Page 42 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Sloane’s hand stays at my hip. Idris stands close enough that his sleeve brushes mine. Garrett remains near the door, watching the four of us with that quiet, approving expression that makes this feel like something allowed.

Calliope

Theo’s in the sunroom with the plant book open across his lap and lets Sloane identify every leaf wrong on purpose until I throw a pillow at him. Idris brings water and crackers, then sits on the floor near Theo’s feet while reviewing the evening check-in notes without making them feel like a threat. Garrett takes a work call in the hall and comes back with his jacket off, settling in the armchair like he belongs in the noise instead of above it.

Theo keeps drifting.

He sits beside Sloane, then leans toward Idris when Idris offers a steadying hand. He lets Garrett place a blanket over his knees when his hands start to shake after lunch. He takes a bite of lemon bar from me when I hold it out, then looks so startled by his own willingness that Sloane has to turn his face into the couch cushion to keep from making too much of it.

By midafternoon, his eyes are shadowed.

I notice it first because he stops tracking the conversation and starts tracking doors. The sunroom door. The hall. The line of sight to the stairs. His hand moves to his pocket, touches the cards, then drops again.

Idris notices a second after I do. His gaze shifts to Garrett, then to Sloane.

Garrett lowers his tablet to his knee. “Theo, would you like to go upstairs for a while?”

Theo nods, then shakes his head, then looks at me.

“Smaller?” I ask.

His eyes flicker.

Sloane starts to sit up, and Theo’s shoulders jump before Sloane can even get his feet under him. Sloane freezes at once.

“All right,” Sloane says, voice gentler than his body wants to be. “No stampede. We’re good.”

Garrett sets the tablet aside and stands without rushing. “No decision needed. We can leave the house quiet and let Theo find what feels right.”

Theo’s face pinches around the word find.

It is such a small change. I almost miss it. His hand tightens in the edge of my cardigan, then lets go.

“I can walk with you,” I offer. “Or I can stay here.”

He reaches for my sleeve.

So I walk.

No one follows us. That is the first gift they give him. Sloane stays on the sofa with his hands clasped behind his head like he'sphysically restraining himself. Idris watches us go, his attention steady but his body still. Garrett remains by the chair, one hand resting on the back of it, calm enough that the air doesn't chase Theo down the hall.

Theo leads because I let him.

We pass the stairs. We pass the powder room. We pass the little side table where Idris put an extra bowl of cards. Theo slows near the laundry room, his breath growing shallow again.

“The suite is upstairs,” I say softly, only to let him know I remember. “But you don’t have to go there right now.”

He looks back at me, eyes wet and wide, then turns toward the narrow linen closet beside the laundry room.

The door is cracked.

I'm certain it was closed this morning.

Theo pulls it open and slips inside before I can ask anything else.

For a second, I stand in the hall, staring at the dark gap where he disappeared. Then the scent reaches me. Cardamom and peach blossom, sharp with panic, layered over something familiar enough to make my heart kick.

Me.