Chapter 138: The Space Between
The clouds over S••••••• F••••• broke apart in slow - motion as the private jet descended through them, slicing through the pale dusk with elegant precision. Below, the mansion came into view — a lone sprawl of stone and slate wrapped in a cradle of forest, faint trails of smoke curling from distant chimneys like ghosts reluctant to leave.
Eva didn't stir from her seat. She sat curled in a long coat too thin for the altitude, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes fixed on the window but seeing nothing of what passed. The cup of herbal tea in her hand had long gone cold.
Evelyn sat across from her, silent and composed. Not motherly, not distant — just there, in the way fog rests on water. She hadn't spoken in hours. Nor had Eva asked her to.
P•••• had been beautiful, as always. The art, the gardens, the polished grace of the estate they visited — it all shimmered like a story told too gently. But it hadn't felt like a visit home. It hadn't felt like truth. It was a carefully curated glimpse, nothing more.
"You don't have to meet them," Evelyn had said, a few nights ago in the warmth of a guest suite filled with rose - scented light. She'd been brushing Eva's hair then, each stroke slow, deliberate. "This isn't the lair of Lioré. It's just… one of their shadows. We promised myself and your auntie Vivienne we wouldn't let them touch you too soon."
Eva had said nothing. Only listened.
"You deserve to grow without the full weight of it," Evelyn continued, her voice so quiet it might have been mistaken for a thought. "Not everyone gets that choice. But I intend to give it to you."
A soft pause.
"I'll let you see the outline of what you are. But the name, the legacy — they can wait."
Eva remembered staring at her own reflection in the vanity mirror: a girl who looked older than she felt, with eyes that held too much. The lines of her face were Evelyn's, but the shadows — those belonged to someone else.
Someone she hadn't met yet.
The wheels touched down without a jolt. The jet taxied to a private tarmac on the far side of the estate grounds. Eva descended the steps alone, the winter wind lifting strands of her dark brown wavy curl hair and pressing them across her cheek. The driver who waited by the car — a tall, silent man in black — bowed without speaking.
The drive home wound through pine trees and mist, the windows fogging gently from the cold. Eva didn't speak. She didn't reach for her phone. She didn't ask about Seraphina.
She already knew.
Ina would be at school. Or at least, still with her family. There had been no calls, no messages since Eva had left N•••••. Just the distance. Just the weight of it.
Eva rested her head against the cold windowpane and closed her eyes.
The Lioré's mansion loomed at the end of the road like a memory made real — grey stone washed in silver light, ivy curling down from the dormer windows, chimneys weeping smoke into a fading sky.
Vivienne was waiting in the entry hall.
She didn't rush forward. Didn't open her arms. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze softened as Eva stepped inside.
"You're late," she said.
"The wind changed," Eva replied.
Vivienne gave a soft snort and reached forward, brushing a windblown strand of hair from Eva's forehead. "You've gotten thinner."
Eva looked down at her boots. "Not on purpose."
"Come. I had the fire lit in the tea room. There's food waiting."
"I'm not —"
"You will be," Vivienne interrupted gently. "Give it time."
The Mansion was warm in that hollow way old places were — alive with silence, rich with the scent of woodsmoke and age. Eva wandered the hallways like a ghost slipping back into its skin.
The drawing room hadn't changed. Nor had the study, or the greenhouse windows with their streaks of condensation. It was all still here.
But Seraphina wasn't.
Her absence was louder than any creaking floorboard.
The tea room was softly lit. A fire glowed in the hearth, and a polished silver tray sat on the table with petit fours, two delicate teacups, and a folded envelope resting precisely beside them.
Eva stared at the envelope.
Cream - colored. Heavy. Sealed with wax.
The symbol embedded in the seal — a flowering vine spiraled into something not quite floral, something that hinted at claw and wing beneath beauty.
She didn't touch it. Not yet.
Instead, she walked over to the window and looked out across the gardens.
Empty.
Eva exhaled, fogging the glass.
She remembered the last morning they'd shared before she left for N••••• — Seraphina bundling her scarf too tightly around Eva's neck, the two of them giggling beneath their breath like the children they had never truly been allowed to be.
"You'll write, text, call, video call?" Ina had asked.
Eva had nodded.
But she hadn't written.
She couldn't. Not without unraveling.
She returned to her room slowly, fingers trailing along the banister of the grand staircase. The familiar hush greeted her — the weight of thick carpets and shadowed corners.
Her room was untouched. Cleaned, yes, but nothing moved. The ribbon Seraphina had tied to her bedside lamp was still there, its color dulled by time. Her pillow still smelled faintly of jasmine and something softer — something that reminded her of Ina's hugs.
There was a note tucked into the drawer of her nightstand.
Not from Evelyn. Not from Vivienne.
From Seraphina.
Eva knew Ina's handwriting immediately: small, careful, and slightly rounded.
Dear Eva,
I hope P•••• isn't too loud. You always squint when the city is too bright.
I kept your ribbon safe. I didn't untie it.
I told the roses in the greenhouse that you'd be back before spring. They're skeptical. But I believe them anyway.
I hope you're warm.
Come home soon.
—Ina
Eva pressed the note to her chest. For a long moment, she didn't move. She just stood there, barefoot on the carpet, listening to a silence that no longer felt empty.
It felt waiting.
Later, she returned to the tea room.
The envelope still waited.
She cracked the seal.
The paper inside was thick, crisp. The ink was dense, like it had been written with too much pressure. There was no preamble.
You are invited to attend the St. Aldwyn Symposium.
Your presence has been requested by the House of Lioré.
You will be escorted. You will be seated.
You will be named.
There was more — location, date, contact details for a representative who would reach out within the week.
But Eva didn't finish reading.
She folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and tucked it into the drawer without a word.
That night, she didn't sleep.
She lay on her side, tracing the curve of the ribbon Seraphina had tied to her lamp, the fabric worn smooth where her fingers had worried it countless times before.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees.
She imagined Seraphina in her own bed, somewhere far away but beneath the same sky.
She imagined her writing that letter, imagining Eva in P•••• — stronger, braver, less burdened.
Eva closed her eyes.
There would be time, soon, for the truths she had to face. The name she carried. The world waiting to claim her.
But for now, she stayed suspended.
In the space between.