Alger sat at the dining table in Eleanor's chamber, skimming through a stack of documents as he waited. His sharp eyes flickered up when the door to the dressing room opened. Eleanor stepped out, accompanied by her maid, Tina. She wore a casual yet elegant home dress, though it was slightly askew, her ginger hair refusing to fall smoothly due to the bandages wrapped around her injured head.
Without a word, Alger rose from his seat and pulled out a chair for her, his usual silent gesture of care. Eleanor nodded in quiet acknowledgment before sitting down.
In the past three days, this morning routine had become familiar. While waiting for the servants to bring breakfast up to the third floor—a task that always took at least five minutes—Eleanor would chat with Alger about trivial matters.
Their conversations were simple, sometimes awkward, but they had become a bridge between them, a fragile thread of sibling closeness that Alger found himself looking forward to.
