The Blackwell mansion was unusually quiet that morning. Lucian descended the stairs slowly, the polished handrail cool beneath his fingers. The faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen was the only sound, muted and careful, as though the staff themselves feared breaking the silence.
He glanced toward the dining hall — empty. Clara and Edward had already left for the company. Even his mother chair stood vacant, her presence replaced by the faint trace of perfume that lingered in the air.
"Good morning, sir," one of the maids greeted softly, setting down a tray on the sideboard. She hesitated before adding, "Madam asked me to remind you to… follow the doctor's advice. She seemed worried."
Lucian paused, fingers brushing against the back of the chair. The words struck harder than any reprimand. His mother hadn't spoken much to him directly since his spiral, and yet she was still watching. Still waiting.
"I'll remember," he said, voice low. The maid nodded, startled by the gentleness in his tone.
Instead of sitting at the long table, Lucian turned toward the kitchen. The staff stiffened as he stepped in — the Lucian they knew never crossed that threshold unless to demand wine after a night out. He ignored their startled looks, rolled up the cuffs of his shirt, and quietly prepared a light meal for himself. Eggs, toast, and black coffee. Nothing extravagant, but each simple movement steadied him more than he expected.
When he sat down at the counter to eat, the cook stole a glance at him. Once, he would have barked at the intrusion. Now he only gave a faint nod. "Thank you," he murmured, pushing the empty plate back when he finished.
The cook nearly dropped her spoon.
Lucian rose, retrieving his notebook and coat. As he crossed the foyer, Edward's parting words from days ago echoed in his mind: I can't keep holding the board anymore. Think carefully.
He tugged the lapel of his coat straight. He had thought. More than that — he was ready to act.
At the threshold, he paused only once, gaze flicking back toward the stillness of the house. It had been cold for so long, and yet, there was something different in the silence now. A possibility, fragile but alive.
"I'll show you I can still be your son," he whispered under his breath.
Then he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him, and the day began.