Nephele did not announce her return.
She rarely did anymore. Silence revealed more than greetings ever could.
The house breathed with motion; uneven, lively, blessedly mundane. Afternoon light spilled through warped shutters, stretching gold across the floor where her wards had claimed the common room as their battlefield, stage, and refuge all at once.
Don Quixote stood atop a chair, broom raised like a knight’s lance. “Stand fast!” he proclaimed. “The giants test our resolve!” Damascus Steel sat near the window, blade balanced across his lap as he polished it with patient precision. The motion was ritual more than necessity; steady, grounding, familiar.
Cass a’Nueva sprawled across a bench with practiced irreverence, flipping a coin across his knuckles. “You’ve committed too early,” Cass remarked lazily. “You’ll never recover the field.”
Nephele watched from the doorway, arms folded.
All of them alive. Seemingly well. Bellies full after preparing so many meals for the luxurious lifestyles everyone’s wards in town seemed to have developed.
The noise pressed gently against the lingering quiet Runeheim had left behind in her thoughts. Here, chaos meant safety. Argument meant comfort. No one whispered out of fear.
Then Aurelia’s voice carried from the adjoining room. Not sharp with indulgence. Not theatrical complaint.
“He has never missed it,” Aurelia weeped, pacing somewhere just beyond sight. “Not once. I accounted for travel delays. Trade routes. Even weather!”
Aurelia entered moments later, clutching a dustless bottle of deep red Etruvian wine — unopened, carefully handled, as though it were something sacred rather than consumable. Her collection had grown since Nephele last saw it. Bottles lined shelves now like preserved memories. She no longer drank them. She simply kept them. Proof of finer days. Of promises. Of control.
“My birthday feast,” Aurelia continued, voice tight with wounded dignity. “Prepared properly for once. Seating arranged. Imported spices. And Tomaso…” Her words faltered. The wards quieted instinctively.
“He always arrives late,” she said, softer now. “But he arrives.” Her gaze found Nephele. Hope hid poorly beneath expectation. “You’ve heard from him.”
It was not a question. Nephele’s silence answered anyway. Aurelia’s posture stiffened, chin lifting as composure fought its way back into place. She turned the wine bottle slowly in her hands, inspecting the label though she clearly did not see it.
“I saved this one,” she murmured. “I wanted to open with my brother. To celebrate. Anything, not even just me” She placed it carefully back upon the shelf. Unopened. Waiting.
Cass stopped his coin mid-motion. Damascus lifted his eyes but did not speak. Even Quixote lowered his broom, sensing the shift without understanding it fully.
Tomaso should have filled this room with excuses and charm. He would have brought gifts wrapped poorly but chosen perfectly. He would have convinced Aurelia the delay itself was part of the celebration. He never forgot her birthday. Ever. He was always there for her, he was her brother afterall.
Nephele crossed the room, her hand brushing the back of Tomaso’s usual chair near the hearth. Set neatly. Unused. The feast table was slowly and quietly being put away by Aurelia’s elderly aunties, one plate untouched, candles burned low from waiting too long. If Tomaso were free, he would have come. For Aurelia, he always came.
A quiet certainty settled into Nephele’s chest, cold and immovable. This was not carelessness. This was absence. Something filled the pit of her stomach, it felt like dread.
Behind her, the wards resumed movement cautiously, noise returning in careful fragments. Aurelia stood before her collection of untouched wines, surrounded by celebrations deferred indefinitely. Nephele’s expression hardened. Home had welcomed her back. But something vital was missing from it. Someone knew why Tomaso had not walked through that door. And Nephele intended to find out who, it not find Tomaso himself.
She sat at her empty space amongst the table where the aunties quietly put away all the place settings. One went to grab Tomaso’s but stopped when met with the sharp stare from Nephele. As if clairvoyant, she left it there to wait for his appearance.
Nephele pulled out her writing kit and used her new knowledge on how to read and write to avoid forcing Aurelia to pen a letter in tear stained ink to Tomaso. She would find him for her beloved cousin. Seeing Aurelia in such a state weighed too heavily on her heart. She began to write.