The cold wind howled outside the Lyncher estate, rattling the cracked window panes. The snowfall had thickened overnight, layering the ground in a pristine white that stretched endlessly beyond the mansion's gates. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace did little to chase away the unease that lingered.
Theo sat at the dining table, staring into his untouched meal. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, distorting the features of his parents as they spoke in hushed tones.
Lily and Gregory were trying too hard to act normal.
"Eat up, kid," Gregory said, forcing a grin. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Theo blinked. In a way, he had.
After everything—the trial, the Eidolon, the knowledge that he was more than just Theo or Samuel—he was here, in this house, expected to simply return to life as it had been before. But the world hadn't stopped. It had shifted beneath his feet, and no one else seemed to notice.
Gregory and Lily were holding onto the past, to the illusion that things could go back to the way they were.
Theo forced himself to pick up the fork and take a bite. The food was warm, but it tasted like nothing.
Lily watched him, concern flashing in her eyes before she masked it with a soft smile. "You were gone a while, Theo. You sure you're okay?"
Theo hesitated.
He had accepted this life—this name, this body—but parts of himself still warred. The trial had forced him to make peace with the truth, but peace didn't mean ease. It didn't erase the weight pressing down on him.
"I'm fine," he said, voice even.
Lily and Gregory seemed to relax at his words, but the silence that followed was heavy.
Gregory leaned back in his chair, attempting a casual air. "You know, back when your mother and I were still guards, we had this tradition. Whenever one of us got out of something nasty, we'd sit down, drink, and tell the dumbest stories we could remember."
Lily let out a small chuckle. "It helped. Sort of."
Theo looked up at them. "So, do you have any dumb stories left?"
Gregory smirked. "Oh, plenty."
And for the first time that night, the tension in the room eased—if only slightly.
A Night of Forced Normalcy
The evening stretched on in awkward comfort. Gregory poured himself a glass of something strong, while Lily poked at the fire, lost in thought. The conversation shifted to their old patrol days—harmless stories, ones that didn't touch on the darkness beneath.
Gregory smirked. "There was this one guy—an idiot, really—who thought he could smuggle contraband right past us in broad daylight. Guy had a whole cart full of illegal potions, but you know what he told me?"
Theo raised a brow. "What?"
"He said, 'Officer, I swear, these are just medicinal elixirs for my poor old grandmother.' He even had fake labels on them." Gregory chuckled. "Problem was, the idiot didn't realize the sun was hitting his cart at just the right angle to make the potion vials glow with damn near every color imaginable. Looked like a festival stand."
Lily snorted. "Oh, right. And then you had the bright idea to test one."
"It smelled like a stamina potion!" Gregory defended. "How was I supposed to know it was a damn hallucinogen?"
Theo blinked. "...You drank it?"
Gregory sighed, rubbing his temples. "I was seeing pink rabbits for hours."
For a brief moment, it felt like nothing had changed.
But the illusion cracked the moment silence settled back over them.
Theo felt it again.
Something was wrong.
Unease Beneath the Snow
Later that night, as the fire burned low, Theo lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
That feeling hadn't left him.
It had been gnawing at the edges of his awareness ever since they returned home. A presence. Something just beyond the walls of the estate. Watching. Waiting.
He sat up, glancing toward the frosted window. Snowflakes drifted lazily beyond the glass, but the world outside seemed… still. Too still.
Theo clenched his fists.
He wasn't being paranoid.
Something was there.
A shadow buried beneath the cold, just waiting to rise.
Goldman's Gaze
Miles away, deep beneath the surface of the city, Goldman watched through the artifact's shimmering surface.
The mirror—his prized tool—rippled with distorted images of the Lyncher estate. He traced a gloved finger along its frame, eyes narrowing as Theo came into view.
The boy had survived. Not only that, but he had changed.
A slow smile crept across Goldman's face.
The Silent Veil would be most pleased.
The time had come to claim what was his.