It was more than Marcus had hoped for.
“Shall we go upstairs?” Lila asked gently. “It’s quieter there. We can begin just by listening, if that feels easiest.”
Henry looked up at Marcus.
“Go on,” Marcus said. “I’ll be just downstairs.”
Henry nodded, once in uncertainty, once more in resolve, and followed her from the room.
When the door closed, Bessie said nothing at first. She studied Marcus with a gaze that missed little.
“Well?” she asked at last.
He exhaled. “She’s different from what I expected.”
“Because you expected someone who would fix everything for you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Because I didn’t realize how much hope frightens me.”
Bessie leaned back, her expression shifting into something close to pride. “Then you are human after all.”
The sound that left Marcus might have been the ghost of a laugh.
“Go upstairs,” she told him. “Sit. Wait. Let the boy have five minutes where he is not carrying your worry and his own.”
The truth of it struck deeply.
He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this.”
He climbed to the small receiving room Theseus had prepared. The fire was modest, the chairs unassuming. He sat. Not pacing. Not bracing. Simply waiting.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.
Quiet footsteps finally approached.
Lila stood in the doorway, her hands folded loosely before her.
Marcus rose at once. “Is he—”
“He’s well,” she said. “We stayed in the music room. He listened. He chose which sound to begin with. A small step. But a brave one.”
Marcus’s breath thinned. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” There was no triumph in her tone. Only steady respect. “He has a careful heart. But a strong one.”
Marcus nodded, words momentarily out of reach.
“I’m available again tomorrow, if that suits you,” she said.
“It does.”
Henry stood beside her. Quieter than usual, but not pale. Not trembling. Something in him had loosened.
Marcus extended his hand. Henry took it at once.