Moira feels James watching her, wondering what to make of everything she sees in the room. It's an odd feeling, to have suspicions you've harbored over years confirmed by another man's obsessive, yet thorough, collection of evidence. Moira remembers when she first became aware of her mother's nature, when she saw through the crack in her glamour at Uncle Reginald's funeral, the underlying satisfaction beneath her tears wrought by magic, not genuine emotion. She feels a combination of cold and hot run right through her like lava; the woman who gave birth to her took the lives of so many others.

She takes a deep breath, shoving her primal instincts to the back of her thoughts as she watches him take the letter.

"I found it in the fire place of the library at Coombs Manor," she admits, running a hand through her hair. "Buried beneath a pile of ash. Uncle Reggie must have been more clever than people took him for; no one else knows about its existence, not even Fabrice."

She winces, knowing she is obliged to tell him, at least, one day. "I can't tell him yet, not while he's just getting over his own attack. I don't want to put him at risk. If Violet knows this exists, she will obliterate the entire town to ensure its destruction."