"You don't have to know everything right now, Felix," Jack said, his voice low but steady. 

"What matters is that you're willing to fight. That's all you need to start with. The rest? We'll figure it out as we go."

Jack took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Felix could hear. 

"But listen carefully, Felix," he said, his eyes narrowing. 

"The Moriartys aren't just any family. They're dangerous. This isn't a game. If you want to beat them, you'll need more than just determination. You'll need strategy. And you'll need to be prepared for things that… well, things that you may not be ready for."

Felix swallowed hard, but nodded. "I understand."

Jack's hand clapped him on the shoulder, firm and reassuring. 

"We'll make sure you're ready. I'll talk to my sons. They'll help you with whatever you need."

"Felix."

The soft voice cut through the tension that hung between them. Charlotte, his mother, stood a few paces away, her figure a quiet reminder of the gravity of the day. Her eyes were tired, distant, as if she had been carrying the weight of grief in silence, alone. Felix turned toward her, his gaze flickering between his mother and Jack, but Jack gave him a subtle nod, signaling that they would continue this conversation later.

"We should go," Charlotte said again, her voice quieter this time, though there was a calm finality to it.

Felix hesitated for only a moment. He still had so much to ask, so many things to understand. 

"Yes," Felix replied, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him. 

"You can go first. I'll reach you in a minute."

Charlotte nodded, turning slowly, her heels clicking softly against the gravel as she made her way toward the waiting car. The air between Felix and Jack felt heavy again, but there was a sense of finality now, like they were closing one chapter and preparing to move on to the next. 

"Thank you for your help, Uncle Jack," Felix said, his voice sincere but with an edge of uncertainty.

Jack's expression softened, though the guarded look never fully left his eyes. 

"Don't mention it, Felix," he replied, his voice gruff but warm in its own way. 

"I'm sorry, my sons couldn't make it to the funeral today. But I'll make sure to tell them to visit you this afternoon."

"I'll be waiting then," Felix said, his voice steady.

For the first time, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Jack's lips. It wasn't much — nothing like the charismatic grins that had once been part of his uncle's reputation — but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, Jack believed in him more than he had let on.

"Your father has grown you well," Jack said, his voice softer now, tinged with an odd sort of pride. "You can do it."

Felix blinked, surprised by the genuine warmth in his uncle's words. He gave a small, hesitant smile in return. It was faint, but it was there. It wasn't just gratitude — it was something deeper, a flicker of belief in himself that he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Maybe I can do this, he thought.

He waved to his uncle before turning to walk toward his mother. As he approached her, he noticed the quiet sadness still etched into her face, the way her shoulders slumped just a little more with every step. But there was strength in her, too. She had lived through more than Felix could even begin to comprehend, and yet she still kept moving forward.

They got into the car, and the world outside felt a little quieter now, as if the storm of the past few days had calmed, even if only for a moment. Felix's mind was buzzing with everything Jack had said, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story, more to the family he was part of, than he'd ever been told. The Moriartys, his father's legacy, his uncle's strange promises — it was all tangled up in a knot that Felix didn't know how to untangle.

But for the first time, he felt ready to try.

As they drove away from the cemetery, Felix leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes for a brief moment. It wasn't the end of anything. It was the beginning.

The car pulled into the long driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel as the mansion loomed ahead — a place that used to be filled with warmth, laughter, and life. Now, it felt hollow. The grand stone facade, with its towering windows and sprawling grounds, felt distant and cold. The laughter that had once echoed through its halls was replaced with silence, the kind that pressed down on everything, making the walls feel like they were closing in. 

Felix stepped out of the car, the familiar scent of the estate filling his nostrils — a mixture of old wood, polished floors, and the faintest trace of lavender. He could almost hear Evelyn's voice in the distance, her laughter, the sound of her footsteps running up the grand staircase. She was always so full of life, always bringing an energy to this house that now seemed forever gone. 

As Felix and Charlotte entered the foyer, the house staff were already at attention, their faces masked with the quiet professionalism that had always defined them. Celine, the housekeeper, gave a polite but sorrowful nod, and the young maids curtsied respectfully. The butlers and servants, though they all shared the same sadness in their eyes, greeted them warmly, offering their condolences before making a formal suggestion. 

"We've prepared a meal for you, Master Felix, Madam Charlotte," Celine said gently, her voice thick with sympathy. 

"Please, allow us to serve you."

Felix caught a glimpse of his mother's face — pale, tired, her eyes sunken from days of grief. She gave a soft shake of her head, and Felix knew immediately what was coming. She wasn't ready to eat. Not yet.

"No, thank you," Charlotte said quietly, her voice thin and distant. "I'm not hungry."

Felix followed his mother into the grand sitting room, where the heavy curtains were drawn, casting the room in shadows. He could sense her exhaustion, the weight of grief pressing down on her with every step she took. She hadn't been the same since Evelyn's death, and Felix knew the pain she was feeling had settled deep into her bones. 

The house staff, understanding the mood, quietly retreated, leaving them alone in the quiet of the house. Felix stood for a moment, watching his mother, before the familiar sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Sebastian, the head butler, approached him, his long, polished shoes clicking on the marble floor. The man was always impeccably dressed, his graying hair neatly combed back, his expression one of quiet concern.

"I understand why you don't have much of an appetite, Master Felix," Sebastian said softly, his gaze flicking over to Charlotte. 

"But your mother… she's already frail herself. Can you convince her to eat, even just a little? For her own health?"

Felix sighed, glancing at his mother, who was standing by the window, staring out at the garden. He could see the faint tremor in her hands, the way her shoulders sagged with the weight of loss. He wanted to do something, anything, to ease her pain, but right now, he knew there was nothing he could say that would make it all better.

He turned back to Sebastian, giving a small, reassuring smile. It wasn't much, but it was all he had at this moment.

"Yeah, I'll make sure to," Felix said, his voice steady, though his heart felt heavy. 

"I'll talk to her."

Sebastian gave a nod of approval before quietly stepping away, leaving Felix alone to deal with the delicate task of getting his mother to eat. Felix turned back toward Charlotte, taking a deep breath. He knew it wouldn't be easy. She had been so distant lately, and the grief in her eyes was like a wall he couldn't break down. But he had to try. 

Slowly, he approached her, standing beside her in the silence. She didn't look at him, but he could see the way her lips quivered ever so slightly, as if she was holding back more tears. 

"Mom," he said gently, his voice soft but insistent. 

"I know it's hard. But you have to eat something. For yourself. Please."

Charlotte's eyes flickered toward him for a moment, filled with a sadness that made Felix's chest ache. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but then closed it again, her shoulders slumping even further.

"I'm not hungry, Felix," she whispered, her voice so soft it barely made a sound. 

"I just… I don't have the strength for it."

Felix didn't press her further. He knew how it felt to be trapped by grief, to have it consume every part of you until there was nothing left. But he also knew that his mother couldn't afford to keep neglecting herself. Not like this.

He knelt down slightly, so he was at her eye level, his voice low but firm. 

"I get it, Mom. I do. But you need to take care of yourself. For me. Please."

For a long moment, Charlotte didn't answer, and Felix feared she might refuse once more. But then, slowly, she nodded. It was barely perceptible, but it was enough.

"Alright," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'll try."

Felix stood up, relieved, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her weariness, but for the first time in days, there was a small sense of victory — something to hold onto. He would help her through this. One step at a time.

"I'll go tell the staff to bring it up," he said quietly.

Charlotte nodded again, this time with a little more strength. Felix turned toward the door, stepping out into the hall to find the staff, but before he could leave, his eyes caught a glimpse of something on the mantelpiece. A portrait of Evelyn. 

The weight of everything hit him all over again — his sister's death, his father's passing, the world that had shattered around him in just a few days. But he didn't let the grief overtake him now. Not yet. His family needed him. And right now, that was all that mattered.

He took a deep breath and continued on his way, determined to keep his promise.

Felix made his way down the long hallway, his footsteps soft but deliberate on the polished floors. He called for Celine. She was always professional, and more importantly, she understood the delicate balance of respect and care that came with serving the family.

"Celine," he called, his voice just loud enough to reach her.

She appeared almost immediately, her expression calm yet filled with the understanding that came from long years of working in this house. 

"Yes, Master Felix?" she responded, her voice polite, but with an undertone of concern.

"Please bring Charlotte her lunch," he instructed, keeping his tone even, though his mind was still focused on his mother. He couldn't help but glance back toward the sitting room, where Charlotte stood, gazing out the window. He knew she wouldn't eat unless someone stayed with her, someone to encourage her to take small steps back to normalcy, even if only for a moment.

Celine nodded, as if she anticipated his next request. 

"What about you, Master Felix?" she asked, her voice gentle but still professional.

Felix hesitated for a moment, considering the options. He wasn't hungry, not really — not after everything that had happened. His appetite was lost somewhere between grief and exhaustion, tangled in the strange emotions of the last few days. 

"Bring it over to my room," he said finally. "I'll be up in a minute."

He paused, then added, "Please stay with my mother and make sure she eats. Don't leave her alone." 

His words were firm, but there was a quiet plea in them. He didn't want to pressure her, but he needed her to take care of herself, if only for a little while. 

Celine's eyes softened as she nodded in understanding. "Understood, Master Felix."

With that, she disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps light but purposeful. Felix watched her go, feeling a sense of relief that someone was there for his mother, someone who could manage what he couldn't. He felt the weight of his responsibilities pressing on him once more. He had to be strong — not just for himself, but for Charlotte, for the memory of Evelyn, and for the family that was now left to pick up the pieces.

Felix turned away from the hallway and made his way to his room, his footsteps slow, as if each one carried the weight of a thousand thoughts. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his gaze drifting out the window, lost in the expanse of the darkening sky.

"How did my father do it?" he murmured to himself, the question hanging heavy in the silence.

His eyes shifted to the nightstand beside him, where the worn leather cover of the diary he had found at Moriarty's mansion rested. A faint curiosity tugged at him. 

"What if I showed this to my cousins?"

He considered the idea, but doubts quickly followed. Would they understand? Could they even help?

A knock at the door broke his reverie.

"Master Felix, may I come in?" 

It was Sebastian's voice, calm and composed as ever.

Felix straightened, as though the sound of the servant's voice had reminded him of the weight of his own posture. 

"You may."

Sebastian entered, a tray of food in his hands. 

"I brought you your lunch," he said quietly, setting it on the small table by the window.

Felix nodded, but his mind was still far from the meal. 

"Thank you. You can leave it there." 

His words were distant, but he made an effort to sound polite. As the door closed behind Sebastian, Felix's eyes flicked back to the diary, his thoughts as tangled as ever.

He let out a heavy sigh, his mind tangled in frustration as he gazed down at the diary in his hands. The worn leather cover seemed to mock him, its pages filled with answers he could never seem to find. 

"What should I do…"

— A FEW DAYS AGO, MORIARTY HOUSEHOLD —

"Finn, come here."

Diana sat on the plush sofa, her gaze distant and her mind filled with thoughts that seemed to pull her in every direction. The room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall, marking the passing of time as if it were something she could control — actually, was there something she couldn't control?

"You called, Lady Moriarty?" a calm voice broke through the stillness. 

Diana didn't immediately respond, her eyes still unfocused as she mulled over the situation at hand. Finally, she turned to the figure standing at the door, her expression as calm as ever. It was frightening.

"How is the plan progressing?" she asked, her voice smooth, though there was an underlying sharpness to it.

The man bowed slightly, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he answered. 

"The Holmes heir is not planning to come at the date you had set for him."