The greenhouse always smelled faintly of salt and damp leaves, its cracked glass panes humming softly with wind from the cliffs. It was one of the few places in the manor Nan rarely checked — which made it theirs.

Max sat on the low stone ledge beneath the broken window, one knee drawn up, headphones resting crookedly around his neck. A thin wire disappeared into the pocket of his worn jacket where his music player hid. His messy hair shifted in the breeze that slipped through the fractured glass.

He glanced over as Kay pushed through the overgrown doorway, brushing leaves from her sleeves.

For a moment he just watched her — the way she moved easily through a place that had always felt like a cage to him.

Then he tilted his head slightly toward the empty space beside him. An invitation.

“You’re late,” he said quietly. Not accusing. Just noticing.

His gaze flicked past her briefly, scanning the greenhouse entrance, the path beyond, the manor windows in the distance — habit, always checking.

Then his attention settled fully back on her, softer.

“I found something,” he added, fingers tapping lightly against the music player in his pocket. “A new tape. From the storage room.”

A small pause.

“…You want to hear it?”