The manor settled into a strange balance.
Investigations continued somewhere beyond view.
Patrols rotated.
Reports moved between desks.
But inside the west study, evenings became… consistent.
Klaine worked.
Arietta stayed.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted to.
She had learned his rhythm.
He reviewed documents quickly.
Rejected inefficiency without raising his voice.
Paused longer when something required strategy rather than reaction.
"You tap twice when you're calculating," she noted one evening.
He did not look up. "Do I."
"Yes. Twice. Then you stop moving completely."
A pause.
"…That is observant."
She smiled.
"I'm rarely bored when you're thinking."
"That is an unusual statement."
"It's entertaining."
He finally glanced at her.
"I am not performing."
"I know."
"That makes it better."
Sometimes she wandered off mid-work.
Explored shelves she hadn't checked.
Asked servants random questions about manor history.
Returned half an hour later as if she had never left.
He never asked where she went.
She noticed that.
"You don't restrict my movement much," she said casually one afternoon.
"You have not given me reason to."
"You trust easily."
"No."
He set a document aside.
"I evaluate."
"And?"
"…You are consistent."
She seemed satisfied with that.
On days he trained with knights, she sometimes watched from the shade.
Not analyzing strength like before.
Just watching.
"You correct posture first," she remarked after a session.
"Foundation determines outcome."
"You prefer stability over aggression."
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"That suits you."
He looked at her briefly.
"You categorize people quickly."
"Only when they're interesting."
Another pause.
"…Am I categorized."
"Yes."
"And."
She tilted her head, considering.
"Still observing."
That earned the faintest shift at the corner of his expression.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
One evening, rain softened the courtyard stones.
The study windows fogged slightly.
Arietta sat cross-legged on the couch instead of properly upright.
He didn't comment.
"You work better at night," she said.
"Fewer interruptions."
"You breathe quieter."
"That is not intentional."
"I know."
Silence fell again.
Comfortable.
She eventually leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
"This is nice."
"What is."
"Nothing happening."
He considered that.
"…You prefer calm."
"I prefer unpredictability," she corrected. "But calm with you is fine too."
The phrasing was casual.
But honest.
He did not answer immediately.
Then:
"You seem less restless."
She rolled onto her side to look at him.
"I'm curious."
"About."
"You."
That was direct enough.
He held her gaze.
"For what purpose."
"No purpose."
She smiled lightly.
"I just want to know what you'll do next."
Not in battle.
Not in politics.
Just in life.
He returned to his papers after that.
But his focus shifted.
Slightly.
And she noticed.
Of course she did.
By the end of the week, the distance between them had shortened without either formally acknowledging it.
She stood closer when speaking.
He allowed it.
She interrupted more freely.
He responded instead of dismissing.
No declarations.
No dramatic tension.
Just—
Time.
And the quiet realization that neither of them minded sharing it.
A few days later, she stopped asking permission before sitting at his desk.
Not on his chair.
On the edge of the desk itself.
He looked up once when she did it.
"You are blocking the light."
She slid two inches to the left.
"Better?"
"…Sufficient."
Progress.
She began reading documents without being invited.
Not confidential war strategy.
He did not leave those within reach.
But trade reports. Supply logs. Minor disputes.
"This merchant is lying," she said casually, holding up a parchment.
He didn't look up immediately.
"Why."
"The numbers are too neat. Real loss statements aren't symmetrical."
He took the page from her.
Read it once.
"…You may be correct."
"I usually am."
"That is statistically unlikely."
She grinned.
"It's more fun to say it confidently."
He exhaled very quietly.
Not quite a laugh.
But closer than before.
Even their silences changed.
Before, they were quiet because neither of them needed to fill the space.
Now—
It was quiet because they were thinking near each other.
A different thing.
One evening, she reached for a teacup at the same time he did.
Their fingers brushed.
Brief.
Accidental.
She didn't pull back immediately.
Just blinked once.
Then handed it to him instead.
"You first."
He accepted it without comment.
But his movements slowed.
A fraction.
Later, as he reorganized tactical markers across a regional map, she stood beside him.
Very close.
"You're going to reinforce the north road," she said.
"Yes."
"You think the next breach will test response time."
"Yes."
She leaned slightly closer to the map.
"And if nothing happens?"
"Preparedness is not wasted."
She nodded.
"You plan for possibilities."
"That is necessary."
She studied him instead of the map now.
"You don't panic when variables appear."
"No."
"You adjust."
"Yes."
Another small silence.
"I like that."
He did not answer.
But he did not move away either.
The shift wasn't dramatic.
It was incremental.
She began walking beside him instead of behind when they crossed hallways.
Servants noticed.
Knights noticed.
No one commented.
One afternoon, rain forced them indoors again.
Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the manor walls.
She was sprawled across the long couch, upside down, hair hanging over the edge.
"You're restless," he said without looking up.
"I want something new to happen."
"Preferably not a monster."
"Maybe a small one."
"No."
She laughed softly.
Then went quiet.
After a moment—
"Does it bother you."
"What."
"That I'm here."
He paused.
Set his pen down.
"No."
She rotated slightly so she could see him properly.
"You didn't hesitate."
"There is nothing to hesitate over."
She watched him carefully.
"You could send me somewhere else."
"Yes."
"You don't."
"No."
"Why."
He met her gaze fully now.
"You have not given me reason to."
That answer again.
Consistent.
Measured.
But beneath it—
Choice.
She turned onto her side properly this time.
Facing him.
"Then I'll stay."
"I am aware."
A faint smile tugged at her mouth.
"Good."
Night fell slower than usual.
Candles burned lower.
Documents finished.
At some point, neither of them was working anymore.
Just sitting in the same room.
Not speaking.
Not needing to.
The distance between their chairs had shortened without either consciously moving them.
When she finally stood to leave, she paused at the doorway.
"Klaine."
"Yes."
"If something interesting happens next…"
He waited.
"I'll tell you first."
A slight tilt of his head.
"I expect nothing less."
She smiled — not wide, not teasing.
Something softer.
Then left the room.
He remained seated for several minutes afterward.
Thinking.
Not about monsters.
Not about investigations.
But about how naturally she had begun to fit into the space beside him.
And how, without noticing when it began—
He had started expecting her there.