The boy was healing.
Slowly, unevenly—like a cracked wall someone kept trying to paint over without ever fixing the damage underneath. But still, it was progress.
His cheeks held the faintest hint of softness now. Not much, but enough that when Aria pinched them, it no longer felt like she was testing the structural integrity of a skeleton.
She tilted his chin left, then right, inspecting him like a particularly judgmental artist.
"Hmm. Still under construction," she muttered. "But at least you no longer look like a haunted coat hanger."
The boy froze. His lashes dropped instantly, and his shoulders tightened as if he'd just been sentenced for a crime he didn't understand.
Aria blinked. *Oh. Right. Internal filter, where are you?*
She clicked her tongue. "Relax. That was a compliment. A slightly aggressive one, but a compliment nonetheless."
He didn't look convinced. *Great,* she thought. *I'm raising a traumatized kitten with abandonment issues and zero tolerance for sarcasm. Fantastic.*
She grabbed a book from the bedside table and lightly tapped his head with it. "Alright. Enough staring into the void like a tragic novel cover. It's time for class."
He looked up, confused. Aria waved the book in front of his face. "And before you judge me—yes, it's fairy tales. No, you don't get an opinion."
He stared at the cover, then at her, his expression screaming: *I am fifteen, not five.*
Aria raised a brow. "You can either read fairy tales with me, or I can drag in a finance textbook and ruin your will to live. Choose wisely."
He stayed silent.
"Exactly," she smirked. "Thought so."
She flipped the book open and began reading, her voice low and steady. "There were five peas in a pod…"
At first, he listened stiffly, as if he expected the moment to shatter. He seemed to think kindness always came with a hidden invoice. But slowly, something shifted. His gaze drifted—not to the book, but to her. Aria was leaning casually against the headboard, reading like this was the most natural thing in the world. No cold aura, no suffocating authority. Just… warmth.
He didn't know the word for it, but if he had to try? It felt safe.
Aria paused mid-sentence and flicked his forehead. "Focus. I'm not performing for free."
He blinked and nodded. *Good,* she thought. *Minimal progress, but I'll take it.*
When the story ended, she snapped the book shut. "Alright. Pop quiz. What was it about?"
He stiffened. His fingers clenched into the blanket. His lips parted, then pressed shut.
Frustration flared in his eyes—sharp, painful. Aria saw it instantly and groaned. *Right. Genius move, Aria. Ask the guy who can barely speak to summarize literature. Truly groundbreaking.*
He startled, then hesitantly reached out. His fingers touched her wrist—light, careful, as if he thought she might vanish. He shook his head. *Don't hurt yourself.*
That's what it meant.
Her expression softened, just for a second. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," she muttered. "No self-inflicted damage. Noted." She reopened the book. "New plan. I read. You repeat. We build from there."
She spoke slowly. "There… is… one…"
"There…" he tried.
His voice was rough, fragile—like broken glass dragged across stone.
"…one…"
He stopped, his breathing uneven, but his eyes were shining. Aria leaned back, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Not bad. See? Not impossible. You're just dramatic."
Two hours later, she closed the book. "That's enough for today. Any more and your brain might file a complaint."
He looked reluctant, as if he didn't want her to leave. *Dangerous,* she thought. *Very dangerous.* She stood up and pulled the blanket over him. "Sleep. Heal. Exist peacefully for once." She paused, then added, softer, "When you wake up, we'll eat together."
His fingers tightened around the blanket—a silent agreement.
Later, in the study, Aria sat behind the massive desk, her posture straight, her expression cold enough to freeze hell over. Across from her stood a man—tall, sharp-eyed, and dangerous in the way only someone who had survived too much could be.
"Don't kneel," she said flatly as he moved to do so. He froze. "Understood."
"Good. I'm not running a medieval drama." She leaned back, tapping the armrest. "Report."
"The situation with Darius Kade is escalating," the man said. "He's expanding into territories he shouldn't be touching."
Aria's lips curved faintly. "Ambitious. I like that. Also makes him easier to bury."
The man—Kael Verin—didn't react. Smart.
"I want you to push him," she continued. "Make him greedy. Make him reckless. Then we dismantle everything at once."
"Understood."
"And your loyalty?"
He met her gaze directly. "Yours."
Aria smirked. "Good answer."
Because the wrong one wouldn't have been given a second chance.
Back in the bedroom, the boy was awake. He hadn't slept; he'd spent the time staring at the ceiling as if it might vanish if he blinked.
When Aria walked in, his gaze snapped to her instantly. *Still there. Still real. Still… his anchor.*
She noticed. Of course she noticed.
"Wow," she muttered. "That stare is intense. Should I be concerned?"
He hesitated, then slowly pointed at himself, then at her, then made a questioning gesture.
Aria paused. "You want to say something?"
He nodded and struggled. His lips trembled.
"…na…"
Nothing. Frustration twisted his face. Aria watched quietly, then sat down beside him. "Hey," she said, softer this time. "No rush. We're not in a race."
He swallowed and tried again. "…na…me…"
Progress. Her eyes lit up. "Oh. You want to tell me your name?"
He froze, then slowly shook his head. *No.*
Aria frowned. "Then… you want to know mine?"
Another head shake. She blinked. "Okay, now you're confusing me on purpose."
He took a shaky breath, then pointed at himself again. Aria went still.
*Oh.*
*He doesn't know his own name.*
Something cold settled in her chest—sharp and furious. She didn't show it, instead leaning back to study him. "Well, that's inconvenient," she said casually. "Guess I'll have to give you one."
His eyes widened, waiting, careful—as if the moment mattered more than anything. Aria rested her chin on her hand, pretending to think, though she had already decided.
"Rowan," she said. The name landed softly. "Rowan Hale."
Silence. Then, something broke—not in a bad way, but like chains quietly unlocking.
His lips moved. Slow. Careful. "…Ro…wan…"
Aria smiled—small, rare, real.
"Yeah," she said. "That's you."
Rowan Hale. And for the first time, he looked like someone who actually existed.