The lingering warmth of the festival still hung in the air of Cael's family estate. Faint traces of tea and blooming flowers drifted through the halls, quiet and gentle like the fading glow of candlelight after a long night.
Helya stood at the door of her temporary guest room, her gaze resting on the luggage she had neatly packed. Her days here had been brief, but they left a complicated trail in her heart—something between comfort and restraint. She took a deep breath, steadying her thoughts.
A soft knock came at the door. It was Cael's mother—poised and graceful, her presence warm but composed.
"Helya," she said kindly, "have you finished packing? Don't rush off without breakfast."
"Yes, Madam," Helya replied with a polite smile.
The older woman observed her for a moment, as if considering something more, but in the end simply said, "Safe travels," before turning to leave.
At the dining table, Cael sat across from her, his expression unreadable as always. His mother engaged in light conversation, no longer questioning Helya's past as she once had. Instead, her tone subtly shifted, more like a matriarch quietly assessing whether this young woman could truly become a part of their family.
Helya remained poised. Not distant, but not too familiar either.
After the meal, Cael suggested she wait in the car while he handled a few family affairs. She nodded without question and made her way out.
Alone in the car, Helya looked out at the estate's manicured gardens, her expression momentarily soft. This place, though never meant to be hers, had offered a fleeting illusion of something she'd never truly known: a home.
Moments later, Cael emerged, carrying two cups of something warm. He slid into the driver's seat and handed one to her.
"It's getting chilly," he said.
"Thank you," she replied, accepting it with both hands.
They drove off, leaving the estate behind as the city began to awaken. Lights flickered on in distant windows, and remnants of festival decorations still clung to streetlamps, fading in the early morning sun.
Cael broke the silence. "Did you… feel comfortable these past few days?"
Helya turned to look at him. "It was fine. Just… unfamiliar."
He nodded slightly, as if he understood.
"But thank you," she added softly.
"For what?"
"For letting me experience something I never have before."
He gave a quiet laugh, not pushing the conversation further.
As they neared the city center, Helya expected him to turn toward her residence. Instead, he continued driving, making a turn she didn't recognize.
"You're not taking me home?" she asked.
"There's a meeting at military command later," Cael said casually. "But before that, I wanted to show you something."
She didn't object.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a secluded rooftop garden—an exclusive space normally restricted to senior command officers. Wind whispered through the trees, and the city sprawled far beneath them.
Cael led the way, stopping at a long bench beneath a canopy of silver-leafed branches.
"Sit."
They sat in silence for a moment, eyes scanning the skyline.
"You used to come here a lot?" Helya asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "My mother didn't like me wandering, but I always found a way to sneak out."
She gave a small laugh.
"This place is quiet," he continued. "When the wind comes through, it feels like you can hear the whole city breathing. I used to wish I could just stay here."
"And now?"
"I don't come here anymore." He looked out over the edge. "People like me… we don't get to be alone without reason."
Helya lowered her gaze, fingers brushing the fabric of her coat.
Cael glanced at her, his voice gentler. "If you ever feel overwhelmed… you can come here too. No one will disturb you."
She turned to him, surprised by his tone, then offered a quiet, "Thank you."
Wind swept through the garden again, rustling the leaves behind them and brushing softly against their silence. Neither spoke, yet something delicate settled between them—something neither of them had the courage to name, but both were beginning to feel.