Chapter 13
The room was quiet enough that Elowyn could hear the faint hum of the house settling around her.
Dust motes drifted lazily through a strip of afternoon light, and she stood there, unmoving, as if time had decided to pause with her.
Thoughts came and went without fully forming, looping and circling back on themselves.
Eventually, she looked down at her hand.
The pen rested across her palm like something fragile.
It was light pink, the color softened with age rather than dulled. A small flower curved around the clip, enamel smooth from years of being touched. She turned it once, twice, watching the light catch on it.
This was her favorite pen.
It wrote cleanly. Smooth lines. No scratching, no skipping. She’d tested others before, but this one had stayed within reach on her desk.
She slipped it carefully into her bag, making sure it sat in its own pocket, away from keys or anything that might scuff it.
The decision had already been made.
She just needed to follow through.
?
Montrieux Atelier rose into view like it always did. Tall. Clean. Glass catching the sky in a way that made it hard to look at directly. Elowyn slowed as she approached, adjusting the strap of her bag, fingers brushing the earbuds looped loosely around her neck.
The woman at the front desk let Elowyn in without the usual questions. No clipboard. No polite suspicion. Just a nod of recognition and a quiet, “Go on ahead,” as if Elowyn had always belonged in the building. That part was easy.
The harder part came immediately after.
She paused just inside the lobby, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag as she tried to orient herself.
The building was familiar in pieces but not as a whole.
Corridors branched off in clean, glass-lined directions.
Voices echoed faintly from somewhere above.
Everything felt bigger when she wasn’t following her father.
She didn’t know where Ms. Monroe’s office was. She knew the sixth floor, though. Knew the way the elevator opened into unfinished space, into work and people who recognized her. It was the only place that made sense.
So she pressed the button.
The elevator ride was quiet, save for the soft hum of cables and the muted ding of passing floors. Numbers lit up in order. She watched them change, focusing on the pattern. Her shoulders lowered just a little as the doors finally slid open.
And then the sound hit her.
Metal screamed against metal.
A cutting wheel shrieked somewhere down the hall, sharp and relentless, vibrating through the concrete and straight into her chest. Another sound layered over it—a heavy clatter, something dropped, voices raised to be heard over the noise.
Too loud.
Too sudden.
Elowyn froze just outside the elevator.
Her hands came up instinctively, palms pressing against the sides of her head, fingers patting in short, frantic motions as if she could physically push the sound away.
Her breathing went shallow.
She rocked once, barely noticeable, then again.
The pen was suddenly very far away.
“Elowyn.”
The voice cut through the noise—not louder than the rest, but closer. Controlled. Familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.
She didn’t turn fast enough.
Gentle hands touched her wrists, not gripping, just guiding them down. Another hand lifted the earbuds from her neck, fingers efficient and careful as they eased one into her ear, then the other.
That didn’t help much.
Her earbuds weren’t noise-canceling, and there was no music playing in them to help block out a little bit of noise.
The metal still screamed in her ears. The edges of the sound still sharp.
Elowyn’s breath stuttered. She raised her hands again and continued to press them to her head.
“It’s okay,” Ms. Monroe said quietly, close enough that Elowyn could hear her even through the noise. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t explain. She simply stepped slightly in front of Elowyn, a solid presence, and guided her backward with a steady hand at her elbow.
The elevator doors were still open.
Seraphina pressed the button.
As the doors slid shut, the noise vanished completely.
Elowyn sagged just a fraction, hands still hovering near her head, eyes unfocused.
Seraphina stayed close without crowding her, body angled protectively, gaze sharp and alert in case anything else went wrong.
They rode up in silence.
When the doors opened again, the space beyond was different. Quiet. Light filtered through glass walls instead of bare bulbs. No shouting. No cutting metal.
Seraphina guided her down the hall, steps measured, until they reached a door set slightly apart from the others.
She opened it.
“Come on,” she said gently. "Let's go inside.”
Elowyn followed, still dazed, still breathing carefully, as Seraphina led her into her office and closed the door behind them with a muted click.
The quiet inside the office was immediate. Thick walls sealed the space off from the rest of the building, swallowing the distant hum of Montrieux Atelier until only a low, steady stillness remained.
Elowyn stood just inside the doorway, shoulders tight, breath uneven. The earbuds stayed in, but her hands trembled as they lowered to her sides. Tears had slipped free without permission, tracing down her cheeks in warm, straight lines.
Seraphina noticed everything.
The way Elowyn’s fingers curled inward like she was holding herself together. The way her breathing caught every few seconds, shallow and apologetic. The way she looked anywhere but at Seraphina.
Seraphina did not speak.
She moved slowly, deliberately, as if sudden motion might fracture something fragile in the air. She gestured toward the sofa tucked against the far wall, its cushions deep and unassuming.
“You can sit,” she whispered, voice calm. Not commanding, just… coaxing.
Elowyn nodded once and crossed the room, perching on the edge before curling in on herself, knees drawn close. The tears didn’t stop. They didn’t escalate either. Just quiet, steady leaking, like something that had been held too long.
Seraphina hesitated.
She had negotiated hostile boardrooms without blinking. Managed crises with a steady hand and sharper mind. But this was different. This was not something to fix.
She sat down beside Elowyn, leaving space between them. Enough to breathe. Enough to choose.
After a moment, she reached out.
Her hands were careful. Long fingers, elegant and precise, moving as if they understood the importance of restraint. She brushed her knuckles gently along Elowyn’s soft cheek, wiping away a tear with the lightest touch, then another.
Elowyn flinched, just barely.
Seraphina froze instantly, hand hovering, ready to pull back.
But Elowyn didn’t recoil. She leaned in, almost unconsciously, small face tipping toward the warmth of Seraphina’s palm.
So Seraphina continued.
Slowly. Gently. One tear at a time. Her thumb smoothed beneath Elowyn’s eye, then stilled, resting there as if to say she would not go any further unless invited.
They sat like that for a long while.
The office clock ticked softly. Outside, the city moved on, oblivious. Inside, everything narrowed to breath and presence.
Eventually, Elowyn’s crying softened into quiet hiccups. Her shoulders loosened. She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater and immediately flushed, mortified.
“I’m s-sorry,” she rushed out, words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t mean—”
Seraphina shook her head gently.
“No,” she said, firm but kind. “Stop.”
Elowyn faltered mid-sentence.
“There’s truly nothing to apologize for,” she said. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Not even a little.”
Elowyn swallowed, cheeks burning, gaze staying fixed on her hands.
Seraphina did not pull away.
“You don’t owe me an apology… not for simply being here,” she said, voice gentle, quietly intimate, each word measured.
Elowyn’s breath hitched again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was something else.
Relief, maybe. Or disbelief.
Seraphina stayed with her, unhurried, letting the silence do what it needed to do.
Then the office phone rang.
The sound was sharp in the quiet, sudden and bright, causing Elowyn to jump just a little. Not enough to panic again, but enough that her shoulders lifted and her hands twitched instinctively toward her chest.
Seraphina noticed immediately.
“I’ve got it,” she said, moving with calm precision. “You’re okay.”
She crossed the room in long, efficient strides and lifted the receiver before it could ring a second time. Her voice shifted into something professional and practiced.
“Yes. This is Monroe.”
Elowyn stayed on the sofa, breathing carefully, eyes following Seraphina’s movements without quite meaning to. The office felt steadier now. Still. The hum of the building beneath her feet instead of crashing around her.
As Seraphina spoke, nodding once, Elowyn’s fingers brushed against her bag.
The pen.
She blinked, remembering why she had come at all.
She took the earbuds out of her ears, then slowly reached inside and pulled the pen out. She held it for a second, thumb brushing over it like reassurance, then stood.
She crossed the office quietly, steps soft against the tiles.
Seraphina was still talking when Elowyn reached the desk.
“…yes, that timeline works. Send it to my email and I’ll review it this afternoon,” Seraphina said. “Thank you.”
She hung up and turned just as Elowyn placed the pen gently on the desk.
No announcement. No explanation.
Just the careful placement of something important.
Seraphina blinked, gaze dropping to the pen, then lifting back to Elowyn with faint confusion.
“Elowyn…?”
Elowyn’s hands twisted together in front of her. She didn’t meet Seraphina’s eyes.
“I—um,” she started, then stopped, breath hitching slightly. She tried again. “I broke your pen. Yesterday. On accident.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
Seraphina opened her mouth, but Elowyn rushed on, words soft and careful.
“This one—uh—writes really good,” she added. “It doesn’t scratch. And it doesn’t skip.”
Another pause. “It’s… nice.”
Seraphina stared at the pen for a moment, then laughed softly. Not loud. Just surprised and warm.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “It’s really okay. I have plenty of pens.”
She picked it up and extended it back toward Elowyn. “You don’t need to give me yours.”
Elowyn shook her head immediately and pushed it right back into Seraphina’s hand, small palm firm despite herself.
“Please,” she said quietly.
There was no drama in it. No pleading. Just certainty.
Seraphina hesitated, then smiled again, this time with something softer settling into her expression.
Understanding.
“All right,” she murmured, curling her fingers around the pen. “Thank you.”
Elowyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, but she didn’t move away.
She stayed standing where she was, hands folded loosely in front of her, gaze fixed on something just past the edge of Seraphina’s awareness. Not Seraphina herself. Not the pen she’d just surrendered.
The desk.
Seraphina noticed the stillness first. The way Elowyn’s attention narrowed, focused, as if the rest of the room had dimmed slightly around her.
She followed Elowyn’s line of sight.
Two pens lay near the corner of the desk. One red. One blue. Parallel, but not quite aligned.
Before Seraphina could comment, Elowyn stepped forward. Carefully. Deliberately.
She reached out and adjusted them with precise movements, sliding one just a fraction of an inch.
“Blue goes before red,” she said softly.
Seraphina blinked, then lifted a brow, amusement flickering across her face. “Is that so?”
Elowyn nodded. Just once. Small. Certain.
She glanced up.
Really up.
Seraphina was tall. Taller than any woman Elowyn encountered and close enough now that Elowyn had to tilt her head back to meet her gaze. It was awkward, almost comical, the angle of it, but she held it anyway.
And this time, she didn’t look away.
Something in Seraphina paused in that moment.
Not her posture. Not her expression. Something quieter. Internal.
She truly saw her then.
Not the fleeting impression from the bookstore. Not the careful, half-avoided glimpses from across a room.
Elowyn Gray stood with the top of her head barely nearing Seraphina’s upper arm, small and slight, built delicately as if the world had shaped her with gentler hands.
Her face was soft, almost cherubic, framed by long, light brown hair that fell straight down to her waist. Hazel eyes, wide and luminous, caught the light as they looked up at Seraphina, lined with lashes so long they cast faint shadows against her cheeks.
Seraphina registered them with a quiet start.
She’d never seen Elowyn’s eyes properly before.
They were curious. Earnest. Unshielded in this moment.
Her nose was small, a little button shape dusted with freckles that spilled across it and bloomed lightly over her cheeks, as if the sun had once favored her and refused to forget.
Her lips were full, naturally soft, parted just slightly as if she might speak again but wasn’t sure she should.
Small ears peeked through her hair, subtly pointed at the tips, each adorned with tiny earrings that glinted when she shifted.
There was nothing sharp about her.
Nothing loud.
Everything about Elowyn felt intentional in its quietness, like a presence that existed without demanding space.
Seraphina realized, distantly, that she had stopped smiling.
Not because she was struck speechless.
Just… momentarily unprepared.
And Elowyn, after a beat too long, seemed to realize she was still looking.
Her gaze dipped again, quickly, cheeks warming as she stepped back half a pace, hands twisting together once more.
The pens remained neatly arranged.
Blue. Then red.
Seraphina glanced at them again, then back at Elowyn, something unreadable softening her expression.
“Good to know,” she said softly.
And she meant more than the pens.
Seraphina inhaled quietly, then let the breath out through her nose, composure settling back into place like a well-fitted jacket.
Amused warmth lingered in her eyes.
“And tell me,” she said, voice smooth, almost musical, “is there anything else in my office that you think should be arranged differently?”
Elowyn stilled.
Her fingers paused mid-fidget, shoulders drawing in just a fraction. She didn’t answer right away, gaze fixed on her own shoes.
Seraphina waited.
Then, in a gentle tone, “It’s alright… you can tell me.”
Elowyn hesitated another second before speaking, voice barely above a breath.
“Your bookshelf.”
Seraphina turned to look.
The shelves along the wall were immaculate. Books aligned neatly, spines uncreased, every title arranged in precise alphabetical order. Clean. Logical. Intentional.
“Hm.” She hummed low in her throat, thoughtful rather than defensive.
Her gaze lingered there for a moment before returning to Elowyn. “And how would you have arranged them?”
Elowyn’s eyes flicked back to the shelves, focus sharpening. “Alphabetical is good,” she said quickly, as if worried that part might be challenged. “But… they should also be color-coordinated.”
Her hand lifted unconsciously, fingers scratching lightly at her side, the smallest tell of restraint, of wanting to fix something with her hands.
Seraphina noticed.
Of course she did.
A pause.
Then, calm and open, she said, “If you wish, you may organize them as you see fit.”
Elowyn looked up again.
Surprise widened her hazel eyes, light catching in them as she searched
Seraphina’s face, clearly checking for sarcasm—something she had always been very bad at detecting—for a trick, for a line she’d misunderstood.
Seraphina only met her gaze, steady and sincere.
She took Elowyn in once more—the freckles, the softness, the careful way she occupied space—then tipped her chin toward the shelves.
Elowyn didn’t need to be told twice.
She moved quickly, almost buoyant, crossing the room with sudden purpose.
Her hands reached for the books with reverence, sliding them free, grouping spines by shade, deep blues with pale ones, warm tones flowing into cooler hues.
Seraphina watched from her desk, quiet and intrigued.
The office felt different already.
Not rearranged.
Aligned.