Morning light filled the courtyard. Pale sun, cold air, stone benches arranged around a wooden table. Felicia set Danny and Max down, then went back inside for food. She carried out plates herself—bread, cheese, fruit cut into small pieces.
She laid everything on the table. Organized it with precise movements. Cutting the tension with routine.
Footsteps sounded on the stone path. Damien appeared through the archway. He stopped three feet from the table. Looked at Felicia, not the children.
"Can I join?" His voice stayed calm, stripped of assumption.
Felicia set down the last plate. Met his eyes. "You can."
He sat. Not next to her. Not close. He took the spot at the far end, leaving space between them.
Max reached for his plate. His small hand stretched across the table, fingers falling short. Damien picked up the plate and passed it over. Set it gently in front of Max.
"What do you like?" His voice dropped quieter, careful.
Max looked at Felicia first. She nodded. Max pointed at the cheese.
Danny stared at Damien. His jaw set hard for a seven-year-old. "I don't want gifts."
The words came out dry, flat. Adult in their coldness. Felicia's eyes snapped up: sharp and fast. But she didn't interrupt.
Damien's expression stayed even. No hurt crossed his face. "I didn't bring anything." He held Danny's gaze. "And I won't force anything on you if you don't want it."
Danny's fingers curled around his fork. He didn't respond. Didn't soften.
Felicia reached for the bread. Tore off a piece. "Breakfast ends in ten minutes."
Her tone stayed neutral. Matter of fact. A schedule, not a threat.
Damien nodded, accepted the rhythm without question. He picked up his own fork and ate in silence.
Max knocked his cup. Water splashed across the table, spreading fast toward the plates. Damien's hand moved—reaching for the napkin—then stopped.
His eyes cut to Felicia. Waited.
She nodded once. He grabbed the napkin and wiped the table. Quick, efficient. No comments. Just cleaned up and sat back down.
Felicia's breathing stayed steady. Her chest rose and fell in that same controlled rhythm. But something in her shoulders loosened. Half an inch, barely visible.
Ten minutes passed. Felicia stood and started collecting plates. Damien stood too but didn't reach for anything. Just waited, hands at his sides.
"There's an elders' council today." His voice shifted. Business. Professional. "This afternoon."
Felicia stacked the plates. Didn't look up. "I'm not going."
She set the stack down. Met his eyes. "I won't let them make me an object of discussion."
"I understand." He paused. "Do you want me to convey something from you?"
The question hung between them. That was a request, a Ppartnership.
Felicia's fingers tightened on the edge of the table. "Tell them this." Her voice came out clear, hard. "I'm here for the children."
Damien repeated it. Word for word. "I'm here for the children."
"Yes." She nodded. Then added, voice firm, deliberate: "And any decisions that affect my wing are made only with my consent."
"It will be that way." He didn't hesitate. Didn't try to negotiate.
Felicia studied his face. The straight line of his mouth. The way his hands stayed open, not fisted. He wasn't fighting for control. Wasn't trying to reclaim power.
He was just... standing there. Waiting for her terms.
Danny's voice cut through the moment. "Are you going to work?"
The question sounded strange. Innocent. Like asking any father leaving for the day.
Damien turned to Danny. "Yes." He paused. Looked back at Felicia. "But I'll return by lunch. If your mother allows it."
Felicia picked up the plates again. Held them against her chest. "We'll see."
No warmth bleeding into her tone, but no refusal either. The door stayed cracked.
Damien nodded. Once. Clean. He turned and walked toward the archway. His steps stayed measured, unhurried.
He didn't look back. Didn't pause. Didn't wait for her to change her mind or call him back.
Felicia stayed in the courtyard. Watched him move through the archway. Watched him disappear into shadow beyond the doors.
Her grip tightened on the plates. The ceramic pressed into her ribs. Danny and Max played with the leftover bread, tearing it into pieces, building something she couldn't name.
The courtyard felt bigger without him in it. Emptier. Wrong in a way she didn't want to examine.
She turned back to the children. Set the plates down on the bench. Sat beside Max. Her hand smoothed his hair without thinking. Danny leaned against her other side.
The sun climbed higher. Warmed the stones beneath their feet. But Felicia's chest stayed tight. Her eyes kept drifting to that archway. To the space where he'd stood. Where he'd asked. Where she'd said we'll see instead of no.
That small crack between refusal and permission felt dangerous. Like standing at the edge of something she couldn't map. Couldn't predict.
Her fingers curled into her palm. Pressed half-moons into her skin.
He'd be back by lunch. If she allowed it. The words echoed in her head. Quiet. Persistent. Impossible to shake.
She didn't know if she'd allow it. Didn't know what she wanted. Only knew that the courtyard felt too empty. That her chest felt too tight. That watching him leave had carved something hollow in her ribs.
And she hated it.