The Canadian sun was struggling to pierce the heavy gray clouds over the Ontario landscape. Francis stood by the window, a glass of neat scotch in his hand, though it was barely past nine in the morning. He watched a single crow circle the frost-covered gardens before he pulled a slim, encrypted phone from his pocket.
He dialed a number that few in the world possessed.
"It's done," Francis said the moment the line connected. His voice was devoid of the sharp edge he used with his employees; here, it was a low, resonant hum.
"Francis?" The voice on the other end was elegant, carrying the refined lilt of old Montreal money. His mother, Eleanor Slein, stayed at the family's estate in Quebec, but her influence reached every corner of his life. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a morning call? And what, exactly, is 'done'?"
"The children," Francis replied, pacing the length of his hand-knotted Persian rug. "I've found someone. A permanent solution. She started this morning."
There was a long, skeptical silence on the other end of the line. Eleanor had seen a parade of the world's most highly decorated nannies—women with degrees in child psychology and decades of experience—flee the Slein Manor in tears, driven out by Leo's coldness and Mia's calculated chaos.
"Another one, Francis?" Eleanor sighed. "Who is it this time? A former headmistress from London? A specialist from the Swiss Alps? Who could possibly manage those two stubborn creatures you call children? They are exactly like you, you know. Impossible to please."
Francis stopped his pacing, his gaze drifting to one of the monitors on his wall. It showed a live feed of the nursery. Avana was currently sitting on the floor, her back to the camera, her small frame a stark contrast to the sharp, cold angles of the room.
"She's someone I've known for two years," Francis said softly. "I've... observed her. I believe she'll manage better than all the professionals combined."
"Two years?" Eleanor sounded intrigued now. "If she's been in your circle that long, why haven't I heard of her? What is her pedigree? Which family does she belong to?"
"She belongs to no one," Francis said, his grip tightening on his glass. "She was a worker at Axin Tech. A scholarship student."
"A student?" Eleanor's voice rose in disbelief. "Francis, be serious. This isn't a charity project. Leo and Mia need discipline, not a playmate. How old is this girl?"
"She's twenty-two."
"Twenty-two!" Eleanor scoffed, the sound sharp through the receiver. "Francis, you've lost your mind. She's a child herself. She has no experience, no authority, and certainly no understanding of what it takes to raise a Slein. She will be gone by dinner. Why waste the time?"
Francis didn't respond immediately. Instead, he allowed his mind to drift back—back to a rainy Tuesday afternoon exactly one year ago.
He had been standing in the hidden security hub of the Axin Tech lobby, watching the intercom feeds during a high-alert drill. The lobby had been chaotic. A young mother, a visitor, had been trapped in the revolving doors during a mechanical failure. Her infant was screaming—a piercing, inconsolable wail that had set everyone's nerves on edge. Security guards were shouting into radios; executives were complaining about the noise.
And then, there was Avana.
She had been in her cleaning uniform, a bucket in one hand. She shouldn't have been there; she should have stayed in the service corridors. But she had dropped her mop and walked straight toward the frantic mother.
Francis had watched the screen, mesmerized. Avana hadn't shouted. She hadn't panicked. She had simply leaned against the glass of the door, placed her hand opposite the baby's tiny fist, and begun to hum. It was a low, rhythmic sound that even the intercom couldn't fully capture, but the effect was instantaneous. The baby had stopped mid-scream, turning its head toward the vibration of her voice. She had stayed there for twenty minutes, ignoring the glares of her supervisors, until the doors were pried open.
She had a gift for calming the storms that others feared.
"Don't worry about her age, Mother," Francis said, his voice dropping into a dark, protective register. "She is nothing like the others. Those 'professionals' you sent tried to break the children to fit a mold. Avana... she knows what it's like to be broken. She won't try to change them. She'll just make them hers."
"You sound... strangely invested in this one, Francis," Eleanor said, her tone shifting from skepticism to a mother's keen suspicion. "It's been three years since Sofia passed. Is this really about the children? Or is there another reason you've trapped a twenty-two-year-old girl in that house?"
Francis looked at the screen again. Avana was now holding out a sugar cube to Mia, her expression patient, her eyes filled with a softness that he felt a sudden, violent urge to gatekeep from the rest of the world.
"She was a debtor, Mother," Francis lied smoothly, the secret of the watch tasting like copper in his mouth. "She's here to work off a debt. That is all."
"See that it stays that way," Eleanor warned. "The Slein name cannot afford another scandal. If she fails, send her away. Don't let your... 'infatuation' with her potential cloud your judgment."
"I never let anything cloud my judgment," Francis said, though his eyes were fixed on the way Avana's hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward. "I know exactly what she is. And I know exactly where she belongs."
He hung up without saying goodbye.
He stood in the silence of his study, the only sound the ticking of the antique clock on the mantel. He reached out and touched the screen, his fingertip resting over Avana's image.
"Two years I've waited for you to be in my house," he whispered to the empty room. "Did you really think I'd let you walk away after 365 days? You're not here to be a nanny, Avana. You're here to be the heart of this fortress. Whether you want to be or not."
He turned away from the window, his mind already calculating the next move in his game. He would remain cold. He would remain the "Glacier." He would let her fear him, let her wonder how he knew her secrets, until the day her fear turned into the only thing more powerful.
Total, unwavering devotion.