Drake moved through the empty halls of the Solaris estate like a ghost. His footsteps barely made a sound against the polished marble floors, though he doubted anyone would be listening. The whispers had faded, the judgment had been cast, and the world had already turned against him. Now, there was only silence.
He stopped outside a familiar door—Celia's room.
For a moment, he hesitated. His sister had always been the one person he could turn to. If there was anyone who might stand by him, it would be her. But would she dare defy their father?
His hand hovered over the wooden surface before he finally knocked.
The door cracked open almost immediately, and Celia's face appeared, her expression tight with worry. She pulled him inside without a word, shutting the door behind him. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered. "Father won't forgive you for this."
Drake let out a humorless laugh. "He's already disowned me, Celia. What more can he do?"
She flinched, her hands gripping the fabric of her robes. "I—I don't know what to say."
Drake studied her face, searching for something—anger, defiance, hope. Instead, all he saw was fear. It settled deep in his gut like a weight he couldn't shake.
"You didn't say anything," he finally said, his voice quiet but filled with something raw. "When he cast me out, you just stood there."
Celia turned away, her shoulders stiff. "What could I have done?"
"You could have spoken up," he said, frustration creeping into his tone. "You could have told them I was still your brother."
"And what would that have changed?" she snapped, spinning back toward him. "You don't understand, Drake. Going against Father isn't just dangerous—it's impossible. I could have pleaded for you, I could have begged, and it wouldn't have mattered."
Drake clenched his fists. "So you chose to stay silent."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I chose to survive."
The words hit harder than any spell. He had always believed that, no matter what, Celia would be on his side. That blood meant something. But the truth was as plain as the sorrow on her face—she was afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to stand with him.
"I can't leave," she whispered. "I wish I could, but I can't."
Drake exhaled slowly, forcing the lump in his throat down. "Then this is goodbye."
Celia stepped forward, as if she wanted to reach for him, to say something more. But she hesitated. And then she let her hands fall to her sides.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
Drake didn't have the strength to answer. He turned, stepping through the door without another word.
The halls of the estate had never felt so empty.
And this time, when he walked away, he knew there would be no one following him.