Chapter Three: Shadows on the Wall
The morning arrived with a dull gray light Syan couldn't see but could feel—a heaviness in the air that pressed against his chest. Lila was already up, her footsteps pattering around the kitchen as she clattered pots and muttered to herself. The faint smell of burning toast drifted into the room, a sign she was trying to make breakfast again. He smiled faintly despite the ache in his throat. She never gave up, even when the bread came out more charcoal than food.
"Syan! You awake?" she called, her voice bouncing off the walls. She didn't wait for an answer before barreling in, a plate balanced in her hands. "I made toast. It's… uh, a little crispy, but it's still good. Promise."
He tilted his head toward her, the closest he could get to meeting her gaze. "Crispy's fine. Smells like you're getting better at it."
She snorted, setting the plate on the rickety table beside his bed. "Liar. Last time you said it tasted like coal. But I put some jam on it this time—strawberry, your favorite. Mrs. Carter gave me a jar from her pantry yesterday."
Mrs. Carter was the old widow next door, a gruff woman with a sharp tongue and a hidden soft spot for Lila. She'd started slipping them bits of food after noticing how thin Lila's cheeks had gotten last winter. Syan hated that they needed the help, hated that he couldn't do anything to change it, but he was grateful all the same. "Tell her thanks," he said quietly.
"I will. She asked about you again, you know. Wanted to know if you're feeling any better." Lila's tone shifted, careful now, like she was stepping around something fragile.
He didn't answer right away. The truth was a weight he carried alone—no better, no worse, just the same slow fade. "Tell her I'm hanging in there," he said finally. It wasn't a lie, not really.
Lila hummed, unconvinced, but didn't push. She dragged the chair closer and sat, the scrape of its legs against the floor a familiar sound. "I've got school soon, but I'll be back quick. You want me to leave the book with you? I marked the page with the dragon fight."
"Nah, save it for tonight," he said. "It's better when you read it."
"Okay, but no peeking ahead in your head," she teased, tapping his arm lightly. "I know you make up your own endings sometimes."
He chuckled, a dry rasp that made his chest twinge. "Guilty."
She lingered for a moment, then stood, her sneakers squeaking as she grabbed her bag. "I'll be back before you know it. Don't go anywhere, okay?"
"Where would I go?" he shot back, and she laughed, the sound trailing after her as she darted out the door.
Then it was quiet. Too quiet. The house settled into its usual stillness, the kind that pressed in from all sides and made his thoughts too loud. He hated these hours alone, when the world shrank to the creak of the walls and the faint whistle of his own breathing. Without Lila's chatter, the emptiness crept closer, whispering memories he didn't want to hear.
He remembered his mother's face—or what he could recall of it. Soft brown eyes, a crooked smile, hands that used to stroke his hair when he was scared. She'd called him her "little soldier" back then, said he was brave for facing the dark. But when the dark got bigger, when it swallowed his legs and his hope, she stopped saying it. Stopped looking at him altogether. His father had been worse—distant even before the illness, a man who preferred fixing engines to fixing family. Syan wondered sometimes if they were still out there, living new lives without the burden of a broken son and a daughter too young to leave behind.
A sharp creak snapped him out of it—the wind shoving at the window again. He focused on that instead, counting the gusts like a lifeline. One, two, three… anything to keep the shadows at bay.
Hours later, the door banged open, and Lila's voice flooded in, bright and breathless. "Syan! You won't believe what happened at school today!" She dropped her bag with a thud and launched into a story about a kid named Timmy who'd accidentally set off the fire alarm with a science experiment gone wrong. Her words tumbled over each other, painting a picture of chaos and laughter he could almost see.
He let her ramble, her energy washing away the morning's gloom. She was his shield, his spark, and as long as she kept talking, the shadows couldn't touch him. Not yet.