Morning arrived like an uninvited guest, banging at the door and rattling pots in the kitchen. I woke to the sound of something clattering across the table, accompanied by a triumphant whisper that could have woken the dead. The smell of slightly burnt porridge drifted in.
"I did it!"
I cracked one eye open. Arin was perched on a stool, balancing a bowl, a spoon, and what looked like the last shred of his dignity. His face was locked into an expression of intense focus, as if the very world hinged on his handling of oats.
"You're awake," he said, disappointment heavy in his tone.
"So are you," I replied. "Which suggests someone has already failed spectacularly."
He gave a solemn nod. "Next time… I'll be quieter."
"That is exactly what you said yesterday."
"And the day before," Lysa added from the doorway, hair tied back neatly, eyes narrowing like she was reading my very thoughts. "History suggests… you won't improve."
"You don't know that!" Arin shot back, indignation making his cheeks red.
"I do," she said, calm as sunlight pouring through the window. "I've observed you for years."
"That sounds unfairly official."
Avaris appeared behind her, sleeves rolled, expression sharp enough to file me under morning chaos. Her eyes scanned the room, briefly resting on Arin's precarious stool.
"Down," she said.
Instant obedience. Some rule with charm, some with fear. Avaris ruled with certainty.
Breakfast was the usual comedy: Arin inhaled his porridge like it owed him money, Lysa read while sneaking bites, and I sipped my tea, pretending not to notice Avaris checking the windows every few seconds like a sentinel who'd been through one too many "merchant incidents."
The house felt solid, safe, alive. The merchant's shadow had faded, leaving only memory. I brushed my fingers across a faint mark on the desk, a tiny scribble left by someone subtle, but I let it go. No sense worrying today.
After breakfast, Lysa tugged Arin's collar, fixing his outer robe without asking.
"Don't get distracted," she warned.
"I never get distracted," he said, puffing out his chest.
"That's a lie," she said, tightening it just a bit.
"It's optimism," he countered.
Avaris stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "Walk together. There. And back. No detours."
"Yes, ma'am," Lysa replied.
"Yes, ma'am!" Arin saluted, a little crooked.
I frowned. "I can walk them—"
"You're busy," Avaris interrupted. She was right. My list of tasks could rival a small mountain.
I ruffled Arin's hair. "Be careful."
"I always am!" he said.
"Yes… extraordinarily careless," I muttered.
The door closed behind them, leaving a quiet I wasn't used to. The house felt bigger, emptier, and a little fragile.
I set about my work. Notes, diagrams, cold tea. Avaris drifted around, occasionally pointing out a misplaced scroll or a crooked line, but otherwise letting me work.
Eventually, I found her at the window, staring at the lane like she could read the thoughts of carts and travelers.
"You'll wear a path into the floor," I said.
"Old habits," she replied softly.
"So you've said," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
She let out a small sigh, just enough to catch my gaze. "You're observant."
"Married men learn," I said, "mostly to survive."
A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. I stepped closer, brushing a stray hair behind her ear, then rested my hand lightly on her cheek.
"Whatever happens today," I murmured, "you're not alone. I'm with you."
Her breath hitched slightly. I leaned in, teasing, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to her cheek. She blinked, warmth spreading in her expression.
"Don't get used to it," she said, mock stern.
"I plan to," I said, grinning.
We stayed there a moment, just two people in a house that had weathered too many storms. Outside, life went on: carts, dogs barking, a neighbor calling across the lane. Ordinary, but perfect in its own small way.
Time passed. I returned to my notebook, sketching irrigation patterns, but my mind kept drifting. I could almost hear Lysa's instructions, Arin's overconfidence, the faint swish of the wind through the windows.
By late morning, I had managed to correct my diagrams, save the tea, and re-ink most of the sketches. I even managed to find the page where I had neatly calculated the channels for the southern field—though I had no idea how it had survived the earlier ink spill.
By the time noon approached, I was leaning back, stretching and pretending I had accomplished something impressive, at that time,
A shadow fell across the doorway.a knock came. Not loud, not urgent, but firm. I opened the door to see a man in academy colors, posture perfectly straight.
"Sir," he said, voice clipped, "are you Arin Verne's family?"
Behind him, through the courtyard gate, I caught a glimpse of Lysa standing, arms folded, expressions tight with restrained excitement.
"What happened?" I asked.
The man hesitated, then Lysa's sharp gaze met mine.
"He got into a fight," she said.
My stomach sank. "A fight? With—"
She held up a hand. "Don't ask. You'll see soon enough."