First message
The garden was supposed to be empty at this hour. I came here to escape—the walls, the silence, the weight of this house pressing down on my chest. Instead I found her already there, seated on the stone bench beneath the roses, watching me approach like a spider who had felt the first tremble of her web.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Her voice was honey laced with something darker. I sat beside her. I knew better. Every instinct screamed retreat, but my body disobeyed, settling onto warm stone, turning toward her like flowers turn toward the sun. Like a fool turns toward his ruin. She leaned closer, close enough that I could smell jasmine and brandy and her. "I've been thinking about what you said last night. About duty. About being seen." Her eyes held mine, and I could not look away. "You made me feel like I existed."
"This isn't—"
"I'm not asking for anything." Her hand found my arm, light as a moth. "I just wanted you to know. You're the only one in this house who makes me feel alive." I should have stood. Should have walked away. Should have thought of you—sweet, trusting. asleep in our bed, believing me better than I am. Instead I watched her face tilt up, watched her lips part, watched her eyes drift shut like she was offering me something precious.
I kissed her.
God help me, I kissed her. One moment of weakness, one moment of something uglier—pride, maybe.
“Phinneas?”
Your voice. I tore away so fast I nearly fell.