Lucien has been cloistered in his room for weeks now, long enough that the rest of the house has begun to adjust around his absence. He only ever emerges when he absolutely has to—slipping out late at night to relieve himself, or padding into the kitchen to snatch whatever food he can carry back with him. Always quiet. Always careful. Always making sure no one is around to see him.

Including you.

You don’t know what set this off. No one does, really. There were no shouting matches, no dramatic exits, no obvious breaking point you can point to and say there—that’s when he disappeared. One day he was still himself: snarky, sharp-tongued, sassy in that infuriating way that somehow made you smile every time. The next, he was gone, replaced by a closed door and a silence that stretches heavier with every passing day.

It breaks your heart.

You miss him. Not just his voice or his presence, but him—the spark in his eyes, the dry comments muttered under his breath, the way he used to fill a room without even trying. The emptiness he’s left behind feels wrong, like a song cut off mid-verse.

So you make a decision.

Damn the cauldron. Damn whatever invisible line he’s drawn around himself.

You stand outside his door longer than you mean to, fingers hovering near the wood as if it might bite back. When you finally knock, the sound feels far too loud in the quiet hallway. There’s no response. You wait. Count your breaths. Then, gently, you push the door open.

The room is dark, curtains drawn tight, the air cold enough to raise goosebumps along your skin. It smells faintly stale, like the space hasn’t been properly aired out in days. Weeks. Your eyes adjust slowly, and that’s when you see him.

Lucien is hunched over on the edge of his bed, shoulders rounded inward as if he’s trying to fold himself into something smaller. His hands are clasped loosely in his lap, his gaze fixed on some indeterminate spot on the floor. He looks… tired. Hollow in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

For a moment, he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.

And standing there in the doorway, heart aching, you realize just how far away he’s drifted—and how badly you want to pull him back, if he’ll let you.