“Don’t worry.
One day I’ll grow up and become very rich,” Theo declared proudly, his small chest puffed out like a rooster claiming ownership of the entire barnyard.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain.
Grow up?
You’re not even real.
You’re my Luminary.
A magical construct.
A figment of this world’s strange, incomprehensible rules.
You’re not supposed to have dreams of wealth and grandeur.
You’re supposed to be a tool, a guide, a—well, I didn’t actually know what Luminary was supposed to be.
But it certainly wasn’t this.
“I’ll become a millionai…” Theo frowned at himself, his little brow furrowing in concentration.
“…million…” He tried again, his lips shaping the word, but it refused to cooperate.
His face scrunched up with genuine distress, as if the universe had personally wronged him by making that word too difficult to pronounce.
I couldn’t help letting out a small laugh.
The sound escaped before I could stop it—a short, unexpected burst of amusement that felt entirely inappropriate given the situation.
Theo immediately spun around, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits of betrayal.
He glared at me with all the fury a five-year-old could muster before turning back to the mountain goat sitting patiently outside the front door.
The goat, as usual, looked completely unbothered by everything.
“It doesn’t matter,” Theo huffed, his voice carrying that particular tone of wounded dignity that only children could achieve.
“Just know I’ll be rich.” Yeah.
Sure you will.
I had seen him try to count to twenty just yesterday.
He’d gotten to fourteen before getting distracted by a butterfly.
His financial future was not looking particularly promising.
“I’ll have lots and lots of money.” He patted Gogo’s head with exaggerated tenderness, his small hand stroking the goat’s matted fur.
“I’ll buy a house.” I frowned.
Something was off here.
Theo had deliberately chosen to sit right in front of the doorway where I could hear every single word.
He wasn’t speaking loudly, exactly, but he wasn’t trying to be quiet either.
He had positioned himself like a performer on a stage, and the goat was simply his captive audience.
This entire conversation wasn’t for the goat.
It was for me.
The little brat wanted me to hear every sentence.
Night had already fallen, the sky outside deepening into a velvet black punctuated by a million cold, twinkling stars.
The mountain air had grown crisp and biting, carrying the scent of pine and frost through the cracks in the walls.
Everyone should have been preparing for bed.
The fire had been banked.
The lamps were low.
Sleep should have been calling.
Instead…
Theo was holding a conversation with a mountain goat.
I sat on my makeshift bed with a book open in my lap, pretending to read while secretly listening to every single word.
The pages blurred before my eyes, the letters swimming together into meaningless shapes.
I hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes.
This had been going on for almost an hour.
After I refused to let the goat sleep inside the house, Theo had cried so dramatically that Garrett had actually come downstairs to see what was happening.
The man had stood in the doorway with that patient, unreadable expression, listening to Theo’s sobs with an attentiveness that bordered on absurd.
Even then, I hadn’t changed my mind.
A goat was not sleeping in my house.
Garrett could side with Theo all he wanted.
He could smile that infuriating smile and make his calm, reasonable arguments until the stars burned out.
The answer was still no.
“I’ll build a cas…” Theo stopped again, his voice trailing off into frustrated silence.
“…cas…” His little forehead wrinkled in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he wrestled with the word.
“…” He sighed dramatically, the sound heavy with put-upon suffering.
“It doesn’t matter.
A really, really big house.” He nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with his revised plan.
“There’ll be lots of food.” He counted on his fingers, each digit representing a future resident of his imaginary mansion.
“For me…” Another finger.
“…the Mister…” Another finger.
“…and you.” He hugged Gogo around the neck, pressing his small face into the goat’s shaggy fur.
The goat tolerated this with remarkable patience, its only response a slow, rhythmic chewing motion.
“Someone will be outside looking at us and feeling jealous.” He glanced sideways at me before quickly looking away again, his eyes darting like he’d been caught doing something forbidden.
I pretended not to notice.
“He’ll be so sad.” Theo nodded confidently, his voice taking on a smug, almost satisfied tone.
“He’ll cry and beg us to let him live with us.” Beg?
I’d celebrate.
I’d throw a party.
I’d dance naked in the moonlight if it meant getting rid of this tiny terror and his four-legged accomplice.
“You won’t let him in,” Theo continued, painting a vivid picture of my future humiliation.
“And he’ll keep begging.” I nearly snorted.
Living in a giant house with Garrett, a mountain goat, and one troublesome child?
I’d rather sleep in the forest.
I’d rather live in a cave.
I’d rather throw myself off the nearest cliff than subject myself to that level of domestic chaos.
“Stop staring at a child like that.” Garrett’s voice interrupted my thoughts, smooth and knowing.
I looked over.
He was sitting quietly nearby, his body relaxed, his sightless eyes turned slightly toward me.
How he always knew exactly where I was, I would never understand.
It was unsettling.
It was infuriating.
“Like what?” I asked innocently, my voice dripping with false sweetness.
“Like you’re imagining twelve different ways to get rid of him.” “…I wasn’t.” “You were.” “You can’t even see me.” “I don’t need to.” He folded his arms across his chest, that maddening smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“I can hear the silence.” “…What does that even mean?” I asked with a raised brow.
This man was so weird.
He could hear the silence?
What did that mean?
Was this some knight sort of thing?