Chapter Four: The Crack in the Ice
Winter tightened its grip that afternoon, the wind turning sharp enough to rattle the loose shingles on the roof. Syan felt the chill seep into his bones, a dull ache that settled in his useless limbs. Lila had gone quiet after her story about school, her usual chatter replaced by the soft clink of dishes as she tidied up in the kitchen. He knew that silence—she was thinking too hard about something, and it usually meant trouble.
"Lila?" he called, his voice cracking slightly from the cold air drying his throat. "What's going on in there?"
Her footsteps paused, then hurried back to his room. "Nothing's going on," she said too quickly, her tone pitched higher than usual. She was a terrible liar—he didn't need to see her face to know she was chewing her lip, the way she always did when she was nervous.
"Spit it out," he said, keeping his voice steady. "You're pacing like a cat stuck indoors."
She huffed, dropping into the chair beside him with a dramatic flop. "Fine. It's not a big deal, okay? Just… something Mrs. Carter said when I went to thank her for the jam."
His stomach tightened. Mrs. Carter didn't mince words, and anything she'd said to put Lila on edge couldn't be good. "What'd she say?"
Lila hesitated, her fingers drumming on the armrest. "She heard from someone at the market that… that Mom and Dad might be back in town. Not here, like, in our house, but somewhere nearby. Maybe a few miles away."
The words hit him like a punch, knocking the air from his lungs. He hadn't thought about them in weeks, maybe months—had trained himself to shove those memories into a box and lock it tight. Now the lid was cracking open, and he didn't know what to feel. Anger? Hope? Nothing at all? "Might be," he repeated, his voice flat. "That's all she said?"
"Yeah. She wasn't sure, just passing it along. Said she didn't want us getting blindsided if it was true." Lila's voice softened, tentative. "What do you think?"
He didn't answer right away. His mind churned, pulling up flashes of the last time he'd heard their voices—his mother's clipped "we'll figure it out" and his father's gruff "this isn't working" as they walked out the door. They'd left him here, a useless heap, and Lila, a kid with no one else. If they were back, what did it mean? Did they want forgiveness? A second chance? Or were they just passing through, too ashamed to even knock?
"I think it doesn't matter," he said finally, the words rougher than he meant them to be. "They're not here now, are they?"
Lila didn't reply, but he heard her shift, the chair creaking under her weight. "I guess not," she said, quiet now. "But… what if they come back? Like, really come back?"
"Then we deal with it," he said, forcing a firmness he didn't feel. "But don't hold your breath, Lila. They didn't want us then. Why would they now?"
She didn't argue, but the silence that followed was heavy, thicker than the cold pressing against the walls. He hated this—hated that he couldn't see her face, couldn't tell if she was scared or angry or just sad. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close like he used to when she was little and crying about a scraped knee, but his arms stayed limp, mocking him.
"Let's read more of the book," he said, desperate to shift the air between them. "You left off with the dragon winning, right?"
"Yeah," she said, her voice brightening a little. She grabbed the book, the pages rustling as she found her place. "Okay, so the knight's down, but he's got this secret weapon—a spear made of ice. The dragon doesn't see it coming…"
She dove into the story, her words painting the clash of fire and frost, the dragon's roar echoing through a frozen valley. Syan let it pull him in, let it drown out the questions gnawing at him. His parents might be out there, shadows circling closer, but in here, it was just him and Lila, holding the line against the cold.
Outside, the wind howled louder, like it was trying to break through. Inside, her voice held steady, a thread of warmth he clung to with everything he had.