looking for answers in the dusty old volumes of history or philosophy. She was searching for something more immediate. Her eyes scanned the titles of detective stories and investigations, each one seemingly calling her name. Her instincts were sharp once more, a skill that had lain dormant for too long.

She pulled a book from the shelf, a classic detective novel by a renowned author in this world, and flipped through its pages. As she read, she found herself caught between the lines, between the words on the page and the mystery in her own life. The familiar rhythm of a crime unraveling, the slow unveiling of hidden truths, was something she couldn't ignore.

"I need to speak to her father," she murmured to herself, closing the book and slipping it back onto the shelf. Her resolve grew stronger with every passing moment. Lady Rosalind's disappearance wasn't just a story—it was real. And Evelyne would get to the bottom of it.

The journey to the Sinclair estate was a slow one, the winding road cutting through thick woods, where the dense trees seemed to whisper secrets with the wind. Evelyne sat in the carriage, her mind racing as the landscape blurred past her. Claire had insisted on accompanying her, though Evelyne's firm refusal to allow anyone else to come along was met with resistance. Still, Claire had managed to bring herself along as a quiet, albeit worried, presence.

As they neared the Sinclair estate, the grandeur of the estate became apparent. The large iron gates opened with a creak, revealing an impressive estate surrounded by lush gardens, all shrouded by thick trees. It felt like entering a world of secrets—an imposing manor that could easily conceal a thousand stories, some of them dark.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the grand house, where a somber-looking butler greeted them. He was tall, with sharp features and eyes that held the faintest hint of suspicion.

"Lady Evelyne Thorne," he said with a polite bow. "How may I assist you today?"

Evelyne's gaze flicked over the surroundings. "I'm here to speak with Viscount Sinclair," she replied coolly. "It's about his daughter, Lady Rosalind. I believe I may be able to help."

The butler hesitated, but then nodded. "The Viscount is in his study. Please follow me."

Viscount Sinclair's study was as grand as the rest of his estate. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with volumes that spoke to the man's stature and taste. His desk, a heavy, dark wood piece, was cluttered with papers and letters, a sign of his ongoing efforts to locate his daughter.

The Viscount himself sat behind the desk, his expression one of exhaustion, his usual composure shattered by the stress of the situation. His once impeccable attire looked rumpled, and his hands trembled slightly as he reached for a glass of brandy.

"Lady Thorne," he said, his voice tinged with relief. "I didn't expect such a visit. How can I be of service?"

Evelyne's gaze was steady. She had studied this man from a distance, noting his strained demeanor. He was hiding something—she could feel it.

"I've read about Lady Rosalind's disappearance in the papers," Evelyne began, keeping her tone measured but firm. "And I believe I can assist in finding her. But I need to know more. Anything you can tell me about her, her recent activities, and perhaps any enemies she may have had would be crucial."

The Viscount's lips tightened, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, guilt, or fear—before he regained control of himself.

"She was a kind and virtuous girl," he said, his voice strained. "She had no enemies. At least, none that I know of." He paused and then added, "She had been spending a lot of time at the family chapel, praying for something… I didn't ask what, but she seemed troubled lately."

Evelyne's mind immediately seized on that detail. "And her last known whereabouts? When did she leave?"

The Viscount sighed deeply, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "Two nights ago. She told the staff she was taking a walk, but no one saw her after that."

Evelyne leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Was anyone else with her? Anyone who might have seen something unusual?"

"No. She was alone. It's as if she simply vanished into thin air." The Viscount's voice cracked, and Evelyne could hear the raw emotion beneath his carefully controlled façade.

As Evelyne stood to leave, she exchanged a lingering look with the Viscount, her mind already working through the new information. Something didn't add up. There were too many gaps in his story, too many subtle tells that suggested he wasn't telling her everything.

As the butler led her and Claire out of the study, Evelyne couldn't help but glance back at the tall windows that overlooked the estate's vast grounds. It was clear that the Viscount's grief was genuine, but was it also a carefully crafted façade? And if Rosalind was indeed missing, why hadn't anyone seen or heard anything?

The deeper Evelyne dug, the more the dark undercurrents of the Sinclair family's world seemed to reveal themselves.

As Evelyne and Claire returned to the estate, the evening was already settling in, the last of the sunlight casting long shadows over the garden. Evelyne's thoughts were a whirlwind, but one thing was clear: this case would not be an easy one.

As she stepped into her study, she found a letter waiting for her—a letter bearing the seal of the royal family.

With a mixture of curiosity and unease, she opened it, her eyes scanning the words. It was an invitation, of sorts. The prince had requested her presence at a gathering in the royal palace in two days' time.

Evelyne felt a sharp jolt of recognition—this was no coincidence. Lady Rosalind's disappearance was far from over, and she could sense that this invitation would lead her to something much bigger than she had anticipated