Even after Isaac's confession, something gnawed at Charles.
He had kept his drawings hidden, tucked carefully in the wooden case beneath his bed. He only ever removed them when everyone else was asleep, and even then, he was meticulous. No loose papers, no gaps in the sketchbook. Yet somehow, exact replicas were being sold—complete, unaltered, and in perfect tier-one form.
And Isaac… Isaac couldn't have known where he kept them. Not unless someone had been watching very closely.
That night, as Diana returned with another batch of food and ink, Charles sat in the corner, sketching, but not really drawing.
He was thinking.
"Something doesn't add up," he said suddenly.
Diana looked up. "You mean Isaac?"
"He admitted he sold the drawings," Charles said slowly, "but he never admitted to knowing where I kept them. And I never told him when I finished a new one."
Diana narrowed her eyes. "You think someone else is involved?"
Charles nodded. "And I think Isaac is just the one who got caught holding the brush."
---
Elsewhere in the city, Isaac stood before his father, trying to hold his ground. But every word from Stanley was like a hammer, striking with certainty and a chilling lack of conscience.
"Son, I know Robert gives us drawings. I've heard it from more than one source,that he owns more" Stanley said, pouring himself a drink of something amber and expensive.
"yes," Isaac nodded
Stanley chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, my sweet, naive boy. You think those drawings are worth nothing unless they're earned. Let me tell you something." He stepped closer, his voice low and sharp. "Those drawings are power, and power doesn't wait to be earned—it's taken."
Isaac frowned. "They're not even ours. We shouldn't—"
Stanley cut him off with a wave. "We will keep the ones we have within the family to maintain their tier. But the ones the Rous family keeps locked away? We sell those. Quietly. Discreetly."
Isaac's stomach turned. "How are you going to get them? Only a few people even have access."
"Leave that to me," Stanley said. "But I need your help. That's why I'm telling you this. You'll make copies. You're good at it, and you can tweak them just enough to avoid suspicion."
Isaac swallowed hard. "But if they find out—"
"They won't," Stanley snapped. "You just do your part. Or are you planning to throw away the only real opportunity our family's had in years?"
Isaac's silence was answer enough.
---
Back in the room, Charles carefully retrieved the box beneath his bed. Every drawing was still accounted for. He flipped through them with surgical care. None were missing. None were out of place.
And yet… people in the market had sold copies of works he hadn't even shown to Isaac.
Someone else had access.
Diana watched him from the doorway. "If it wasn't Isaac, who else could have gotten to them?"
Charles sat on the bed, staring at the wall. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. I think someone's been spying. Or worse—someone inside our family is leaking them."
Diana stepped closer, uneasy. "No one from our family would betray us."
He met her eyes. "Wouldn't they? We were chased away because our family status dropped and suddenly, they were interested in us, some of our drawings are being sold, and not just any—the rarest ones, the tier-one sketches I only made in secret."
Diana was silent.
Charles continued, "If someone knew where I kept the box, and if someone in our circle was desperate enough—maybe not for money, but for a return to power…"
"…they might do something reckless," Diana finished.
---
Meanwhile, Isaac sat in the quiet of the observatory, replaying his conversation with his father over and over again.
He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He hadn't even known where the original drawings came from. His father would hand him a scroll, tell him to replicate it, and then vanish for days.
Now, caught between loyalty to his family and betrayal of the only real friend he had made, Isaac felt like a ghost in both worlds.
He couldn't tell Charles the truth. Not entirely. Not without putting his family at risk.
But he could hint.
He pulled out a blank scroll and began to write—not a drawing this time, but a letter. A warning.
> Robert ,
I didn't steal from you. Not directly. But I copied things I was given, and I didn't ask where they came from.You're being watched. Someone knows your habits. Someone close.Be careful who you trust.
He folded the note and slid it beneath Charles's book , where he knew Charles would find it during his next session.
---
That morning, Charles did.
He sat alone, preparing to start his next drawing, when the note fell into his lap. He read it twice. Three times.
Then he looked up, eyes scanning the quiet halls.
Someone close.
Someone watching.
He stood slowly, heart heavy and thoughts racing.
"Diana," he called. "We need to check my room"
"Why?"
"Because if someone's watching, they've got to be seeing me draw. And that means…"
"…they're " she didn't finish.
And for the first time since entering this world, Charles truly felt afraid.
Not because of magic.
Not because of carnation.
But because the real danger wasn't the ones who hated him—it was the ones who pretended to care.