Night had reclaimed the house, slow, thick, almost liquid.Every creak of the wood sounded like a whisper no one was meant to hear.Time here stretched like a forgotten breath.
Catarina wasn't sleeping.She had tried to close her eyes, to listen to the silence, but it rejected her like a foreign presence.
Beneath the blanket, the cold seeped through every crack. She turned, sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed. Nothing worked: the night watched over her.
In the next room, Althéa slept peacefully.Her even breathing passed through the wall, light as a lullaby.Catarina, on the other hand, counted the seconds. Every heartbeat thudded too loud, too long.
Finally, she got up.She slipped on a sweater, opened the window.The icy air rushed in immediately, pure, sharp, almost alive.Outside, the snow still fell, slow and shining, like the ashes of stars scattered across the world.
And then, a sound.Faint. A creak from downstairs.A step, slow. Measured.
She closed her eyes. Not now.But her body had already made the choice for her.
Bare feet on the cold floor, she grabbed her coat and went down without a light.Every step seemed to hold its breath with her.
The fire had dwindled to a bed of embers, dark red.The room glowed with a trembling golden light, as if the house were burning its last dream before dawn.
And there, standing by the wall, was Sylus.He didn't speak at once.His face, half-lit, looked more fragile than usual.
"You're not sleeping," he finally said.
"I tried," she whispered." "The silence wouldn't have me."
He gave a faint, dim smile.
"Silence is what's left when you've said everything."
"Or when you don't dare say anything at all."
A shiver passed through the air.The fire cracked softly, throwing flickers of light across their faces.
Catarina moved closer, sitting on the edge of the sofa.Her fingers warmed at the rim of the flames.
"Althéa told me about you," she said softly."Oh?""She admires you. She says you're a good man."
Sylus lowered his head.
"Then she's wrong."
"Maybe not."
"If you knew what I've done…"
"I know enough. And yet, I'm still here."
The words hung, suspending time.He lifted his eyes, and the world froze.The fire, the snow, the house, everything seemed to wait.
"Catarina, if I told you I feel nothing, would you believe me?"
"No."
"If I told you I'm fighting not to see you as anything but a child?"
"Then you're lying to yourself."
He exhaled, trembling.Took a step, then another.The warmth of his presence brushed her skin.
"You don't understand," he said.
"Then explain it to me."
He searched for words and failed.
"This isn't a story you tell. It's a sin you hide."
Catarina smiled, without irony.
"Maybe we're more alike than you think."
Her fingers trembled slightly.She could have stepped back, but she didn't.
"You think I'm naive," she said. "But I know what I'm doing."
"You say that as if you have a choice."
"And you? Do you think you still do?"
He raised his hand. Barely a gesture.His fingers brushed a strand of her hair, without really touching.A breath. A hesitation. And the world fell silent.
"I shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"No."
"And yet…"
"And yet, you are."
The clock chimed, distant.The hour when the world sleeps, except for those who have too much to hide.
Their eyes met one last time.Everything was there: fear, shame, desire, the certainty that they had crossed the invisible line.
Catarina took a step back.The fire crackled, casting a shadow on the wall.
"I should go back up."
"Yes."
But neither moved.Then, slowly, she turned her head and climbed the stairs.Every step sounded like a confession.
Sylus remained alone, motionless, in front of the dying fire.The light trembled across his features, deepening his gaze.He ran a hand over his face, inhaled deeply.
And when the door closed upstairs, he whispered:"It's too late."