The morning is quiet and still, and as I wake up to it, I don't move for a few minutes, savouring the feeling. Just stopping for a moment, staring up at the ceiling of this grand guest bedroom that's miles away from my one back at home. It feels odd, being somewhere completely new, with a group of siblings who are just hours away from delving into this case that I've been working on perfectly alone, but there's something else. The RoseBlood Killer can't do anything about me being here, can't try to cause any more damage while I'm away. For now, I've got the upper hand on the case, and I'm going to make the most out of it.

But the stillness doesn't last long. Padded footsteps leave a room nearby and go down the hall, and louder ones follow, probably Elias'. I sigh and slide out of bed, raking my fingers through my hair as I go over to the window and nudge the curtains open. The sunlight is warm and fresh, and I glance down to avoid its beams with a small wince, looking out at the woodland surrounding the house. I've got to be careful about how I approach today. I don't want to give away any more than I have to with the Tyrels, even if they are here to help me or have plenty of experience. It's my case, and I can and will solve it.

I shower in the little bathroom connecting to the bedroom, and as the water pelts over my body and dampens my hair, I raise a hand to touch the bruise from yesterday morning. It's still there, and still gives dull aching pangs when I press down on it a little. I roll my eyes and leave it, but when I step out and towel myself off, my eyes latch onto my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It's barely noticeable if I cover it with my hair, and keep most of it down and the top half up like I sometimes do, but putting my hair up in its usual ponytail will just draw attention. The thin wisps of brown around my ears rest just above the deep, plum brown marks that mainly show around the sides of my neck, and so I fix my hair around it precisely, letting it fall over my shoulders to my front.

Apart from the bruises, I don't look tired or worried or scared when I meet my eye in the mirror. I look just like myself, observant and resolute, and I can't help smiling slightly before I turn away to get dressed. Whatever happens, I'm Holly Cassia, and no one can read me as well as I can read them.

Not even Emerson?

My hand lingers on my casebook at the thought, and I put it under my arm with a small frown, grabbing a pen and my phone to go downstairs with. Pushing open the bedroom door, another opens in harmony with mine, and Edith steps out, looking over at me with a bright smile.

"Hey, Holly. Did you sleep okay?"

I nod. "Did you?"

"Yeah, I... well, yeah. There's always a lot on my mind, and everything likes to wait until I want to sleep to pester me, you know? But I slept okay. A lot to get into today, isn't there?"

"There is," I agree with her, and follow her down the hall and downstairs. "I'm sure I'll already know all that you do, anyway, unless you've got the resources to watch CCTV and hidden cameras and all those things."

"There is a hidden camera outside your house, I think. Brunsley wanted it to be watched discreetly, in case the murderer tries anything."

"Do you think they will?"

"Doubt it," Edith considers, "since they must know you're not there right now. But better safe than sorry."

Elias and Emerson are already downstairs in the kitchen, Elias eating a breakfast bar as he looks down at his phone, scrolling down a search engine busily. Emerson sips a cup of coffee with a thoughtful look on his face, which morphs back into a neutral expression when he notices me and Edith approaching.

"Hi," Edith says with a half-smile, Emerson nodding back and Elias mumbling something under his breath. Edith's attention focuses on Elias as she reads his phone screen over his shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

"That poetry thing," Elias responds distractedly, his eyes fixed on the screen as he bats her hovering hand away. "I've found that site that can search for sonnets or whatever based on the words, but it's not that easy when you've only got a couple of random ones."

"Hm," Edith nods, shrugging. "Alright. We'll get there, don't worry."

"You sure it's a love poem though, Holly?" Elias asks, looking over at me. "Just a bunch of words that don't make any sense."

"It makes sense," Emerson interjects from behind the bar. "Look at the bigger picture, Elias. The poetry that the killer left after the parents died, the roses, the theme. It's a part of who they are. And, so far, the only part of their personality we have to work with."

"Well, the bigger picture is way too big," Elias sighs, dropping his phone onto the table in defeat. "I guess we'll make more sense of it when we compare the facts and all."

"We will," Emerson acknowledges, before his dark gaze falls onto mine. "I'll need to talk to you about the funeral today, as well, Holly. Brunsley called last night about it. He's suggesting we have it tomorrow."

I blink, caught off guard. "Tomorrow? That soon?"

"He and Elizabeth Hutton have been organising it," Emerson explains, "and, with your approval, he suggests all the guests that were invited to your birthday party are invited to the funeral. That way, Brunsley will be watching all our suspects nearby, and so will his colleagues. Some of them will look like normal guests at the funeral, others will be on the lookout inside cars parked on the street. The killer is bound to make an appearance, and that'll help us-"

"Sorry, hold on," I interrupt, "you're telling me that you want my parents' funeral to happen tomorrow, and to invite the murderer? Because that could go two ways. It could give us insight into the case, the bigger picture, like you said, because they might use the opportunity to try to strike when I leave or accidentally let something slip when I talk to them. Or they could strike and succeed."

"True," Emerson answers, "but if they don't come to this, we will have a note of it. Brunsley, his team, and ourselves will be watching everybody in attendance for any suspicious behaviour. Meanwhile, you can talk to people with one of us and get information from them and their accounts of this case."

"Sooner than later is better, I guess," Elias points out. "Don't want any more damage done while we're working things out here and leaving them free to do what they want."

I stay silent for a long moment, then speak up. "It's a bit short notice. But okay. I understand that."

"Everything's taken care of," Emerson informs me. "We'll come with you, make sure you come back here safely. Nothing will happen to you in public, and we won't leave you alone."

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Yes, okay. I can handle myself, Emerson. But thank you."

"So, I'll tell Brunsley to confirm tomorrow?"

"I suppose. Yeah."

It's all happening a bit fast, but I can see why it needs to. The longer we try to make sense of this case and catch the killer, the less chance we have. Mum and Dad's funeral will be tomorrow, and I'm almost certain that the killer will be there in the crowd. It makes me sick with disgust and alive with anticipation.

You're ready. You can't prepare more than you already have. Catch them out and close the case, and do it soon.