Caelum's POV
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The house was quieter than usual. Not peaceful—just quiet in
the way houses get when everyone's pretending.
Mom had been humming in the kitchen earlier, fake-happy, the
kind of sound she makes when she's trying not to cry. And he—her new husband,
Mr. Vale—was doing that overcompensating thing again, calling me "champ," like
we weren't practically strangers sharing a hallway.
It was exhausting.
And then there was Eliora.
---
Dinner was earlier.
Me. Mom. Him. Her.
Four people. One table. No eye contact.
Mr. Vale had tried to make conversation—asked about school,
future plans. I gave him one-word answers. Eliora said nothing at all. She just
ate slowly, cleanly, like a serpent savoring a meal it didn't need. She didn't
ask for seconds. She never did.
Mom had tried to smile, caught between her son's silence and
her new stepdaughter's ghost-like presence. She looked smaller lately. Tighter
in the shoulders. Like she'd spent too long trying to shrink herself into the
space between two ticking bombs.
---
After dinner, the plates sat on the sink, untouched. I went
outside. Eliora followed twenty minutes later.
Now we were here, on the porch again. Together. But not
really.
The stars overhead looked dim. The kind of sky that promises
a storm, but doesn't deliver.
"I heard them arguing," I said finally.
Eliora didn't ask who. She just nodded. Of course she knew.
"They only whisper when they want someone to listen," she
said.
"What, like some twisted form of therapy?"
She smiled—just a twitch of the lips. "Like a test. See who
reacts. See who cracks."
---
I shifted. The wood beneath me creaked.
She was still staring straight ahead, but her fingers were
moving—tracing patterns against her thigh. Circles. Spirals. A rhythm only she
understood.
"Why'd they even get married?" I asked. "My mom and your
dad. They barely look at each other."
"Loneliness makes people stupid," she replied flatly.
"And what makes you smart?"
Eliora finally turned. Her eyes were so grey they looked
colorless in the dark.
"I don't mind being alone," she said.
That silence again. That dare.
---
Back inside, I heard the floorboards creak overhead. Mr.
Vale moving around. Probably pacing. Probably pretending not to be pissed about
something.
Mom had gone to bed early. Said she had a migraine. I knew
that tone. It wasn't her head that hurt.
"You think they'll last?" I asked.
Eliora stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from her knees.
"They'll last until someone stops pretending," she said.
Then she walked inside.
No goodnight. No look back.
Just that lingering chill in the air where she'd been.
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