The bus empties out. Footsteps drag, bags thump against shins, and the pale evening light slips through the windows like it's apologizing for arriving too late.
Maëlys gets off with us—like every evening now. We don't need words to know it's time to split. Our paths always fork at this stop.
She throws one last look at Hemera. A silent look that says "thank you" without daring to say it. Hypnos answers with a smile and a discreet wink, hands in his pockets.
I don't say anything. I don't look either. Not out of hostility. Just because I know my words would weigh too much…
Maëlys walks away, her bag bouncing lightly against her back, without turning around.
Silence sets in, but it's not the usual kind.
It isn't peace. It's the aftermath.
The sidewalk smells like the dampness of week's end. The air carries that scent of tired asphalt and crushed leaves. People go home. Kids run less. Dogs pull less on their leashes.
Beside me, Hypnos lets out a slow breath—almost imperceptible—as if he's pushing something out of his system without alarming the rest of the world.
Hemera walks without a word, straight and composed, but I can tell she's still thinking about everything that was said today. About what I said.
I remember the look she gave me in class. Not anger. Not reproach. Just a question, suspended.
I don't look back.
We keep walking, the three of us. No faster than usual, but not as light either.
Something still floats above us. A scrap of that sentence I spoke. Of that silence I left.
And even if no one blames me out loud…
I know the balance is cracked.
It's a Friday—the kind of day that ends slower than the others, yet leaves a deeper mark behind.
The door closes behind us with a heavier sound than usual. Maybe because of the silence that followed us from the gate. Or maybe because we all decided, without saying it, not to break whatever was hovering between us.
In the living room, the light is soft, filtered by half-open curtains. At the big table, Epiphron and Elpis are already seated. He's absorbed in a history textbook; she's got a pen between her teeth, eyes lost somewhere above her paper. They're arguing gently over a date—no malice in it—like two rivers crossing before each returns to its bed.
I don't even need to lift my eyes. I know she's about to come.
A light sound—quick—coming from upstairs. Running.
"Moon, not on the stairs, please," Mother calls from the kitchen, soft but firm.
Oizys is already coming down. Barefoot, hair tangled, stuffed animal tucked under one arm. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. She sees me. And she knows.
She reaches me without slowing, slips against my leg before I've even set down my bag. Her small hand finds mine—naturally. I didn't offer it. But she knows where to look. I let her lead me.
In the corner of the living room, the nest of blankets is waiting. Like every evening. I sit without a word. Oizys curls up against me, her forehead resting on my arm. She doesn't ask for anything. She just needs to be here.
The fire is lit. Gentle. Not to heat. To exist.
Hypnos perches on the arm of the couch, swinging his feet to the rhythm of a tune he's not even whistling. Hemera slips into the rocking chair, hands folded on her knees, straight but tired. Her gaze drifts into the flames, but her thoughts are elsewhere.
Mother appears a few seconds later. Dish towel in hand. Hair pinned up. She stops just past the threshold, eyes taking us all in.
She doesn't speak right away. She's a mother used to silences. But this one has a different shape. A density. A restraint.
"You're very quiet—for a Friday night."
No accusation. No irony. But this one has a different shape.
Hemera slowly lifts her eyes to her.
"The day was… full."
"We had philosophy," Hypnos adds, shrugging. "And Thanatos drew attention again."
He says it with a half-smile. Not to mock. To lighten.
But Mother doesn't laugh. She looks my way. I'm still holding Oizys's hand. I don't look away.
"Did something happen?" she asks softly.
Hemera breathes in, sets her palms on her knees like she's anchoring herself.
"Nothing serious. Just… words."
She pauses, then adds:
"But sometimes those are the ones that echo the most."
Mother nods. She understands. She always understands.
She comes closer, runs a hand through Hypnos's hair, brushes Hemera's cheek. Then she kneels, right in front of Oizys and me.
"Want some warm milk, my Moon?"
Oizys nods, without loosening her grip on my hand.
Mother looks at me—without pressing.
"And you? Will you stay by the fire a while tonight?"
I don't answer. But I don't move either. That's an answer already.
I think she knew before we said anything. Mom. She has that silent listening that doesn't ask questions because it's already guessed the answers. Without a word, she fills the cups, then sits nearby. Like you wait for a storm you feel coming—without trying to flee it.
My hand holds the porcelain tighter than I meant to. The warm milk smells of vanilla. Soothing. My thoughts are anything but.
So I talk. For me. For Hypnos. For everything left unsaid today that still weighs on us.
"In philosophy this morning… the theme was: 'Does life draw its value from its finitude?'"
She doesn't react right away, but I see her lift her head a little. Hypnos huffs, vaguely teasing:
"Simple topic. Perfect for Friday at 8 a.m."
I let a small smile slip. Then I go on:
"Zoé spoke up. She talked about living fast, at full volume, because you never know when it ends. She mentioned her father. That he's dead."
Mom nods gently, hands laid flat on her knees.
"She was trying to understand. Or to be understood. She lives like every instant has to carry weight," I murmur. "Like not living at full volume would be a betrayal."
Hypnos straightens a little, elbows on his knees, thoughtful. He adds, musing:
"She wants things to matter. Because she knows they can collapse."
My voice drops:
"And that's when Thanatos spoke."
I don't need to turn to him. He's there, still near the fireplace. Still apart. Oizys, after finishing her hot chocolate, went back to her big brother and is starting to fall asleep against him, her head like it always belonged in that hollow. He doesn't speak, but I know he's listening.
"He said feelings had no intrinsic value. That finitude doesn't grant meaning. That what we call 'value'… is just a mask to avoid being afraid."
I don't quote him word for word. I don't want to. But Mom understands. Her eyes darken a little—without judgment.
"Zoé took it badly. She asked if even what he lives with us doesn't count. If he really thinks everything is… empty. Even that."
Hypnos goes still, a bit—as if reliving it irritates him more now than when it happened.
"And he answered," he breathes. "That no bond lasts. Nothing remains. Not even love."
Mother doesn't move. But I see her gaze drop to the table. Her breathing deepens—barely. Not quite a sigh. But I feel a point of sadness in her.
I finish, half-voice:
"Zoé didn't say anything—at first. But at recess, she caught him in the courtyard. She wanted to understand. To force an answer. Hypnos and I were there. Maëlys too."
"And?" Mom asks softly.
"She was trembling. Not with anger. With… disappointment, maybe. Mostly confusion. She wanted to know if he really believed what he said. If it wasn't a pose—a façade.He answered. Cold. Honest. Like always."
Hypnos looks away.
"It was true. And it was brutal."
"She held back from crying," I add, barely above a whisper. "I saw it. Her eyes were bright. But nothing fell. She left—no shouting, nothing else. And the other girls gathered her in. They took her in their arms—like a shield. Like they could make her forget what she'd just heard."
Silence falls again. Thick, but not heavy.
Mom stands, comes around the table, and pulls us both into a hug.
"Pain doesn't make things truer," she says softly. "But sometimes it makes them more visible. And those are the moments you keep on loving. Even when it's not easy. Even when the one you love thinks it's pointless."
She squeezes us one last time. Then steps back. I don't dare look at Thanatos. I don't know if he heard. But deep down, I know he did. Because Mom wasn't just speaking to us. She was speaking to him too.
But her gaze doesn't soften. It stays fixed on us, like she sees through our silences.
"You're not telling me everything," she murmurs.
Hypnos turns his head. And I squeeze my cup tighter… then give in.
"Thanatos talked about Dad. He said he was never there. That you had to raise us alone."
Mom lowers her eyes for a second, then lifts them again.
"It's true he wasn't there… He chose not to be. Maybe he was only ever good for… passing through. Leaving me pregnant and then disappearing."
Her eyes shine, but her voice stays firm.
"So I made a choice. Instead of wasting my life waiting for him, I gave all my energy to you. All six of you. And I never regretted it. Not for a single second."
She comes back and hugs us again—tighter, this time.
"You are my family. My real present. My only future. And nothing and no one will take that from me."
The day collapsed into silence. No more Zoé. No more classes. Nothing but the soft darkness of my room, closed over me like a familiar lid.
I came home without a word. Like always. Oizys followed. Without a word too. She just lifted her arms when I stopped at the door. I picked her up. She tucked in. And the door closed. Locked out the world.
She didn't ask if she could sleep here. She does, sometimes. When outside is too loud.
Her breathing is already slow, steady against my arm. Her panther plush wedged under her cheek. She doesn't talk. No need. She understands.
I stare at the ceiling. In the dark. Like often. I could stay like this for hours, without moving.
Then… a sound. Discreet. The handle. A double knock, almost muffled. Only Mother knocks like that. I barely shift. She knows.
"Thanatos, it's me," her gentle voice says. "I won't come in. I just wanted to know if… she's with you."
I answer low, without raising my voice.
"She's asleep."
A pause. Then, softer still:
"Thank you."
Another suspended beat. Then, through the door:
"I know you don't want to talk. But if one day you need to, I'll know how to listen. You don't have to exist alone inside your own silence."(A silence. Then, almost a whisper, like a promise.)"I'll stay. Always."
I don't answer. She doesn't mind.
"Good night, my dear."
Her steps fade. The house settles. Oizys shifts in her sleep, searching for my hand without seeing it. I let her. Her small palm finds my wrist. She sighs. Drifts off again.
And I stay there. Eyes open in the dark, Oizys's breath against me. It isn't consolation. It isn't an answer. But it's… bearable. And sometimes, that's enough.