"Your Grace," Roger, the steward, approached him cautiously, his voice laced with a hint of urgency. "There's been a development concerning Luke."
Ryan's head snapped up, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. "A development? What is it?"
Roger cleared his throat, his face etched with concern. "Luke… he requested a sick leave a day before. Didn't come to work."
Disappointment washed over Ryan, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Sick leave?" he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "Two days too late, wouldn't you say, Roger?"
Roger stammered, his eyes wide with fear. "I… I apologize, Your Grace. I wasn't aware…"
Ryan cut him off with a sharp gesture. "It doesn't matter now. Luke's probably miles away by now, hiding like a frightened rabbit."
He slammed his fist on the desk, the sound echoing through the tense silence. The trail, so clear just moments ago, had gone cold. Luke, the potential key to unraveling the Viscount's murder, had disappeared into thin air.
