The following day arrived wrapped in a deceptive calm.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains of John's room, casting soft shadows across the perfectly arranged walls. The silence was nearly absolute, broken only by the distant singing of birds in the mansion's gardens.
John opened his eyes.
Not sluggishly, nor in alarm. He simply woke up, as if his body had decided it was time to continue.
He sat up in bed and looked around the room that had been assigned to him. Everything remained exactly as he had left it the night before: every object in its place, every shadow where it belonged.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet, his mind replayed fragments of the previous day, over and over again.
Helena's smile.
The tone of her voice.
Her eyes avoiding him… and then lingering far too long.
John got out of bed and dressed with calm, precise movements. As he smoothed his shirt, his reflection in the mirror held his attention for a few seconds. He tilted his head slightly, as if assessing something he couldn't quite understand.
He left the room with silent steps, walking through the mansion's wide corridors. The antique paintings, elegant statues, and immaculate carpets seemed to watch him as he passed, as though the place itself were alive… and judging every visitor.
In the dining room, Camila was already seated, holding a cup of coffee in both hands. Her posture was straight and elegant, but her gaze seemed lost in some undefined distance.
"Good morning, Mother," John said as he entered.
Camila looked up and offered him a faint smile.
"Good morning, John. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," he replied. "The bed was comfortable."
Camila nodded and took a small sip of her coffee. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable… but it wasn't entirely peaceful either.
"Today will be a long day," she said at last. "Your Aunt Helena will be coming with her children. There will be another family gathering—more formal."
John inclined his head slightly.
"Is there any particular way I should behave?"
The question made Camila tighten her grip on the cup.
"Just… be yourself," she replied after a brief pause. "That will be enough."
John nodded. He didn't ask what being himself actually meant. For Camila, it seemed like an obvious answer. For him, not so much.
A little later, Romeo appeared in the dining room, wearing the same relaxed expression as the day before.
"Good morning, champ," he greeted, gently ruffling John's hair. "Ready to meet your cousins?"
"If that is what they wish, then I will be," John replied politely.
Romeo let out a short laugh.
"Always so serious," he commented. "Don't worry—we'll try to make sure you have a little fun today."
John didn't respond. He only observed.
Later on, as the mansion staff moved back and forth preparing everything for the gathering, John stood by one of the windows on the upper floor hallway. From there, he could see the central garden—wide and meticulously maintained.
"So you're a mistake…"
The voice rose behind him, low, almost accidental.
John didn't flinch.
He slowly turned his head and found one of the younger servants, who seemed not to have realized he had spoken out loud. When the boy noticed John's gaze, he went pale.
"I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to—" he stammered.
John watched him for several seconds. His expression was neutral, calm… almost empty.
"Don't worry," he said at last. "You were only repeating words that already existed."
The servant didn't know how to respond. He lowered his head and hurried away.
John turned his gaze back to the garden.
His eyes reflected the deep green of the trees… but beneath that reflection, something far deeper stirred in silence.
The gathering had not yet begun.
And yet, John had the feeling that this day would mark something he could no longer ignore.
⸻
The afternoon arrived without announcement.
The family gathered in the dining room, following an unchanging Xentras tradition: breakfast, lunch, and dinner were shared together, without exception.
The conversations at the table no longer touched on business or important decisions. Instead, small words drifted by—trivial memories and light remarks, exchanged without haste, as if everyone understood that this moment was meant to remain superficial.
The sound of the main door interrupted the calm.
Familiar footsteps echoed through the hallway before Helena appeared at the dining room entrance, accompanied by her husband. Behind them came their two children: a girl with an attentive gaze and a boy who observed everything with quiet curiosity.
"We arrived a bit late," Helena said with a smile as she removed her coat. "Traffic was worse than usual."
"That's fine," someone at the table replied, gesturing toward the empty chairs. "We were just about to begin."
The children took their seats with a hint of shyness. The girl greeted them with a brief nod; the boy murmured a greeting barely above a whisper. Helena watched them for a moment before sitting down, as if making sure they were comfortable.
"How was the trip?" one of the relatives asked.
"Calm," Helena's husband replied. "The kids slept through most of it."
The conversation resumed its flow, now centered on simple anecdotes. Helena listened attentively, intervening only when necessary. More than once, her gaze drifted toward John, lingering on him for just an instant before returning to her plate, as if she wanted to say something… but chose to save it for later.
The dining room filled once again with soft voices and the sound of cutlery. At first glance, everything seemed normal.
And yet, beneath that carefully maintained routine, there was a silent expectation—a sense that this reunion was not as casual as it appeared.