Weeks turned into months, and Eris settled into a rhythm at Serenity Home. The tutoring sessions with Mr. Howard continued, and to everyone's surprise—including her own—she progressed far more rapidly than expected. It was as if her mind, stripped of its past, hungrily absorbed new information to fill the void.

  "Extraordinary," Mr. Howard murmured one afternoon as Eris completed a math worksheet meant for students several years older. "Your aptitude for patterns and logical reasoning is quite remarkable, Eris."

  She looked up from the paper, pencil still poised over the st problem. "Is that unusual?"

  "For someone your age? Yes, very." He adjusted his gsses, studying her with schorly interest. "I wonder if perhaps you received advanced schooling before your accident. Some of your intuitive leaps suggest prior exposure to these concepts."

  Eris frowned. It was strange to think that somewhere in her bnk mind, fragments of knowledge still existed—accessible but disconnected from any memory of learning them. Sometimes she imagined her brain as a shattered mirror, the pieces all there but jumbled beyond recognition.

  "Does that mean I might remember other things eventually?" she asked, trying to keep the desperate hope from her voice.

  Mr. Howard's expression softened. "It's certainly possible. Memory is complex, Eris. What you're experiencing is procedural memory—the 'how' of things—which often remains intact when decrative memory—the 'what' of things—is compromised. But it's a positive sign."

  Eris nodded, tucking this small hope away like a precious stone. Every piece of herself she recimed, whether remembered or newly discovered, was a victory against the void.

  By her third month at Serenity Home, Director Martha had deemed Eris ready to join the regur school with the other children. The transition was smoother than she'd feared. While some students whispered about "the amnesia girl," most were accepting enough. Being Lindsay's designated target had the unexpected benefit of earning Eris sympathy from many of the other children, who knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of the older girl's cruelty.

  But the true constants in Eris's new life were her daily training sessions with Vance. What had begun as basic self-defense lessons had evolved into something more comprehensive—a blend of martial arts, physical conditioning, and what Vance called "situational awareness."

  "Always know what's around you," he instructed as they walked the perimeter of the orphanage grounds one chilly October afternoon. "Exits. Obstacles. People who look out of pce."

  "Is that how you always know when someone's coming up behind you?" Eris asked, remembering how impossible it was to surprise him.

  The corner of Vance's mouth twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "Partly. It's also listening. Most people make more noise than they realize."

  As the weather grew colder, they moved their training sessions to the basement—a rge open space used for indoor activities during winter. Director Martha, after initial hesitation, had given her approval, seeing the positive effect the arrangement had on both children. Vance was more engaged, less prone to brooding isotion, while Eris showed remarkable improvements in confidence and emotional stability.

  "They're good for each other," Eris overheard Dr. Foster telling Director Martha one day. "He needs someone to protect, and she needs someone who sees her as more than her condition."

  The assessment stung slightly—Eris didn't want to be seen as someone who needed protecting—but she couldn't deny the truth of it. Vance's mentorship had become her anchor in the uncertain waters of her new life.

  "Again," Vance said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Your elbow is dropping."

  Eris exhaled sharply in frustration but reset her stance, moving through the blocking sequence once more. They had been at it for over an hour, and her arms felt like lead weights.

  "Better," Vance nodded as she completed the sequence. "One more time, then we're done for today."

  She repeated the movements, focusing on keeping her form tight despite her fatigue. When she finished, Vance tossed her a towel from his duffel bag.

  "You're improving," he said as she wiped sweat from her face. "Faster than I expected."

  Coming from Vance, it was high praise indeed. In the three months they'd been training together, his compliments had been as rare as snow in summer.

  "When can we move on to the more advanced stuff?" Eris asked, dropping onto the bench against the wall. "You know, the fancy kicks and throws you do when you think no one's watching."

  Vance raised an eyebrow. "Been spying on me?"

  "Not spying. Observing." Eris grinned. "Situational awareness, remember?"

  That earned her another almost-smile. "Basics first. Always. The fshy stuff is useless if your foundation is weak."

  "How did you learn all this anyway?" Eris asked, taking a long drink from her water bottle. "Mei said Director Martha arranged lessons for you, but who taught you?"

  A shadow passed over Vance's face—a momentary darkening that Eris had come to recognize as a sign she'd ventured into sensitive territory. But to her surprise, he answered.

  "Mr. Chen. He runs a dojo downtown. Used to be some kind of champion before he got injured." Vance repacked his bag with methodical precision. "Director Martha thought it would help with my 'anger management issues.'"

  He said the st part with finger quotes and a hint of derision, but there was no real bite to it.

  "Did it? Help with the anger, I mean."

  Vance paused, considering. "Yes and no. The physical part helped—having somewhere to put all that energy. But the mental part was more important. Learning to control myself, to be disciplined." He gnced at her. "That's why I'm so hard on you about the forms. It's not about the movements. It's about the focus."

  Eris nodded, understanding blooming. It wasn't just self-defense Vance was teaching her—it was self-control. A way to master herself when everything else felt so hopelessly beyond her control.

  "Do you still go to Mr. Chen's dojo?" she asked.

  "Twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays after school."

  Eris hesitated, then ventured: "Could I go sometime? To watch?"

  Vance studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Maybe," he said finally. "If you master that blocking sequence properly."

  It wasn't a no, which from Vance was practically enthusiastic agreement. Eris tried to contain her excitement, knowing that dispying too much emotion often caused him to retreat behind his walls.

  "I'll work on it," she promised, keeping her voice casual.

  As they packed up to return upstairs, Lindsay appeared in the basement doorway, her ever-present sidekicks fnking her.

  "Well, isn't this cozy," she sneered. "The weirdo and the bnk, having their little fight club."

  Eris tensed, but Vance pced a warning hand on her arm. "Ignore her," he murmured. "She's just trying to get a reaction."

  "What's the matter, Cross? Afraid your pet project might actually stand up for herself?" Lindsay stepped further into the room, blocking their exit. "Or maybe you just like having someone who follows you around like a lost puppy?"

  "Move, Lindsay," Vance said, his voice low and even. "We're done here."

  "I don't think so," Lindsay replied, pnting herself more firmly. "I think it's time Bnk learned that her bodyguard can't always be around to protect her."

  Eris felt a fsh of anger, hot and bright. "I don't need protecting," she said, stepping forward despite Vance's restraining hand. "And my name is Eris."

  Lindsay ughed, the sound sharp and unkind. "Eris Kane isn't even your real name, Bnk. It's just something they made up because no one wanted to cim you."

  The words cut deeper than Eris wanted to admit. She knew Lindsay was right—Eris Kane was just a pceholder, a bel assigned to her by strangers. She had no idea what name her parents had given her, what identity she'd been born with.

  "At least I'm not named after a daddy who visits twice a year and can't wait to leave," Eris retorted, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

  Lindsay's face contorted with rage. "You little—" She lunged forward, hands outstretched toward Eris's throat.

  What happened next was pure reflex. As Lindsay charged, Eris sidestepped, redirecting the older girl's momentum with a blocking technique Vance had drilled into her for weeks. Lindsay stumbled past her, off-bance, and Eris completed the movement with a light push between the shoulder bdes—just enough to send Lindsay sprawling onto the mat.

  The room fell silent. Tara and Jess stared open-mouthed at their leader lying face-down on the mat. Vance stood frozen mid-step, as if he'd been moving to intervene but hadn't been quick enough.

  Lindsay pushed herself up slowly, her face a mask of humiliation and fury. "You're going to regret that," she hissed.

  "I don't think she will."

  The new voice came from the doorway. Director Martha stood there, arms crossed, surveying the scene with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.

  "Lindsay, Tara, Jess—upstairs to my office. Now."

  "But she pushed me!" Lindsay protested, pointing an accusing finger at Eris.

  "After you charged at her like a bull," Director Martha replied evenly. "I saw everything from the stairs. Now, upstairs. All three of you."

  The girls filed out, Lindsay shooting Eris a venomous gre that promised retribution. When they were gone, Director Martha turned to Vance and Eris.

  "Are you two alright?"

  Eris nodded, still processing what had just happened. She'd defended herself. Actually applied what Vance had been teaching her. The realization filled her with a strange mixture of pride and disbelief.

  "We're fine," Vance answered for both of them. "Eris didn't do anything wrong."

  "I know that," Director Martha said, her expression softening. "In fact, I'd say she handled herself remarkably well." She focused on Eris. "But I want you to be careful, Eris. Lindsay won't forget this incident easily."

  "I didn't mean to push her so hard," Eris said, suddenly worried about consequences. "I just reacted."

  "You reacted exactly as you should have," Director Martha assured her. "Self-defense is never something to apologize for. But perhaps it would be wise to avoid situations where Lindsay might seek... payback."

  After Director Martha left to deal with Lindsay and her friends, Eris turned to Vance, a tentative smile spreading across her face.

  "I did it," she said, still not quite believing it. "I actually used the blocks. They worked."

  Vance nodded, and for the first time since she'd known him, he smiled—a real, full smile that transformed his usually serious face. "They worked because you've been practicing. Because you put in the effort."

  His approval meant more to Eris than she could express. In that moment, the name Lindsay had taunted her with—Bnk—seemed absurd. She wasn't bnk. She was Eris Kane, student of Vance Cross, and she was learning to defend herself.

  It was a small victory, but in a life defined by loss, every victory mattered.

  Winter settled over Sanctum City, wrapping Serenity Home in a bnket of snow and forcing the children to spend more time indoors. Tensions ran higher in the close quarters, but the incident with Lindsay had earned Eris a measure of respect among the other children. Lindsay herself kept her distance, though her gres promised that she hadn't forgotten or forgiven.

  December brought holiday decorations and a subdued festivity to the orphanage. Director Martha and the staff did their best to create a cheerful atmosphere, but for many of the children, the season only emphasized what they cked—family, traditions, a sense of belonging.

  Eris found it both easier and harder than her housemates. She had no memories of past Christmases to make her nostalgic, no specific traditions she missed. But the general atmosphere of family togetherness made her acutely aware of the hole in her heart where such memories should have been.

  Two weeks before Christmas, a heavy snowstorm hit Sanctum City, closing schools and keeping everyone indoors. By the third day of confinement, even the most patient staff members were showing signs of strain as cabin fever set in among the children.

  "I'm going to lose my mind if I have to py one more board game," Mei groaned, flopping dramatically across her bunk while Eris sat cross-legged on her own bed below, reading.

  "You could try reading a book," Eris suggested, not looking up from her page.

  "Not all of us are bookworms like you and Vance," Mei retorted, but there was no malice in her tone. In the months since Eris's arrival, she and Mei had developed a comfortable friendship based on mutual respect and good-natured teasing.

  At the mention of Vance, Eris's thoughts drifted to their training sessions, which had been temporarily suspended due to the weather and holiday schedule. She missed them more than she cared to admit—not just for the physical activity, but for the companionship. Vance remained reserved with others, but during their training, he opened up in ways he never did elsewhere.

  "Speaking of your brooding mentor," Mei continued, "have you noticed he's been extra gloomy tely?"

  Eris frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "He barely talks to anyone—even less than usual. And yesterday I saw him staring out the window for like an hour, just watching the snow fall. It was creepy."

  Eris marked her pce in her book and set it aside. "It's probably just the holidays. They're hard for a lot of kids here."

  "Maybe," Mei conceded. "But it seems like more than that. Like he's waiting for something bad to happen."

  The observation lingered in Eris's mind that evening as she headed to the library, seeking a quiet space away from the chaos of thirty stir-crazy children. As she rounded the corner of the main staircase, she nearly collided with Vance, who was coming from the direction of Director Martha's office.

  "Sorry!" Eris excimed, steadying herself against the banister. "I didn't see you."

  Vance barely seemed to register her presence, his eyes distant and his jaw set in a hard line. He nodded curtly and moved to step around her.

  "Wait," Eris said, pcing a hand on his arm before she could think better of it. "Are you okay?"

  Vance looked down at her hand, then up at her face. Something in his expression made Eris's stomach knot with concern.

  "I'm fine," he said, but the words were hollow.

  "No, you're not." Eris hadn't meant to challenge him, but Mei's comments and Vance's obvious distress pushed her to press further. "What's wrong?"

  For a moment, she thought he might brush her off entirely. Instead, he gnced around to ensure they were alone, then said in a low voice, "My father's coming tomorrow."

  "Oh." Eris recalled what Mei had told her about Vance's father—the twice-yearly visits, the expensive gifts left untouched. "Is that... bad?"

  "He's bringing his new wife. And their baby." Vance's voice was ft, emotionless, but his eyes betrayed the depth of his hurt. "Director Martha just told me. Apparently, they want me to meet my 'new family.'"

  The bitterness in those st two words made Eris's heart ache for him. She tried to imagine how it would feel—to be abandoned by your own father, then expected to celebrate his new life, his new child. The repcement child.

  "I'm sorry," she said softly, knowing the words were inadequate but having nothing better to offer.

  Vance shrugged, a jerky, tense movement. "It doesn't matter. I don't care."

  But he did care. That was painfully obvious to Eris, who had learned to read the subtle shifts in Vance's expressions over their months of training together.

  "You don't have to care," she said carefully. "You don't have to feel anything about them at all if you don't want to."

  Vance looked at her then, really looked at her, as if seeing something new in her face. "I wish I didn't feel anything," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I wish I could just... forget."

  The irony of his words wasn't lost on Eris. Here she was, desperate to remember her past, while Vance wished he could forget parts of his.

  "Maybe you could be busy tomorrow," she suggested. "Too busy for visitors."

  A ghost of a smile touched Vance's lips. "That's what I told Director Martha. She said I had to at least make an appearance. 'Family connections are important,'" he mimicked, a rare show of disrespect toward the director.

  Eris bit her lip, thinking. "What time are they coming?"

  "Two o'clock."

  "And how long do you have to stay?"

  "Director Martha said at least an hour, unless—" Vance stopped abruptly, a new thought visibly crossing his mind. "Unless there's a valid reason I need to be elsewhere."

  Eris grinned, an idea forming. "Like an urgent project for school? One that requires a specific partner?"

  For the first time since they'd started talking, a genuine smile broke through Vance's grim expression. "Exactly like that."

  "I'll talk to Mr. Howard tomorrow morning," Eris promised. "He likes me. I bet I can convince him we need emergency tutoring on... I don't know, long division."

  "Make it geometry," Vance suggested, his mood visibly lightening. "It sounds more complicated."

  "Geometry it is."

  They stood there for a moment, conspirators in their small rebellion against adult expectations. Then, to Eris's complete shock, Vance reached out and squeezed her hand briefly.

  "Thanks," he said simply.

  Before she could respond, he was gone, heading up the stairs to the boys' dormitory wing. Eris remained at the bottom of the staircase, a warm feeling spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the orphanage's overworked heating system.

  For the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, she felt truly needed by someone. Not as a patient or a case study or a charity project, but as a friend. As an ally.

  It was a new feeling, and one she decided she liked very much indeed.

  The next day, Eris found Mr. Howard in the library during the morning free period.

  "Geometry?" he repeated when she made her request. "That's well beyond your current curriculum, Eris."

  "I know," she said earnestly, "but I came across it in one of the books, and it seems so interesting. All those shapes and theorems." She wasn't entirely making this up—she had been reading ahead in the math textbooks, finding comfort in the logical progression of concepts.

  "Well, I'm delighted by your enthusiasm," Mr. Howard said, clearly pleased by her apparent thirst for knowledge. "But why the urgency for this afternoon specifically?"

  Eris had prepared for this question. "The holiday break starts tomorrow, and I don't want to lose momentum. Plus, Vance offered to help me understand it since he's already studied it in school."

  Mr. Howard's eyebrows rose at the mention of Vance. "Vance Cross? The older boy who's been training with you?"

  Eris nodded, trying to look innocent. "He's really good at math, and he expins things clearly."

  This wasn't a lie either. During their training sessions, Vance often helped Eris with her schoolwork, dispying a methodical intelligence that impressed her.

  "Interesting," Mr. Howard murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Vance has always been a bright student, but he rarely engages with others academically." He studied Eris for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I can spare an hour this afternoon for an introduction to basic geometry. Two o'clock in the study room?"

  "Perfect," Eris beamed, trying not to look too victorious. "Thank you, Mr. Howard!"

  When she found Vance at lunch to tell him the good news, his relief was palpable. "You actually pulled it off," he said, genuine admiration in his voice.

  "Did you doubt me?" Eris asked with mock offense.

  "Never again," Vance promised, the ghost of a smile pying at his lips.

  At exactly 1:55 PM, Eris and Vance were settled in the study room with textbooks, notebooks, and pencils arranged with deliberate precision. Mr. Howard arrived promptly at two, carrying additional materials and wearing the excited expression of a teacher whose student has shown special interest in his subject.

  They were deep into a discussion of angles and parallel lines when a soft knock interrupted them. Director Martha stood in the doorway, a tall man in an expensive-looking suit beside her. Behind them, partially obscured, stood a woman holding a bundle that could only be a baby.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt," Director Martha said, her tone making it clear she knew exactly what was happening. "But Mr. Cross is here to see Vance."

  Vance stiffened beside Eris, his pencil freezing mid-calcution. Mr. Howard looked up in confusion, clearly not privy to the underlying situation.

  "Ah, we're in the middle of a rather important lesson," he began. "Could they perhaps—"

  "It's fine," Vance cut in, his voice tight but controlled. "I can spare a few minutes."

  He stood, and Eris was struck by how much he resembled the man in the doorway—the same sharp jawline, the same dark hair, though Mr. Cross's was beginning to silver at the temples. But where Vance's eyes were guarded, his father's were confident, almost arrogant.

  "Son," Mr. Cross said, stepping forward with his hand extended as if greeting a business associate. "You've grown."

  Vance shook the offered hand briefly. "It's been six months."

  An awkward silence followed, broken only when the woman behind Mr. Cross stepped forward, adjusting the bundle in her arms. "Vance, it's lovely to meet you. I'm Caroline."

  She was pretty in a polished way, with blonde hair and a smile that seemed practiced. The baby in her arms stirred, making small gurgling sounds.

  "This is Thomas," she continued when Vance didn't respond. "Your half-brother. Would you like to hold him?"

  Eris watched as multiple emotions fshed across Vance's face—hurt, anger, longing, and finally, a careful bnkness.

  "No, thank you," he said politely. "I wouldn't want to disturb him."

  Another awkward silence descended. Mr. Howard, clearly sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should give you all some privacy—"

  "Actually," Vance interrupted again, "we're in the middle of something important. Eris has a test tomorrow, and I promised to help her prepare."

  It was a transparent excuse—there were no tests scheduled before the holiday break—but Vance delivered it with such conviction that Mr. Howard merely blinked in confusion.

  Mr. Cross frowned. "Surely that can wait. We've come all this way to see you, Vance. We brought gifts." He gestured toward the hallway, where several wrapped packages were visible. "It's Christmas, after all."

  "It's December 18th," Vance corrected, his voice cooling further. "And I appreciate you coming, but I made a commitment to help Eris."

  Mr. Cross's expression hardened, his resembnce to Vance even more pronounced in anger. "This is ridiculous. Martha, surely you can expin to Vance the importance of family obligations."

  Director Martha, who had been watching the exchange with a carefully neutral expression, sighed. "Richard, you know I can't force Vance to—"

  "I'm still his father," Mr. Cross snapped. "I still have parental rights."

  The words hung in the air like a thundercp. Eris felt Vance go completely still beside her, as if even breathing might shatter his control.

  "Rights?" Vance repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. "You're talking about rights now?"

  "Vance—" Director Martha began, a warning in her tone.

  But Vance was beyond warnings. Three years of hurt and abandonment surged to the surface, breaking through his carefully maintained composure.

  "Where were your 'parental rights' when you left me here?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Where were they when you missed my birthday? When you got married without even telling me? When you had a new son to repce the one you threw away?"

  "That's not fair," Caroline interjected, her practiced smile repced by genuine distress. "Richard talks about you all the time. We want you to be part of our family."

  "I'm not part of your family," Vance said ftly. "I'm the mistake he's trying to make up for with expensive gifts twice a year."

  Mr. Cross's face flushed with anger. "That's enough! You will not speak to me or Caroline that way. You're being childish and ungrateful."

  "Ungrateful?" Vance ughed, a harsh, bitter sound that made Eris wince. "What exactly should I be grateful for? That you visit twice a year out of guilt? That you bring presents instead of bringing me home?"

  The baby began to cry, disturbed by the raised voices. Caroline bounced him gently, trying to soothe him, but his wails only intensified.

  "I think we should continue this discussion another time," Director Martha intervened firmly. "When everyone has had a chance to calm down."

  Mr. Cross looked like he wanted to argue, but the baby's cries were becoming more insistent. "Fine," he said tersely. "Vance, we'll leave the gifts with Director Martha. I hope when we return for our summer visit, you'll have developed a more mature attitude."

  Vance said nothing, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  As the adults filed out of the room—Mr. Howard following with a murmured excuse about checking something in the library—Eris remained frozen in her seat, unsure what to do or say. The sounds of departure faded down the hallway, leaving her and Vance alone in a silence broken only by their breathing.

  Finally, Vance sat back down, his movements mechanical. He picked up his pencil and stared at the half-completed geometry problem on the page before him. For a long moment, he didn't move.

  Then, without warning, the pencil snapped between his fingers.

  "Vance?" Eris ventured cautiously.

  He didn't answer, didn't even seem to hear her. His face was a mask of controlled fury, but his eyes—his eyes reflected a pain so deep it made Eris's chest ache in sympathy.

  Without thinking, she reached out and pced her small hand over his clenched fist on the table. She didn't speak, didn't try to offer empty words of comfort. She just held on, a physical anchor in the storm of his emotions.

  Gradually, the tension in Vance's body eased. His fist uncurled beneath her palm, and he stared at their hands as if surprised to find them connected.

  "I hate him," he whispered, the words clearly costing him, as if admitting it aloud made it more real. "I hate him, and I still want him to want me. How pathetic is that?"

  "It's not pathetic," Eris said softly. "It's human."

  Vance looked up at her then, his gaze searching her face. "How did you get so wise for a seven-year-old?"

  Eris shrugged. "Maybe I was wise before. In my other life."

  It was a risky joke—neither of them typically referenced her amnesia directly—but it had the desired effect. The ghost of a smile touched Vance's lips.

  "Maybe you were an ancient philosopher reincarnated," he suggested, pying along.

  "Or a tiny fortune teller," Eris added, grateful for the lightening mood.

  "Either way," Vance said, his voice steadier now, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

  "Don't be," Eris replied earnestly. "We're friends. Friends see the ugly parts too."

  Vance's eyebrows rose slightly. "Friends?"

  "Well, yeah." Eris suddenly felt uncertain. "Aren't we?"

  Vance was quiet for a long moment, considering. Then he nodded, a single definitive motion. "Yes. We are."

  The simple confirmation filled Eris with warmth. In her six months at Serenity Home, she had become a student, a roommate, a cssmate—but this was different. This was chosen. Mutual.

  She had a friend. A real friend who knew the worst parts of her—the bnkness, the not-knowing—and accepted her anyway. And she knew parts of him that he kept hidden from everyone else.

  "So," she said, tapping the broken pencil, "do you actually want to learn geometry, or should we find something else to do with our suddenly free afternoon?"

  Vance considered the question, then stood. "Come on. I want to show you something."

  Curious, Eris followed him out of the study room, through the main part of the house, and up the narrow staircase that led to the third floor—primarily used for storage and off-limits to children without permission.

  "We're not supposed to be up here," she whispered as they reached the top.

  "It's fine. I have permission." Vance led her down the dusty hallway to a small door at the end. It opened onto a steep set of stairs leading up to what could only be the attic.

  The attic itself was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the third floor. A threadbare rug covered part of the wooden floor, a beanbag chair and a stack of books occupied one corner, and a small window seat overlooked the snowy grounds of Serenity Home.

  "This is my pce," Vance expined, watching Eris take in the space. "Director Martha lets me come up here when I need to... get away."

  Eris understood immediately. In an orphanage with thirty children, true privacy was nearly impossible to find. This small attic room was Vance's sanctuary.

  "It's perfect," she said, meaning it. She crossed to the window, gazing out at the winter ndscape below. From this height, the world seemed smaller, more manageable somehow.

  "No one else comes up here," Vance said, joining her at the window. "Just me. And now you."

  The significance of his words wasn't lost on Eris. Vance was sharing something precious with her—not just a secret space, but his trust. After the scene with his father, it felt like a gift of immeasurable value.

  "Thank you," she said simply. "For showing me."

  They sat together on the window seat, watching the snow fall in gentle silence, two lost children who had somehow found each other in the vastness of their separate loneliness.

  And for that moment, at least, it was enough.