The tea had gone cold.
Seraphina had left an hour ago, promising she wouldn't reach out again unless invited. She hadn't begged or lingered — she had simply thanked Aira for the tea, eyes glassy but resolute, and left with the quiet grace of a woman who'd mastered sorrow.
Now, Aira sat in the same seat, staring at the file Elara had left. It still felt strange in her hands — like something sacred she wasn't yet ready to touch. But the curiosity was growing, blooming beneath the surface like something dormant finally awakening.
This time, she opened it without hesitation.
She'd already seen the photos of her parents. Their faces had haunted her dreams the night before — especially her mother's trembling smile. But now, her attention drifted to the next section.
Five names.
Her brothers.
Not in some metaphorical sense — but real, flesh-and-blood siblings. Five boys who had grown up without her. Five men who had never stopped waiting.
She let her eyes fall on the first page.
Elias Laurent, 28. The eldest. Impeccably dressed, sharp-eyed, with the kind of presence that made others fall silent when he entered a room. The photo showed him stepping out of a boardroom, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. A man who carried the world on his shoulders — and expected no help.
Cassian Laurent, 26. Former race car driver, current mechanical engineer. Brilliant, daring, a little wild. The photo captured him leaning over an engine, grease on his cheek, smiling like he knew exactly how much trouble he could cause — and how much fun he'd have doing it.
Ronan Laurent, 24. Quiet. Thoughtful. The analyst type. He wore glasses in all his photos and stood a little apart from the others in group shots. His eyes were unreadable, the kind that missed nothing. He was reportedly an expert in digital systems and government encryption — the quiet genius of the family.
Lucien Laurent, 23. Musician. Heart on his sleeve. Aira recognized the glint in his eye — the kind that belonged to someone who loved recklessly, laughed loudly, and lived without restraint. He played five instruments and never followed schedules. But there was depth behind his chaos.
And then…
Evander Laurent, 21.
The youngest.
Her closest in age — just three and a half years older.
His file was thinner. Less formal. He had graduated early, dual-degreed in business and psychology, and preferred to stay out of the media's eye. But the picture… it caught her breath.
Dark hair. Fair skin. Eyes so deep a shade of violet they almost looked black.
They looked like hers.
She lingered on his photo.
Unlike the others, his expression wasn't professional or playful. It was pensive — almost… sad. As if something inside him was always waiting.
She didn't know why it made her chest ache.
One note in his file stood out: "Best friend of Kieran Lockhart."
The name didn't register.
Just another name in a file.
She moved on.
Spoke their names out loud, one by one.
"Elias. Cassian. Ronan. Lucien. Evander."
Not familiar. Not yet. But there was something soothing in saying them aloud. Something grounding.
Aira closed the file, rested her hand on top of it, and looked out the window.
She wasn't ready to meet them.
But she wasn't afraid anymore.