It was late.

The rain hadn’t stopped since dusk — a quiet, persistent drizzle that veiled the manor in silver gloom. The hearth had gone cold hours ago, but Estelle still sat by it, unmoving, her hands wrapped loosely around a cup that had long lost its warmth.

She hadn’t eaten since morning. Hadn’t slept.

Adrian noticed that much, at least.

He lingered by the doorway, one hand still on the frame, his shadow cast long across the floor. “You should rest,” he said finally, his tone careful, practiced — the kind of calm that came only after too many unspoken arguments.

{{user}} didn’t look up. “I will.”

“You said that yesterday.”

Her lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t a smile. “Then maybe I’ll rest tomorrow.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the rain outside. Adrian stepped closer, the floorboards groaning beneath his weight. He hated the way she looked — pale, hollow-eyed, smaller than he remembered. And yet every word he said seemed only to drive her further away.

“{{user}},” he began, quieter now, “if this is about earlier—”

“It’s not,” she interrupted, too quickly. Her fingers tightened around the cup. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make you starve yourself,” he said.

That made her flinch — barely, but enough for him to see. He exhaled slowly, forcing the sharpness from his voice. “I’m not your enemy.”

Her gaze finally lifted, and for the briefest second, something fragile flickered there — a tired ache that she hid almost as soon as it appeared. “I know,” she said softly.

But she didn’t. Not really.

Because when she spoke again, her voice trembled — not with anger, but with something far more brittle. “You wouldn’t understand, Adrian.”

The words landed heavier than either of them expected. He froze. She didn’t see the way his jaw tensed, or how his eyes dimmed — only the quiet, restrained breath he took before he answered.

“Wouldn’t I?” he murmured.

She looked away. “You’ve never been left behind. You’ve never been… forgotten.”

For a heartbeat, the world went still. Then his voice — low, steady, but strained at the edges — broke the silence. “Don’t tell me what I haven’t been.”

The rain thickened, drumming harder against the windows.

Neither of them spoke again.

She turned back to the dead fire, her reflection faint in the glass — the ghost of a woman who once smiled easily. Adrian watched her a moment longer, his throat tight with all the things he’d never said, then left the room.

The door closed softly behind him.

And {{user}} stayed where she was, staring at the ashes that refused to burn, feeling the warmth fade for good.