The castle stood quiet, wrapped in morning fog like a whispered secret.
Inside the grand dining hall, a scream shattered the stillness.
"Master Albrecht! He's–he's not breathing!"
Silverware clattered to the floor as servants rushed to the head of the table. There sat the nobleman, his once proud figure slumped lifelessly in his velvet chair, a wine glass tipped on its side, deep red soaking into the white cloth like spilled blood.
At first, they suspected heart failure. But the doctor, summoned with urgency, took one look and quietly murmured, "This was no natural death."
---
Detective Ervan arrived by midday — a quiet man with sharp eyes and a notebook worn with use.
He began where all murders begin: the food.
"The butler, Fran," the head maid said. "He delivered the wine and dishes to the master's table. But the girl—Elle, the new waitress—she was the one who prepared the meal."
Elle trembled under his gaze. "I just followed the usual recipe. The meat, the sauce, the wine—I didn't do anything special."
But Ervan was already noticing something odd.
A small vial had been found near the wine rack, nearly invisible unless one knew where to look. Inside was a white powder — trace remnants of a pill.
The forensic team returned later with a quiet but terrifying verdict:
"This was no ordinary poison. It's a euthanasia pill–used for pets. Deadly to humans in high doses. Almost no one knows about it unless they're in... specialized circles."
---
When Ervan questioned Fran, the butler answered too quickly.
"It's a rare pet pill. Dissolves fast, odorless, hard to trace unless you test for it. It attacks the lungs and heart. Causes the victim to suffocate quietly."
The room went silent.
Ervan leaned forward, voice soft but cutting.
"You seem to know a lot about this pill, Fran. But records show you've never studied medicine. Never worked at a vet clinic. Never bought medication. So how... do you know so much?"
Fran's lips tightened.
"I read about it once," he said.
But Ervan's eyes didn't blink. "No records of a search. Not even on your phone. You erased it, didn't you?"
---
The investigation unearthed more.
Letters, hidden behind Elle's pillow. A crumpled note of affection. A plan to "leave this place" together.
Fran and Elle had been lovers, kept secret in a house where such a relationship would have been forbidden.
And motive? Master Albrecht had no heirs. With his death, his vault – worth millions –would be unlocked and split among the staff. All they had to do was make sure suspicion fell elsewhere.
Elle was arrested. Her fingerprints were on the glass. She had the motive. She had opportunity. It was open-and-shut.
Or so it seemed.
---
Months passed. Elle awaited trial.
But one day, she was released.
Her bail had been paid. In full. By a man no one saw. No address, no signature. Only a name whispered by the clerk.
"Fran."
Detective Ervan stared out the window of his office, snow starting to fall.
He had checked the underground. Found a pet shop in the slums where the pill was once sold. The shopkeeper remembered a man with gloves, a quiet voice, and sharp gray eyes.
"Said he needed it for a sick dog. But he looked like the kind of man who never owned a pet."
Fran had planned it all. Used Elle's love. Framed her. Paid for her freedom. But now they were both out there.
Ervan closed his notebook, a sigh escaping his lips.
"Justice," he murmured, "sometimes walks slower than the guilty."