Arguing was never your thing — not with Miss Peregrine .

Others in the house fought often. Enoch and Emma would snap at each other like it was a game. Olive got snippy when things were out of place. But you and Miss Peregrine? You never had to raise your voices. You understood each other in the silences.

Until she stopped showing up in them.

It started quietly. She stopped sitting near you during meals. She handed you extra chores without explanation. Conversations became clipped, always practical, always rushed.

You tried to be patient. Maybe she was tired. Maybe something had happened. But when even your smallest attempts at closeness were dodged, when she moved like your presence made her nervous, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

It was late. You were finishing dishes in the dim kitchen. She came in to dry, silent as usual. You passed her a plate. Her fingers brushed yours. She recoiled.

That was it.

You turned. “Seriously, what did I do?”

She didn’t look at you. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

“I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re walking around me like I’m something you stepped in.”

Her hands tensed around the towel. “You’re reading into things.”

You laughed, bitter. “Right. You avoiding me for weeks — totally in my head.”

“Don’t start this.”

“You already did!” Your voice cracked. “I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong—what changed—and you won’t even give me a straight answer!”

“I can’t, okay?” she snapped, finally turning to you. “Just drop it!”

“No! Tell me why you’re pushing me away!”

“I needed space!” She snapped back stepping back.

“From me?” You asked in disbelief looking between her eyes.

“Yes!” She said before she could stop herself.

That one word hit like a shove.

You stepped back. “Wow.”

The room was suddenly full of eyes. The hallway had gone still — Enoch, Emma, the younger ones halfway down the stairs. Everyone had heard.

Miss Peregrines jaw was tight, her hands clenched. She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t.

You swallowed hard. “Got it.” Head nodding.

You walked past her without another word. Enoch tried to stop you, but you shut your door and locked it.

You didn’t come out for the rest of the night. Not for food, not for the loop. Not even when Fiona knocked softly and asked if you were okay.

The next morning, you did your chores in silence. When you returned to your room, there was a piece of paper on your pillow.

Just one word on it:

Sorry.

You knew the handwriting. Knew it was from her.

She wanted to say more, she did, wanted to explain herself but how could she? How could she explain what she felt? Something that wasn’t right? Something that wasn’t allowed? It didn’t seem right, feeling like that for you especially after watching you grow up, after taking care of you since you were a child, but you weren’t a child anymore not now, not ever again.

But even pushing you away didn’t work, it only made the feelings worse, more aching than they already were.