The foyer had two separating doors on its sides—one to the left, leading to the kitchen where Silas had just peeked, and another to the right, still cloaked in mystery. In the center, nestled between the sweeping staircase, were a pair of matching doors that led to the back of the estate. Their dark oak finish gleamed faintly under the chandelier's golden glow, each one bearing ornate silver handles shaped like coiled dragons.
"Guess I'll meet my mom then…"
He spoke to no one in particular, his voice low as he moved forward, shoes whispering across the marble. He passed through one of the middle doors, entering the next chamber.
It was the mansion's common room.
Soft light spilled through tall, arched windows, painting long patterns across the hardwood floor. A pair of elegant couches faced each other before a polished coffee table, and the corners of the room were dotted with high bookshelves, their contents ranging from dusty tomes to picture books. A delicate chandelier swayed gently overhead, stirred by the distant hum of enchantments.
But what caught his eye were the toys.
Tucked into a woven basket beside one of the shelves, a small wooden sword peeked out, along with plush animals and tiny magical constructs—glow-crystals faintly flickering within them. On the rug near the fireplace, a knight figurine stood mid-fall, as though frozen mid-battle. A princess figurine lay beside it, arm outstretched.
Guess these were my toys when I was still a child.
He knelt down slowly, fingertips brushing the knight's tiny sword. The craftsmanship was impressive, even for a toy—its painted armor detailed with tiny runes. Something about the placement, the dustless patch beneath it, felt… recent.
"I need to keep all of this in mind… If I want to blend in."
He muttered to himself, more a promise than a thought.
Then came a voice from behind—smooth, dry, and distinctly unimpressed.
Feminine. His age, or close to it.
But more than that, it struck a familiar chord.
"Didn't expect you to be the type to reminisce about the past."
Marcus turned his head while still kneeling, blinking as his gaze landed on a girl standing in the doorway. She leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed.
The same black hair, the same dark eyes, the same sharp jawline.
But it was the annoyance on her face—the furrowed brow, the half-lidded stare—that confirmed it.
Is that… my sister?
"You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost. Either that, or you're more of an idiot than I thought."
Marcus blinked again before letting out a breath of disbelief, then chuckled. He stood up smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off his trousers in an effort to buy a second.
"Oh please, don't flatter yourself."
Her expression shifted—a twitch of surprise broke her scowl. One eyebrow rose slowly, mouth parting in confusion, like she was preparing a long-winded retort that had just been derailed.
"What's got you talking so fancy?"
Marcus froze for a heartbeat.
That was dangerous. The tone. The phrasing. Too formal, too unlike her brother. He could see it—her instincts already working, already comparing, already doubting.
If anyone could see through me, it'd be her.
Same age, same upbringing. She probably knows every quirk of the original Marcus.
He forced a small laugh.
"Oh come on, I can try something new, can't I?" He gave a small shrug. "Just something to impress the professors."
Her eyes narrowed for a second, but then she snorted.
With a flick of her wrist, a book flew off a nearby shelf—surrounded in faint violet magic—and zipped straight toward the side of Marcus's head.
He caught it one-handed without flinching.
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise bleeding into her grin.
"Oh…? Seems like your first day at that snobbish academy actually taught you something."
"You're coming to talk to Mom, right? Let me come with you. I've got nothing better to do anyway—just finished my homework."
Marcus nodded faintly, mind spinning beneath the calm surface of his expression.
Snobbish academy…?
So she doesn't go to the same school. That helps.
And based on how she acts… she's probably the smart one. The quick one.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Okay. I can handle this dynamic.
He tossed the book lightly into the air—then, with a casual flick of his wrist, guided it back to its original spot on the shelf. It slid perfectly into place, not even nudging the other spines.
His sister stared at the shelf, eyes wide.
"How in the world…? How much did you change from your first day?"
Marcus shrugged again, smirking.
"Guess you can call it luck. Either that, or I might be more of a genius than you think."
She scoffed, but he could tell she was impressed—even if she'd die before admitting it.
As they stepped toward the back of the estate, a final, quiet thought slipped into his mind—one that clung like a thorn under his skin.
How the hell am I supposed to figure out their names?