The room was warm and quiet, the soft glow of candlelight dancing across the walls. Margaretta sat by the window, a book resting in her lap as she traced the edges of its leather cover. Her expression was serene, but Faust could see the subtle tension in her shoulders.

He cleared his throat gently, and Margaretta looked up, startled. “Faust,” she said, her voice light with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he said, stepping into the room. “To talk.”

Margaretta smiled faintly, setting the book aside. “Then talk.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Faust hesitated, his gaze flicking to the faint traces of salt on the windowsill. “Do you trust him?” he asked finally.

Her smile faded, and she tilted her head. “You mean him,” she said, her voice guarded.

“Yes,” Faust said, his voice firm. “Do you trust him, Margaretta?”

She studied him for a long moment before nodding. “With my life.”

The answer struck him harder than he expected, but he kept his expression neutral. “Then let me see what you see,” he said carefully. “Let me... understand.”

Margaretta frowned, her gaze narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Trust me,” Faust said, stepping closer. “I can help you, Margaretta. But I need to know the truth.”

After a long pause, Margaretta nodded. “Do what you must.”