Evening fell slowly, like a weary prayer. Outside, snow covered the world with a white shroud, muffling even the whisper of the wind.
In the grand living room, the fire danced in the hearth. The glow from the flames slid across the black piano and over walls heavy with memories.
Catarina sat near the fire, knees tucked beneath a blanket Althéa had given her.
The warmth brushed her skin, yet she felt cold inside. Each crackle of the fire seemed to murmur a name she no longer wanted to hear.
She lifted her gaze, he was there. Sylus, standing a few meters away, a cup of coffee in hand. His shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. A simple, almost peaceful image, and yet every part of her tensed.
"Can't sleep?" he asked softly.
His voice was low, steady, almost soothing.
Catarina shook her head.
"Not really. Too many thoughts."
Silence fell, then one step, then another. He sat in the armchair across from her.
The firelight cast shifting shadows across his face, drawing in his eyes an old weariness.
"Althéa's already asleep," he murmured.
"Yes… she fell asleep quickly."
"She likes you a lot, you know. She doesn't often have real friends."
'Neither do I," she whispered.
Their eyes met. Time folded between two breaths. She looked away first.
"You… well, you're a good father."
A short, joyless laugh escaped him.
"You're wrong, Catarina."
"We do what we can," she murmured.
"No. We do what we dare. The rest is a lie."
Her name in his mouth felt like a wound made tender. She closed her eyes. Every word rekindled what she tried to smother.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she dared to ask.
"Because I'm trying to understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why everything I've built collapses the moment you walk into a room."
His words hung in the flickering firelight. She felt the sting of tears before they fell.
"You have no right to say that," she whispered.
"And you have no right to be here."
Silence closed in around them. Outside, the snow brushed gently against the windows, as if the world itself wanted to erase their voices.
He set down his cup, rose, and took two steps toward the fire.
His shadow swallowed the light.
"Catarina…"
She shook her head, backing away.
"Don't say anything."
But he didn't. He only looked at her, and that was worse.
The fire, their breaths, time itself, all shrank into that narrow space between them. Her heart beat too fast, so hard she feared it would betray her.
Then, the sound of footsteps upstairs, a door, a light step. Althéa.
The spell broke.Sylus looked away, stepped back. Catarina inhaled sharply, dragged back to reality.
"Good night," he said simply. And he left, without turning back.