Tim crouched down, carefully examining the captain’s death scene.
The knees of his tailored trousers pressed into the edge of the blood-soaked carpet, but he paid no attention to whether the fabric would be ruined. All of his focus was fixed on the scene before him.
Several tense-looking officers and crew members stood nearby.
Everyone was deliberately keeping their breathing quiet.
No one spoke.
The situation was even more complicated than he had anticipated.
Edward Smith’s body was in horrific condition.
Blood had splattered across the entire corridor.
The walls.
The carpet.
Even the wooden doorframe a short distance away.
Large dark stains marked every surface. Under the light, the blood appeared almost black.
The air was thick with the metallic smell of it, mingling with the damp scent of the sea and creating a nauseating atmosphere.
And the captain’s upper body looked as though something had bitten into it.
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These were not ordinary knife wounds.
Nor were they simple tears.
The tissue around the chest, shoulders, and neck had been extensively destroyed. The uniform was shredded, flesh peeled back, the edges ragged and uneven, as though the victim had been subjected to overwhelming violence.
The wounds were too primitive.
Too savage.
They barely looked like something a human being could have inflicted.
According to the first crewman who discovered the scene, he had simply been making his rounds through the corridor.
At first, he noticed nothing unusual.
Only a strong metallic smell drifting from a distance.
The scent of blood.
Far too heavy to be normal.
It had immediately put him on edge.
He was still trying to determine the source when he turned the corner to the right.
And saw someone lying on the floor.
The shock nearly took his legs out from under him.
His face had gone white.
He hadn’t even dared approach to confirm what he was seeing.
Instead, he turned and ran to summon help.
Only when others arrived did they realize the figure lying in the pool of blood was the captain himself.
Tim studied the body in silence.
He did not speak right away.
First, he observed the scene.
Then the corpse itself.
The time of death appeared recent.
The blood had not fully coagulated.
The body had not yet entered obvious rigor mortis.
Edward Smith was sixty-two years old.
Not young, but physically robust.
Years at sea had kept him in excellent condition. Broad shoulders. Upright posture. The bearing of a man who had spent his life in command.
A man like that would not have gone down without resisting.
Tim’s blue eyes narrowed slightly.
His gaze moved from the wounds—
To the blood spatter—
To the smallest details on the floor.
The situation was unfolding in a completely different direction.
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What could have caused wounds like these?
Tim rapidly filtered through possible explanations, as if narrowing down a database in his mind.
He ruled out the most common causes first.
Knife wounds didn’t fit.
The edges were too irregular.
Gunshots were even less likely.
There were no corresponding penetration marks.
Blunt-force trauma alone made no sense either.
The tissue had not been crushed.
It had been torn apart.
Ripped open.
Parts of it looked as though they had been bitten away.
His gaze returned to the wounds.
Those gaping lacerations.
That method of destruction.
From a purely physical standpoint, only one answer remained.
A beast.
Something with enormous bite force.
A monster—
Or at least some large organism with massive jaws—
Had clamped onto the upper half of a human body and torn the tissue apart with tremendous force.
This was the explanation that best matched the evidence.
But...
Did that make any sense?
Tim’s brow furrowed.
This was the Titanic.
One of the most famous and luxurious ocean liners in the world.
A ship carrying social elites, industrial magnates, and thousands of passengers and crew.
And now he was forced to seriously consider a possibility—
That some kind of beast was aboard.
Unknown in number.
Unknown in location.
Unknown in species.
But already responsible for one death.
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Tim paused for a second.
Then he remembered the quote.
Sherlock Holmes had once said—
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
He repeated the line silently to himself.
Since he could not prove that there was no beast aboard the ship—
Then, for the moment, he would proceed on the assumption that there was.
Tim walked through the entire chain of logic again.
The condition of the body.
The distribution of the blood.
The testimony of the first witness.
The ship’s closed environment.
Each step was rearranged and reexamined in his mind.
At least for now, he could find no obvious flaw in the reasoning.
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Then—
He prepared to make one final, comprehensive check.
His gaze swept once more from head to toe across the captain’s body.
And then—
He froze when he saw the captain’s hand.
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Nora sat alone in the room.
Everyone had just been instructed to return to their cabins and wait for further notice.
The order had been delivered in a manner that was polite, yet impossible to refuse. On the surface, the decorum expected of first class was still carefully maintained.
But everyone knew something was wrong.
The footsteps in the corridor were quicker than usual.
The hushed conversations carried unmistakable anxiety.
And once the door closed, the room became almost unnaturally quiet.
Tim had gone to find out what was happening.
Nora, meanwhile, had been escorted back to her room by a steward whose manner was impeccably respectful but left no room for argument.
She had originally intended to linger in the corridor for a few more seconds, hoping to overhear something useful.
Instead, he had used that perfectly professional tone—
“Miss Bukater, this way, please.”
And so she had no choice but to maintain the posture of a proper young lady and return to her room with elegant resignation.
Now she was alone.
Nora sat on the sofa, staring at the painting on the wall to pass the time.
It was a Pablo Picasso painting.
The first thought that crossed her mind was not about artistic value.
Nor about composition.
It was simply that paintings like these would one day be worth a fortune.
And then—
They would sink to the bottom of the ocean along with the ship.
At that thought, she found herself studying it more closely, as if she were using a complimentary ticket to tour a floating museum that was destined to vanish forever.
The room was very quiet.
Quiet enough that she could hear the occasional footsteps beyond the wall, along with the low, steady vibration of the ship itself.
Truthfully—
Nora wanted very much to see the scene for herself.
At the very least, she didn’t want to be completely in the dark.
At the very least, she wanted to know what Tim had discovered.
After all, the situation had already shifted from “stop the ship from hitting the iceberg” to “the captain has been mauled to death by an unidentified creature.”
The story was clearly moving far beyond the boundaries of a normal film.
But she was currently a young aristocratic lady.
And not just any aristocratic lady—
One of those upper-class socialites who drew attention wherever she went.
At a time like this, running to the crime scene in a formal gown would not only break character—
It would be scandalous.
She could already imagine the way people would stare.
And the expression Tim would make.
With that thought, Nora had no choice but to give up.
She leaned back against the sofa, tipped her head upward to stare at the ceiling, and let out a long sigh.
“…Please come back soon.”
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It seemed that heaven had actually heard Nora’s wish.
Familiar footsteps sounded outside the door.
Nora sat upright almost instantly, her eyes fixed on the entrance.
The next second, the door opened.
Tim was back.
But the man who stepped inside looked thoroughly exhausted.
Perhaps it was fatigue.
Perhaps it was the unmistakable shadow that settled over someone who had run into a truly difficult problem.
He barely paused after entering.
Instead, he immediately signaled to Lovejoy, indicating that he was to join him in the study.
The two of them did not need to exchange a single word.
The atmosphere alone made it clear that what they were about to discuss was important.
And—
It was equally clear that there was no intention of including Nora.
Her green eyes widened instantly.
She sat frozen for a single second.
Then she rose to her feet at once.
“Wait.”
The word had barely formed when the two men were already stepping into the study, the door beginning to swing inward.
Nora’s gaze darted around the room.
Beside the fireplace.
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The poker.
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Without thinking, she reached out with her right hand and seized the heavy fireplace poker.
At the very last second, just as the door was about to close, she thrust it decisively into the narrowing gap.
The door jammed.
A dull thud echoed through the room.
Both men stopped at once.
Gripping the poker with both hands, Nora pushed the door back open and marched inside with unmistakable determination.
Lovejoy turned to look at her.
His expression conveyed clear and deeply traditional disapproval, as if to say:
This is not how a lady ought to behave.
Nora, however, did not retreat in the slightest.
She even raised the poker and pointed it at Tim like a conductor’s baton.
Her expression was remarkably solemn.
Her tone formal enough to sound like the delivery of an official safety report.
“I believe I need to be included in this discussion, given what I currently perceive to be a significant safety concern.”
The entire room fell silent for one second.
Tim stood beside the desk, his blue eyes meeting those fiercely determined green ones.
And he arrived at a very reasonable conclusion.
If he refused her now—
There was a high probability that this lady would simply use the fireplace poker as a weapon and force his cooperation.
The image formed in his mind so naturally that he did not spend much time considering it.
Tim nodded.
His answer was yes.
Lovejoy fell silent for a moment.
Then he redistributed that expression of disapproval—
Giving an additional portion of it to his employer.
The moment permission was granted, Nora’s expression relaxed, as if she had just concluded a major diplomatic negotiation.
She immediately discarded her weapon.
The fireplace poker landed on the thick carpet with a muffled thud, causing no actual damage.
Then, as though absolutely nothing unusual had happened, she turned around.
And gently closed the door behind her.
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Nora spoke immediately.
“How bad is it?”
She didn’t bother with polite detours or the delicate phrasing expected of an upper-class young lady.
The woman who had just forced her way into the meeting with a fireplace poker now stood beside the sofa, leaning forward slightly, her green eyes fixed on Tim.
Like an officially seated member of the discussion, waiting for the latest briefing.
Tim didn’t hold anything back.
Standing by the desk with both hands braced against its surface, several hastily written notes and rough sketches spread out before him, he went straight to the point.
“In terms of command, the Second Officer has taken over. Because the change happened suddenly, and because he lacks both the captain’s experience and authority, his first order was to reduce the ship’s speed. Ismay agreed.”
Nora nodded at once.
The tension in her shoulders visibly eased.
At least that was good news.
She let out a breath, and for the first time there was a trace of relief in her voice.
“At least we don’t have to worry about the iceberg for now.”
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Tim continued.
“I examined the body. The time of death was recent. My conclusion is… that he was killed by an external force.”
At that, he turned to Lovejoy.
“You saw the scene as well. What was your first impression?”
The elderly valet stood nearby, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his posture as straight as ever.
He glanced first at the only lady in the room, as if confirming once more that she was truly permitted to take part in this discussion.
Since his employer had already agreed, he withheld nothing.
His voice was low and steady.
“A beast.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Lovejoy continued.
“My first thought was a wild animal. There were wolf packs near my hometown. People attacked by wolves looked like this.”
Tim nodded.
“That was my conclusion as well.”
His tone contained no exaggeration.
He spoke as if stating a conclusion he had been forced to accept after careful reasoning.
“Some kind of creature attacked the captain, but it did not consume him. At present, I cannot determine why it left.”
Nora’s eyes widened instantly.
“So—”
She paused for a moment, making sure she had heard correctly.
“The cause of death… was an animal attack?”
Her voice rose slightly.
“On the Titanic?”
The moment the words left her mouth, even she found them absurd.
This wasn’t the wilderness.
It wasn’t a forest.
It wasn’t some post-apocalyptic ruin.
This was one of the most luxurious ocean liners in the world.
Tim did not argue.
And that silence itself—
Was the answer.
Nora frowned, her mind accelerating rapidly.
“Then why was the captain attacked?”
She looked directly at Tim, her words coming faster.
“There are thousands of people on this ship. Why was the captain the only one targeted?”
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Tim shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The answer was direct.
Then he lifted his eyes, the blue of his irises appearing especially calm beneath the lamplight.
“But I do have a hypothesis.”
Nora immediately straightened even more.
Lovejoy did not move.
The attention of the entire room centered on Tim.
Tim said, “When the captain was attacked, someone else was there.”
Nora’s expression became even more complicated.
“How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
Tim lowered his gaze to the notes spread across the desk, then looked up again.
“Because the captain’s ring is missing.”
His tone remained remarkably steady.
“He wore a wedding band for many years.”
“So either someone deliberately removed it.”
“Or—”
“He took it off himself.”
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Lovejoy spoke next.
“So there is a beast aboard this ship capable of attacking people. The question is—how many people know?”
His tone remained steady, but the question went directly to the central risk.
Information itself was dangerous.
If the truth spread, panic would travel faster than the beast ever could.
Tim leaned against the desk.
After a brief moment of thought, he answered.
“I’m not sure how many people may have guessed the truth, but panic is inevitable if this gets out.”
His fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop, his gaze cool and precise.
“I know nothing about the creature. I don’t know what it is, how many there are, or why it attacked the captain.”
“So I did not share my full conclusion.”
“I only instructed them to remain alert and to increase the number of patrols.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then Tim appeared to reach his next decision.
He rose and crossed to a cabinet along the wall.
Bending down, he began searching through it.
The doors opened.
Metal clicked softly inside.
The next second—
He took out a gun.
And placed it on the desk.
Then he took out a second.
A third.
A fourth.
A fifth.
When he was finished, the desk held two rifles, three handguns, and several boxes of matching ammunition.
The metal reflected coldly in the lamplight, creating an image that should have seemed absurd beside the papers, notes, and teacups spread across the desk.
And yet, somehow, it felt entirely reasonable.
Nora sat on the sofa.
Silent for two full seconds.
Her gaze moved from left to right.
Then from right to left.
She counted them again.
Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at Tim.
A deeply sincere question formed in her mind.
Why, exactly, had this man boarded the Titanic carrying so many guns?
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Tim separated two of the handguns from the others.
The motion was brisk and completely natural, as if he were distributing the most ordinary of tools.
He slid one across the desk to Lovejoy.
Then he pushed the second toward Nora.
The black metal glided over the polished wood and came to a stop in front of her with a soft scraping sound.
Lovejoy looked at the weapon.
Then he glanced at Nora seated across from him.
At last, he could not help speaking.
“Master Tim, is it really appropriate to give a firearm to a lady?”
His tone remained as restrained as any proper valet’s should be, but the question written across his face was unmistakable.
In his worldview, a lady was meant to carry a fan, a handkerchief, and invitations to dances—
Not a loaded weapon.
Tim did not answer Lovejoy immediately.
Instead, he lifted his head and looked directly at Nora.
His blue eyes met hers.
His question was short and straightforward.
“Have you used a gun before?”
The question made Nora pause.
If he was asking Rose—
The answer was obviously no.
A young woman from high society might have seen firearms.
She might even know what they were.
But it was highly unlikely that she had ever fired one.
If he was asking Nora—
That was an entirely different matter.
Her marksmanship had not begun as a hobby cultivated at a shooting range.
It had been forged in real combat.
In situations where lives depended on every pull of the trigger.
Every shot had meant that someone would survive.
Or someone would die.
Those memories did not need to be consciously recalled.
The moment her hand touched a weapon, her body remembered.
Nora lifted her head.
Her expression turned serious.
Then she nodded with deliberate certainty.
Tim asked nothing further.
That answer was enough.
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Nora reached out and picked up the handgun from the desk.
The weight of the metal settled heavily into her palm.
The grip was engraved with intricate patterns and decorative reliefs.
Even the weapon carried the unmistakable luxury of the era.
She lowered her eyes and examined it.
Firearms in this period were possessions of the wealthy.
Iron was expensive.
Craftsmanship was even more so.
For ordinary people, buying a gun was almost unimaginable.
In some cases, a family’s annual expenses might not even cover the cost of a single bullet.
Tim then distributed the appropriate ammunition to both of them.
Lovejoy accepted his weapon and cartridges in silence.
He made the conscious decision to say nothing further.
As a mere servant, he was in no position to understand the rules governing upper-class men and women.
Or rather—
He had given up trying.
Nora glanced down at her elaborate gown.
A delicate beaded reticule hung from her wrist, trimmed with lace and intended to carry face powder, a handkerchief, and other proper accessories for an evening ball.
Silently, she opened it.
She placed the handgun inside.
Then she added the bullets one by one.
The image was profoundly absurd.
A finely crafted nineteenth-century evening bag now contained a lethal weapon and ammunition.
But under the circumstances—
It would have to do.
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Just as the three of them were preparing to continue their discussion and piece together what exactly was happening aboard the ship—
There was a knock at the door.
It was not loud.
But under the circumstances, the sound was startlingly clear.
All three turned at once.
From outside came the maid’s lowered voice, still carrying the impeccable politeness and respect expected in first class.
“Miss Bukater, there is a Mr. De Rossi here to see you.”
Nora blinked.
Her green eyes widened slightly as she searched her memory.
De Rossi?
Who?
She had absolutely no idea.
Under the watchful eyes of Tim and Lovejoy, Nora rose to her feet.
She did her best to keep her movements as graceful as befitted a young lady of high society, though the confusion on her face was impossible to hide.
“Excuse me. I’ll go see what this is about.”
With that, she followed the maid outside.
The door opened.
Standing in the corridor was a visibly nervous young man.
He was dressed plainly, clearly not a first-class passenger.
Both hands clutched his cap so tightly that the brim had nearly been crushed.
His dark brown eyes were filled with anxiety and urgency.
And when he saw that the person emerging from the room was a beautifully dressed aristocratic young woman—
He became even more nervous.
Nora looked at him with obvious confusion.
De Rossi tightened his grip on his cap.
“Miss… I’m sorry…”
His heavy Italian accent was unmistakable, and his voice trembled with hesitation and nerves.
“But I really need help…”
Nora nodded immediately, without the slightest pause.
“Of course. How can I help you?”
De Rossi blinked.
A single thought flashed through his mind.
She even has the personality of an angel.
No wonder Jack told him to come to her.
He lowered his head, his voice growing even softer.
“It’s not for me.”
He swallowed.
“It’s for Jack.”
“He’s badly hurt…”
Something flashed in Nora’s green eyes.
The very next second—
She grabbed him by the collar.
Pulled him bodily into the room.
And slammed the door shut behind them with a loud bang.
The movement was so swift that De Rossi barely had time to react.
Before he could even regain his balance, Nora was already speaking in an unusually serious tone.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Forced to meet those intense green eyes, De Rossi arrived at a new realization.
This young lady…
Might not be as gentle as he had first imagined.
Nervously, he gathered his thoughts.
His Italian accent became even stronger.
“When I found Jack, he was already badly injured. The doctor in third class doesn’t have enough supplies to treat him, so I came to ask for help. I’m sorry for causing trouble…”
Nora ignored the apology entirely.
Instead, she asked the most important question.
“Do you know what caused his injuries?”
De Rossi shook his head at once.
“I don’t know. But his shoulder has a very severe laceration…”
He hesitated.
“And… strange bite marks.”
The moment she heard those words, Nora spun around without asking another question.
As she hurried back toward the study, she called over her shoulder,
“I’m going to get help.”
The maid and De Rossi were left standing in the corridor, neither of them entirely certain what had just happened.
The next second—
Nora pushed open the study door again.
The panel struck the wall with a dull thud.
Tim and Lovejoy looked up simultaneously.
Nora stood in the doorway, her breathing slightly quickened, her eyes brighter than ever.
She spoke without preamble.
“I found out who was with the captain.”
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and then Add to home screen.