Chapter 56: Shadow and rags

The siblings, understanding their departure, came to say goodbye.

With a single touch of the window, they reappeared in Kiyan's office.

Heart pounding, Blanche made her way back to her bed, incredibly soothed. It was only four in the morning.

Tomorrow, she would be back in the dorm, far from Kiyan... For now, she was far too exhilarated to sleep.

Eva was still sawing wood, and Phénix—back in his cat form—came to purr against her ear before curling up on her chest.

A creak made her jump. Without moving abruptly, she turned toward the door.

The sound, faint yet sharp, sliced through the silence like a warning.

Her body froze instantly, every muscle tense, her breath suspended. The air suddenly felt heavier, denser, as if charged with an invisible presence.

She slowly pivoted, controlling every movement, refusing to betray the slightest panic—but her senses were on high alert, sharpened to the extreme.

In the narrow opening, she caught sight of Kiyan. Standing there, silent.

The door was open only a few centimeters, just enough to let a silhouette appear. He made no sound, no announcement, as if he had always been there. The dim light barely outlined him, carving his face into patches of shadow and faint clarity. Motionless, he seemed to observe without being seen, present without truly being there.

Their eyes met.

And everything else vanished. Time, space, sound—everything dissolved into that suspended moment. There was only that raw, direct connection, impossible to escape. His gaze was hard to read, deep, almost opaque. Hers, tense and searching, filled with a thousand unnamed things.

He stayed there. A long time.

Each second stretched, heavy, unbearable. Nothing moved, nothing broke that fragile balance. He didn't speak, didn't make a single gesture. That stillness felt deliberate, almost calculated, as if he were testing her limits—or waiting for something from her.

Too long.

Long enough for discomfort to settle in. Long enough for her heart to race, for her thoughts to spiral, for the silence to become oppressive. Long enough for a thousand possibilities to rise and clash in her mind.

Then, before she could react, he stepped back and disappeared into his room.

The movement was almost imperceptible. A simple withdrawal, fluid, unhurried. He melted into the hallway shadows as if he belonged there, leaving no trace, no sound of footsteps, no word.

Like a shadow.

A fleeting, elusive presence, leaving behind only that lingering, unsettling feeling that he had never truly gone.

She didn't sleep for the rest of the night. Eyes wide open, thousands of possibilities spun through her mind.

Lying in the darkness, she stared at the ceiling without seeing it, replaying the scene over and over, dissecting every detail, every second. Was it a coincidence? Had he been watching her for a while? Had he understood something? Her thoughts collided, multiplied, impossible to contain.

The silence of the night didn't calm her—it amplified everything, gave weight to every unanswered question. And as the hours passed, one certainty took hold: nothing in that look had been insignificant.

At last, the alarm rang, freeing her from her spiraling thoughts. Blanche jumped out of bed, heading straight for the shower. A good cold shower.

The shrill sound cut sharply through her thoughts, brutal, almost aggressive, like a hand pulling her out of the night. Her eyes snapped open, breath short, still clinging to the images circling her mind. Without thinking, she sat up, carefully so as not to disturb the other sleeper.

She crossed the room in long strides, heading straight for the bathroom.

The cold water hit her instantly, cutting everything else short. A sharp, almost violent bite that grounded her immediately. She closed her eyes, letting the stream run over her skin, washing away the remnants of the night, the lingering images, the unanswered questions. Each second under the water seemed to restore order, to calm the frantic rhythm of her mind, to anchor her body in something real.

Dressed, made up, ready, she sat on the bed.

Eva stirred, grumbling.

Blanche's outfit was impeccable, in stark contrast to the fatigue still lingering in her eyes. Everything appeared controlled—fitted clothes, neat makeup—but a subtle tension remained, visible in the way she held herself, in the stiffness of her shoulders.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she finally took a moment, still, as if testing the calm.

The mattress dipped slightly beside her. Eva shifted under the covers, groaning softly, still half-asleep. A slow, lazy, almost childlike movement, in contrast with Blanche's earlier urgency.

The world, meanwhile, seemed to resume its normal rhythm—or at least give the illusion of it.

"Did you fall out of bed or what? " the brunette grumbled as she headed to the bathroom.

"You have no idea how many floors I just fell from...," Blanche murmured once the door closed.

Taking advantage of the silence, she logged onto the Dark Web using Sean's credentials. She had research to do.

The room had fallen completely silent again, suspended between two realities. Sitting on the bed, Blanche pulled the laptop toward her, her movements precise, almost mechanical, as if to contain the agitation still lingering in her mind.

The screen lit up, cold and impersonal. She entered Sean's credentials without hesitation—photographic memory helping. Each keystroke echoed faintly in the silence, amplified by the stillness of the room. The contrast was striking: this ordinary, real setting, and her methodical dive into the opaque depths of the network. She leaned forward slightly, focused, eyes fixed on the lines scrolling past, searching, sorting, digging.

She no longer had the luxury of ignoring things—she wanted to understand, connect, anticipate.

Eva came back out, all dressed up... and in a dress. Blanche had to look up twice to be sure: Evanescence was wearing a dress!

The movement caught her attention despite herself. She glanced up once, distracted—then froze. Slowly, she blinked, as if to dispel an illusion, then looked again.

Eva stood there, perfectly put together, transformed. The dress hugged her figure with unexpected elegance, contrasting with the image she usually gave off. Her hair was carefully styled, her makeup subtly done, every detail considered with almost unsettling precision. Nothing in her attitude suggested anything unusual—she seemed completely at ease, as if this had always been natural.

Blanche remained still for a moment, wavering between surprise and disbelief. The shift was so abrupt it felt almost unreal, as if in just a few minutes the silent rules of their daily life had changed without warning.

"Aren't you coming down?" Eva asked.

"Of course I am! I wouldn't miss your father's reaction for anything in the world," Blanche replied, looking her over.

Eva blushed.