Astrid
The librarian unfolded the paper before I could stop him.
"That’s mine!" I said, already moving, my voice sharper than I meant it to sound.
Every head in the entryway turned toward me. I crossed the space in three quick steps, took the notebook from his hands, and carefully eased the folded letter free before he could get a proper look at it.
"It’s just a letter from my mother," I said, forcing a laugh that came out thinner than I wanted.
"My mistake," the librarian said, already looking a little embarrassed.
"It’s alright," I said, and slipped the letter back between the notebook’s pages, tucking it deep enough this time that it wouldn’t slip loose again.
No one had read it. I let out a breath I’d been holding since the moment he’d picked it up, and told myself that was the last time I’d be careless with something that mattered this much.
Nobody spoke much on the walk back to the apartment. The silence stretched long enough that I assumed it would last the whole way, until Reed finally broke it.
"Are you alright?"
"I’m fine," I said, too quickly to be convincing.
He only nodded, and didn’t push further, though I could feel him not quite believing me. I appreciated that more than I let on. He didn’t need to believe me. He just needed to leave it alone, and he did.
The apartment was unusually quiet when we got back, the kind of quiet that let my shoulders finally drop from around my ears. I sank onto the couch, grateful for a moment that didn’t require explaining anything to anyone.
Then my stomach growled. Loudly.
I froze.
Xander glanced over from the kitchen doorway. "...Was that you?"
I wished, quite sincerely, that the floor would open up and take me somewhere far away from this apartment.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I actually was until the sound betrayed me completely. Between the archives and the notebook and everything else the day had thrown at me, food had been the last thing on my mind.
Reed closed the notebook he’d been flipping through and reached for his phone without any particular urgency. "We’ll order dinner."
"I can pay for my—" I started.
"It’s fine," he said, already scrolling through something on the screen, like the matter was too small to discuss further.
Xander dropped onto the couch beside me, grinning. "Besides, if we let you starve, the Headmaster might replace us with someone less entertaining."
I rolled my eyes, but didn’t argue again. There didn’t seem to be much point.
Dinner arrived within the hour, several bags carried up by a delivery boy who looked faintly starstruck at finding both Ashwood twins answering the door. He fumbled the change twice before Reed simply waved him off and told him to keep it. I stared at the spread once it was laid out across the table. Roasted moon pheasant, herb bread still steaming, a creamy potato soup, grilled river fish, a small tray of berry tarts arranged like something out of a painting.
I’d never seen a meal like it in my life. Growing up, dinner had meant whatever Mother could stretch across two bowls after a good night, or nothing at all after a bad one.
Xander noticed me hesitating over the pheasant like I wasn’t sure which utensil belonged where. "You’ve never had this before, have you?"
"...No," I admitted, quiet, and braced myself for whatever comment came next.
None did. I took a bite instead, and my eyes went wide before I could stop them. It was, without question, the best thing I’d ever tasted, rich and perfectly seasoned in a way that made every meal I’d eaten before feel like a different food entirely. I tried to school my expression back into something neutral.
Xander caught it anyway, smirking around a mouthful of bread. Reed, at least, had the decency to pretend he hadn’t noticed at all, Reed kept eating as though he hadn’t noticed.
Once the food was cleared, Reed spread several books and a stack of notes across the table, already settling into the same quiet efficiency I’d seen from him twice now.
"Let’s organize the project," he said, and started sorting sections into rough categories without waiting for anyone’s agreement.
I leaned in and offered ideas as he worked, pointing out gaps in his outline, suggesting where the political history might connect to the territorial disputes Xander was supposed to be covering.
Xander, for his part, contributed almost nothing useful.
"Can we just write ’wolves happened’ and call it done?" he asked, sprawled sideways across his chair with one leg hooked over the armrest.
I picked up my notebook and pointed it at him like a weapon. "If you interrupt one more time, I’m throwing this at your head."
"You’re violent," he said, delighted.
"Only when necessary."
Reed closed one of the books with a soft thud before the argument could escalate any further. "Enough." Both of us looked over. "Tomorrow, after classes, we’ll continue at the old observatory."
I blinked. "The observatory?"
"It’s quiet," Reed said, already gathering his notes into a neat stack. "We’ll get more done."
Xander groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch cushion. "You’re really serious about this assignment."
"Someone has to be," Reed said, without looking up.
I hid a small smile behind my cup, watching the two of them settle into what I was starting to recognize as an old, familiar rhythm, one brother pushing and the other pulling, both of them somehow balancing each other out despite how little they seemed to agree on anything at all.
Later that night, back in my own room, I opened the drawer beside my bed and set my mother’s letter down inside it, smoothing the worn paper flat one more time before closing it away.
"I almost lost you today," I whispered, so quiet even I barely heard the words.
I turned off the light and lay there in the dark, listening to the faint sound of the apartment settling around me, Xander’s laughter still echoing somewhere down the hall, Reed’s quiet footsteps crossing to his own room.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin, and I had no idea yet how much closer it would bring me to the exact truth I was trying so hard to keep buried. Whatever waited for me at that observatory, I told myself I’d find a way to handle it, the same way I’d handled everything else since the night my mother sealed me behind that wall and told me not to make a sound.
Reed had called it a quiet place. Somehow...
I doubted anywhere could stay quiet for long once the three of us arrived.