Chapter Five: The Weight of Waiting
The rumor about their parents lingered like a splinter under Syan's skin, impossible to ignore. By evening, the house felt smaller, the walls closing in as the wind battered them relentlessly. Lila had finished the dragon chapter, her voice trailing off as the knight's icy spear found its mark. She'd closed the book with a quiet "to be continued," but her usual spark was dimmer, muted by the same uncertainty that gnawed at him.
She stayed close, though, perched on the edge of his bed instead of retreating to the chair. He could hear her breathing, quick and uneven, like she was holding something back. "You okay?" he asked, tilting his head toward her.
"Yeah," she said, too fast again. "Just… thinking."
"About them?" He didn't need to say who.
A pause, then a soft, "Yeah." She shifted, the mattress creaking under her. "Do you ever miss them, Syan? Like, really miss them?"
The question caught him off guard, a blade slipping past his defenses. Did he? He'd spent so long burying the hurt, piling anger and indifference on top of it, that he wasn't sure what was left underneath. "Sometimes," he admitted, his voice low. "Not them now, though. The them from before. When things were… normal."
She didn't say anything for a moment, and he wondered if she was picturing it too—their mother singing off-key in the kitchen, their father tossing a ball in the yard. "I don't remember that as well as you do," she said finally. "I was too little. But I remember you. You were always there, even when they weren't."
His throat tightened, a lump he couldn't swallow. "I'm still here," he said, the words rough but steady. "Always will be."
"I know." Her voice cracked, just a little, and he felt the bed shift as she leaned closer. Her hand found his, resting lightly on his curled fingers. She didn't squeeze—she knew he couldn't feel it—but the warmth was enough. "I just… what if they want to take me away? If they come back and say I'm too young to stay here?"
The fear in her voice sliced through him, sharper than the cold. He hadn't thought of that—not really. He'd assumed if they showed up, it'd be about guilt or pity, not about tearing them apart. But Lila was eleven, still a kid in the eyes of the world, and he… he was a cripple who couldn't even feed himself. If someone decided she needed "proper care," what could he do to stop it?
"They won't," he said, forcing certainty into his tone. "They left us, Lila. They don't get to waltz back in and act like they own you. And if they try, I'll—" He stopped, the words drying up. He'd what? Fight them? Yell? He couldn't even stand.
"You'll glare at them real hard," she finished for him, a faint laugh breaking through her worry. "You've got that look, you know. Even without moving, you can make people feel like they're shrinking."
He snorted, a weak sound that eased the tension in his chest. "Yeah, I'll scare them off with my menacing stare."
"Exactly." She giggled, and the sound was a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of his own helplessness. "We're a team, right? Dragon and knight. They don't stand a chance."
"Right," he said, letting her optimism anchor him. "Team Stillness."
She laughed again, louder this time, and for a moment, the house didn't feel so small. But the quiet returned too soon, creeping in as her laughter faded. She stayed where she was, her hand still on his, and he listened to her breathing slow, steadying into the rhythm of someone fighting sleep.
"Lila," he said softly, "go to bed. You've got school tomorrow."
"Mm-hmm," she mumbled, already half-gone. "In a minute…"
She didn't move, and he didn't push. He let her stay, her presence a shield against the questions he couldn't answer. What if they did come back? What if they tried to take her? The thoughts circled like vultures, but he shoved them down, focusing on the faint warmth of her hand instead.
Outside, the wind screamed, a reminder of the world beyond their walls. Inside, it was just the two of them, waiting—though for what, Syan wasn't sure. All he knew was that he'd hold on to her as long as he could, no matter who or what tried to pull them apart.