But when Carlo returned, the shack was empty.
The door creaked softly as he opened it, revealing nothing but the dim interior and the sewing cloth Irene had left behind. She must have gone somewhere, most likely to meet this "friend" she refused to talk about.
In that case, Carlo was stuck.
He had no idea where to begin.
He couldn't just wander the entire village searching for someone he'd never seen. For all he knew, Irene could be anywhere, at the church, by the woods, by the river.
A quiet sigh escaped him as he turned toward the door to leave again.
But then,
a sound.
The noise came from behind the shack.
Carlo froze. Then he moved toward the sound, slow and cautious, each step placed carefully to avoid snapping a twig. If Irene was really meeting someone, he couldn't let her notice him yet. Not until he understood who she was with… and why she hid it.
He slipped around the side of the shack and finally reached the back.
There,
under the old oak tree,
he found his sister.
Alone.
Irene sat on the ground, her back leaning slightly against the trunk, her hands resting in her lap. She wasn't doing anything. Just waiting. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, soft and unfocused, as if her thoughts had drifted somewhere far beyond this little corner of the woods.
Carlo's steps halted.
He studied her carefully from afar.
Her expression was blank, empty in a way that unsettled him.
Detached.
As if the world around her barely existed.
As if anyone could walk right up to her, and she wouldn't notice until they spoke.
It wasn't a peaceful kind of calm.
It was the kind that came when someone was lost in thoughts too deep to climb out of.
Carlo felt something twist in his chest.
He had come here expecting to catch her smiling secretly, maybe laughing quietly with a new friend. He expected joy, excitement, maybe embarrassment.
He wanted to approach her.
To sit beside her. Maybe ask what she was thinking, what weighed so heavily in her small chest.
He took a step forward,
And stopped when the bushes behind Irene rustled.
Someone was coming.
There he was.
The "friend" Irene had been meeting.
A small figure approached from behind the oak tree, stepping carefully over the roots. Carlo's breath caught in his throat as the boy came into view. He didn't know what he expected, Irene laughing with someone, talking quietly, handing out treats, but the sight of this boy walking toward her with such familiarity still struck him.
Irene, however, noticed nothing.
She remained in her daze, eyes fixed somewhere above the clouds, her mind drifting far away from the world beneath her feet. She didn't even flinch at the soft footsteps drawing closer.
Carlo remained crouched behind the bushes, frozen in place.
He didn't know what to do.
Should he step out?
But his curiosity outweighed everything else
So he stayed hidden and watched.
The boy, Adrian, though Carlo did not yet know his name, reached Irene's side. He hesitated for a brief second, studying her stillness, her far-away gaze. Then, he reached out and patted Irene softly on the head.
Waking someone from a dream.
Irene blinked, startled, pulled abruptly back into the real world. She turned her head in confusion,
Then her entire expression lit up.
Her eyes widened.
Her lips curved upward.
Her whole face brightened with a happiness so sudden, so pure, that Carlo felt it like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was as if a dam inside her had burst open and warmth flooded through all at once.
Genuinely, unmistakably happy.
Happy to see him.
Carlo felt something tighten.
He hadn't realized, hadn't wanted to realize, just how alone Irene had been all this time. How hungry she was for company. How starved she was for a friend.
That boy.
Carlo squinted through the branches, studying him closely.
The "friend" she had been hiding.
There was something familiar about him, his posture, his clothes, the shape of his face. Carlo was certain he had seen him somewhere before. Perhaps around the village? Maybe in passing by the market? Maybe he mistook him for one of the children who bullied Irene before…
Maybe that was why Irene hid him.
Maybe she feared Carlo would think he was another troublemaker.
Maybe she worried Carlo would forbid their friendship.
The realization made a strange mix of emotions stir
A part of him felt proud, ashamed
A part of him felt something else.
Because seeing that smile on Irene's face…
seeing her eyes soften like that…
made him understand just how much she needed this friend.
Whoever he was.
Carlo couldn't bring himself to interrupt them.
With that simple, bright smile Irene gave the boy, Carlo understood something.
He didn't belong here.
Not in this quiet little world the two children had created behind the shack.
He had come seeking answers, and he'd found them, more than enough, in fact. Irene wasn't being harmed. She wasn't being bullied.
That alone was enough for Carlo to step back.
If he lingered any longer, he feared he might start thinking too much, wondering whether he was being replaced, whether he had failed as her brother, whether Irene preferred the company of this boy to his own. Thoughts he did not want to face. Thoughts he refused to let poison what he felt watching her smile.
So he quietly retreated.
One slow step after another, Carlo slipped away from the bushes, careful not to make a sound. The moment he was far enough, he turned and walked back toward the shack, the forest's shade draping over him like a sigh.
When he reached the door, he let out a deep exhale, long, heavy, tired.
What am I even doing…?
He had spied on his own sister.
And crept around like a thief.
All because he was worried, and because he couldn't bear being left in the dark.
Now he knew enough.
With that, Carlo straightened himself, shook off the lingering unease, and headed back toward the village again, this time for actual work.
The day was still young, and life would not wait just because he got lost in his own thoughts.
***
Ending his visit to Irene, Adrian returned to the Niviane manor as the afternoon settled into a quiet glow. As he stepped through the corridor, he found Eleanor waiting for him, standing with perfect posture against the pale walls. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze sharp, maybe she had been standing there for quite some time.
"Where have you been?"
she asked without turning her head fully, her voice flat.
Adrian paused. He thought for a moment, choosing his answer carefully.
"…Nothing. I was bored at home."
Eleanor's eyes narrowed slightly, not enough to accuse him directly, but enough to make it clear she didn't believe a word of it. Still, she said nothing on the matter.
"Charles is looking for us,"
Adrian's brows lowered. Charles? Calling both of us?
If it were trivial, Charles would have waited until family dinner. The fact that he summoned them now meant something had come up.
"All right," Adrian replied.
Eleanor didn't respond. She simply held her suspicious stare for a moment longer, then turned and walked away, leaving Adrian alone in the long corridor, the cold silence settling behind her steps.
When Adrian entered the parlor, the atmosphere shifted immediately. Charles and Eleanor were already inside. Eleanor sat neatly on a sofa, her legs crossed, her attention fixed on a book she wasn't actually reading. Charles sat across from her, leaning back, fingers resting against his chin, clearly deep in thought.
Adrian approached and took the empty seat beside them, glancing briefly at Eleanor, who still pretended to be absorbed in her book, then at Charles, whose distant expression made the room feel heavier.
Noticing Adrian's arrival, Eleanor closed her book with a quiet thump, her gaze shifting from Charles to him.
"Aren't you going to speak now?" she asked bluntly.
Her voice snapped Charles out of his thoughts. He blinked, straightened a little, then scanned the room as if just realizing both his siblings were here.
"Oh, Adrian. When did you arrive?"
Adrian didn't answer.
It was obvious Charles had called them here for a reason, and Adrian was waiting for him to finally say it.
"So what's the special occasion?"
Eleanor asked again, her tone light but sharp, cutting into the silence like a blade.
Charles exhaled quietly. His fingers curled once, nerves flickering beneath his composed appearance. He opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed, then finally forced himself to speak.
"Father is… returning."