The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of official inquiries. Liam, leveraging his journalistic background, navigated the maze of police reports, fire department investigations, and insurance adjusters. He carefully selected which details to share, painting a picture of an unstable, elderly woman driven by delusion, who had inadvertently caused a catastrophic structural failure in her attempts to 'restore' the manor's old systems. The 'ley lines' and 'manor energy' were, for public consumption, a tragic manifestation of Mrs. Gable's deteriorating mental state. He saw the doubt in some eyes, especially the seasoned detectives, but there was no concrete evidence to contradict his plausible narrative.
Elara, meanwhile, faced her own battle. The Blackwood name, already tainted by scandal, was now synonymous with a spectacular and destructive incident. She spent her days with architects and structural engineers, assessing the severely damaged main wing and the surprisingly resilient Western Wing, which housed the library and most of the family's art collection. It was a tedious, exhausting process, but she approached it with a quiet determination Liam admired.
"They want to know if I knew she was living down there," Elara confided one afternoon, sipping lukewarm coffee in the temporary office she'd set up in the least damaged part of the Western Wing. Sunlight, weak through the grimy panes, illuminated motes of dust dancing in the air. "I told them no. It's the truth, mostly. I mean, I knew the legends, but I never imagined a living person was down there, pulling the strings."
Liam nodded, leaning against a towering, dust-covered bookshelf. "It's plausible deniability. You just moved in. How could you know? And honestly, who would believe a housekeeper living in a secret underground lair for decades without anyone noticing?"
"Exactly," she said with a dry laugh. "Another charming Blackwood eccentricity to add to the family lore." She looked at him, her gaze serious. "But what do you believe, Liam? About Mrs. Gable? About the locket? You saw her. That wasn't just an old woman with a delusion. There was... something else. A power. Or a deeply ingrained knowledge."
Liam pushed off the bookshelf, walking towards her. "I believe she was dangerous. I believe she was obsessed with Thomas Blackwood's research, and she thought she could control whatever he was trying to tap into. And I believe that locket wasn't just Evelyn's, it was a crucial piece of her puzzle." He paused, his voice dropping. "And I believe she got away."
Elara's eyes widened. "You really think so? But how? The whole boiler room went up!"
"Think about it," Liam said, running a hand through his hair. "She knew about the secret passages. She obviously had access to the boiler room. It's not a stretch to imagine she had another escape route, a bolt-hole, perhaps even pre-prepared for just such an event. Someone that meticulous doesn't go down with the ship, not unless they want to. And her cackle... it was triumphant, not terrified."
The thought hung heavy in the air, a new layer of unease. "So, the mystery isn't solved," Elara murmured. "It's just... moved."
"Precisely," Liam confirmed. "And the locket's gone too. That's a huge problem. It was obviously key to whatever she was doing. If it's in her hands, or worse, in the hands of whoever put her up to this..."
"You think she wasn't alone?" Elara interrupted, her gaze fixed on him.
Liam walked to the large, mullioned window, looking out at the damaged grounds. "She talked about 'them.' Elias, Arthur. 'They tried to stop Evelyn.' 'They tried to hide the true power.' She sounded like a pawn, albeit a very zealous one, in a much larger game. Someone who wants to control or exploit the manor's 'energy,' as Thomas Blackwood called it, or whatever valuable secret lies within The Mire. Perhaps someone who benefits from the Blackwood family's ruin."
Elara stood up, walking to stand beside him. "The Mire. That's the only part of the estate that's completely untouched. The wild, overgrown land. It's always been seen as worthless, unusable."
"Or invaluable," Liam corrected, a thoughtful look on his face. "If it's where Thomas's 'ley lines' converge. Or where a resource like that spring on the old map could be hidden. Mrs. Gable also talked about 'weaving threads' and 'the reckoning.' It's ritualistic. It feels like a very old, very patient game."
They fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the new questions settling between them. The initial frantic adventure had given way to a quieter, more insidious mystery. But even in this new phase, their partnership was deepening. Liam found himself relying on Elara's intuitive understanding of her family's strange history, her resilience, and her surprising flashes of wry humor that cut through his often-brooding intensity. Elara, in turn, found strength in Liam's calm logic, his unwavering determination, and the quiet empathy he showed her, a stark contrast to the judgment she'd faced her whole life.
"Liam?" Elara said softly, breaking the silence.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For staying. For not leaving when it all went up in flames. Most people would have run for the hills."
He turned, facing her fully. Her eyes, still storm-cloud grey, held a depth he was only just beginning to truly appreciate. "I'm not 'most people,' Elara. And besides, I told you. I need answers. And you're the closest thing I have to a key." He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment. "And anyway, it's not every day you get to blow up an old mansion with a beautiful woman by your side."
She laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that echoed through the damaged wing, a beautiful sound of life reclaiming the silence. "You really know how to charm a girl, O'Connell. With explosions and secret passages."
"It's a niche market," he admitted, grinning. "But I think I'm doing pretty well with you." Their gaze held, and the unsaid hung in the air, thick and sweet. The proper date could wait. For now, this was enough. More than enough.