Everic takes one of the notes. Reads it. His smile widens—soft, almost tender.
"Your handwriting is really cute."
His voice is soft. Intimate. Like they share a secret I'm not meant to hear.
I stare at them.
What the hell is he doing here?
I don't move. Don't announce myself. I just stand there, half-hidden by the doorway, watching.
How long has he been here?
How long have they been sitting like this?Talking. Laughing. Sharing notes like old friends.
Everic sets the note down carefully—almost reverently—and looks across the table at Silas. His eyes are warm. Too warm.
Silas writes another note. His pencil moves across the page in careful strokes, each letter formed with the same deliberate patience he brings to everything, even waiting for me to come home.
He slides the note across the table.
Everic picks it up. Reads it. And his smile doesn't fade. It widens. Deepens.
