Arthur opened his eyes while the house was still sunk in silence.
For a moment he stayed motionless, listening.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Only the faint creaking of cooling wood and the slow breath of a night that had not yet fully ended.
He sat up carefully.
His body ached in a dull, widespread way, as if every inch of skin had been made too aware during sleep.
He stood and approached the mirror almost against his will.
The grey light of dawn was just enough.
The reflection the mirror gave back was no longer that of a slightly delicate boy.
The features were soft, the cheeks full, the jawline without any hard angle.
The eyes — one pale grey and one violet — seemed too striking.
He took off his shirt and had to hold his breath.
His chest was now clearly formed.
Small, yes, but round and impossible to mistake for a simple swelling.
His hips curved with decision.
His waist was narrower.
Even his shoulders, in proportion, seemed less broad.
The skin was perfect, smooth, and when he ran his fingers over it he felt again that sharp sensitivity that made him close his eyes for a moment.
75%.
And Phase 1 was not over yet.
Arthur dressed with almost manic care.
Two wide shirts, a lighter one over them, and the jacket buttoned even though it would be warm.
He arranged everything to blur the lines of his chest and hips.
He studied himself for a long time, turning sideways, then at a three-quarter angle.
From a distance he could still pass.
Up close… he was no longer sure.
He could not go down to breakfast.
He could not sit at that table and hold Tessa’s gaze.
Not after the night.
Not with his body in this state.
The very idea tightened his stomach.
He made a decision.
He moved in silence.
He took the delivery bag, put something generic inside to justify going out, and went down the stairs carefully with every step.
The house remained quiet.
No one was in the kitchen yet.
I have an urgent delivery.
I’ll be back later.
It was not a good excuse.
But it was better than nothing.
He went out through the side door without making a sound and found himself in the still-grey street of dawn.
The air was cool and made him shiver on skin that was too sensitive.
He adjusted his jacket and started walking without a precise destination, only to get away from the house.
Valenford at that hour was almost deserted.
A few bakers already at work, a distant cart, the sound of a shutter being raised.
Arthur kept his head down and his shoulders slightly hunched, trying to take up as little space as possible.
Every time he crossed paths with someone he was afraid that his scent, or the shape of his body under the clothes, would draw attention.
No one stopped him.
No one seemed to notice anything.
But the paranoia did not lessen.
He walked for a long time.
He crossed the still half-empty market, then the merchants’ streets, then headed toward the walls without any real purpose.
Every now and then he stopped in a more secluded corner to catch his breath and to check that his clothes were still arranged properly.
The fabric clung to his sweaty chest despite the cool air, and every movement reminded him how much he had changed.
He sat down on a bench near a small peripheral temple, away from the busier areas.
He stayed there staring into nothing, his hands clenched on his knees.
He could not go on like this.
At 75% the changes were already too obvious.
If Tessa saw him up close, without the excuse of tiredness or loose clothes, she would notice.
If Ysolde hugged him.
If a customer came too close.
The margin of safety had shrunk to almost nothing.
And the curse had not stopped.
It continued.
Slowly or quickly, it continued.
He ran a hand over his face and felt the too-smooth skin under his fingers.
The sweet scent was present even outdoors, light but constant.
He wondered how long it would be before it became impossible to ignore even for strangers.
He stood up and started walking again.
He had no errands.
He was only wasting time, postponing the moment when he would have to return home and face those eyes again.
But every hour gained seemed precious.
Every hour in which no one observed him closely was an hour in which the secret still held.
Toward mid-morning he found himself near the river, in an area of warehouses and small depots.
He stopped to watch the dark water flowing slowly.
The constant sound helped him not to think too much.
Or at least not to think in an orderly way.
What would he do when Phase 1 ended?
What would he do when the changes became impossible to hide even with three wide shirts?
What would he answer Tessa when she stopped accepting his excuses?
He had no answers.
Only the growing awareness that he was running out of space in which he could still pretend.
Time passed without him really noticing.
The sun rose, the streets came alive, and Arthur kept moving from one area of the city to another, always on the margins, always careful not to stay too long in the same place.
He ate something quickly from a street vendor, careful not to get too close and not to remain under prolonged gazes.
Every interaction, even the smallest, cost him effort.
In the early afternoon he realized he could not stay out forever.
Sooner or later someone at home would start to worry seriously.
Sooner or later Tessa would start looking for him.
And if he returned too late, the questions would be even worse.
He headed slowly toward home.
The closer he got to the neighborhood, the more the weight on his chest increased.
He had spent the entire morning fleeing from a gaze, and now he was walking right back toward that gaze.
He adjusted his jacket one last time, checked that nothing was too obvious, and tried to compose his face into a neutral expression.
When he saw the sign of the workshop, he slowed almost to a stop.
Inside were the usual voices.
The sound of the forge.
Life continuing as if nothing were wrong.
Arthur remained still for a few seconds on the invisible threshold between the street and the house, breathing deeply.
Then he stepped through the door.
Tessa immediately raised her head.
Her gaze landed on him and stayed there, long, heavy, full of unspoken questions.
Arthur lowered his eyes and murmured something about the delivery.
But he already knew that the morning’s escape had solved nothing.
It had only postponed things.
And the time for postponing was running out.