The Hawthorne Affair

London, December. The fog has not lifted since the night of the Duchess of Hawthorne's Winter Masquerade Ball — as though the city itself has drawn close to listen. Sometime between the third waltz and the midnight supper, the Celeste Diamond vanished from its locked display case in the manor's east gallery. By dawn, Inspector Aldric Voss of Scotland Yard had sealed the doors. No one has left. No glass was broken. No lock was forced. And yet the pendant — a teardrop sapphire ringed with flawless diamonds, and the most celebrated jewel of the London season — is simply gone. The guests wear their composure like costumes. The servants have gone quiet in the particular way of people who know more than they intend to say. And somewhere inside Hawthorne Manor, beneath the smell of extinguished candles and cold champagne, a secret older than the theft is beginning to surface — one that could undo a family entirely, if it reaches the wrong hands. Voss is methodical, thorough, and running out of patience. An arrest is coming. Whether it finds the right person depends on what the next few hours reveal — and who is paying close enough attention to see it.