The week after the goat-cart test was strangely quiet. Edward kept to himself, revising plans, repairing the model, and fine-tuning sketches. The forge bench was cluttered with bits of metal, sanded wood, string, and cloth scraps. Mira still helped, still nodded at diagrams, but she spoke even less than usual.
Edward noticed.
He wanted to ask what was wrong, but couldn't find the words. Instead, he built.
Leonard passed by once to sharpen tools and commented, "You look like you're preparing for war."
"In a way, I am," Edward muttered. "A battle with gravity."
"Gravity usually wins."
Edward didn't laugh.
---
On the third day, Elsie came into the forge uninvited.
"You've heard, right?" she said, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed.
He looked up. "Heard what?"
"Lord Hawthorne is hosting another showing. Garden party. Artisans invited. Maybe even merchants."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "That lumber lord?"
"Same one. People say he's looking for novelty. Something clever. Something he hasn't seen before."
Edward paused. "And you think I should go?"
Elsie crossed her arms tighter. "You've got a half-working glider, a pile of diagrams, and more stubbornness than a cart horse. If that doesn't count as novelty, what does?"
He said nothing for a moment. The idea settled awkwardly in his chest. He wiped his hands on a cloth and stared at the frame of his newest model, unfinished.
"I'm not ready," he said.
"No one ever is," she replied.
---
He told Mira the next morning.
She was cataloguing a new stack of books, spine labels half-finished. Her hands moved with mechanical calm, but her eyes flicked up when he spoke.
"Hawthorne's party?" she said, frowning. "You shouldn't trust men like him."
"I'm not trusting him," Edward said. "But it might open something."
Mira didn't answer. She slid another book into place.
He waited.
Then her voice stopped him.
"If he offers you something shiny, look twice. Not everything that glitters leads you upward."
He turned back. Her eyes met his, steady and calm.
"I'll be careful," he said.
Mira nodded, but didn't smile.
---
The days that followed were full of quiet preparation. Edward selected a small, light model to bring—just the right size to demonstrate the mechanics without being too fragile. He rethreaded the bracing cords, smoothed every joint. He packed diagrams, labeled them properly, even included one of Mira's corrected drawings, though he didn't say it out loud.
He practiced how to speak about the work, rehearsed in the mirror. Leonard coached him on technical terms, and Elsie pretended to be a grumpy merchant, interrupting every sentence until Edward learned to hold his ground.
The night before the party, his father stopped him in the hallway.
"You sure you want to show this to the merchant class?"
Edward looked down. "I have to start somewhere."
His father gave a slow nod. "Then hold your ground. Don't let them talk circles around you."
"I won't."
They didn't say anything else. But that night, Edward slept lightly, dreams filled with folded wings and unfamiliar voices.
---
The day of the party arrived with bright sun and a strong breeze. Edward dressed in his cleanest shirt and vest, strapped the model into a padded case, and walked the road toward the mansion.
Lord Hawthorne's estate was set beyond a manicured hedge, the manor flanked by white stone pillars and rows of imported trees. A servant met him at the gate and eyed the case with vague suspicion before waving him through.
The garden was full of tables and colorful cloth tents, with men and women in fine linen wandering between displays. There were carpenters with carved instruments, clockmakers with delicate gears, and painters setting up under shaded awnings.
Edward found a small spot near the outer edge of the green, unrolled a piece of cloth, and carefully assembled the glider model atop it. He arranged the diagrams neatly to one side.
For a while, no one came.
He stood with his hands behind his back, resisting the urge to fidget. His heart thudded louder than the wind.
Then a man with silver cuffs and an overpolished mustache wandered over.
"What's this? A bird toy?"
"A model glider," Edward replied. "Built to test lift and balance."
The man squinted. "Can it fly?"
Edward nodded. "It can glide. The full-size ones carry more weight. This is for demonstration."
"Hmph." The man wandered off without another word.
Others followed—some curious, others confused. A young woman in merchant robes asked about the wing shape. An older guild member in spectacles examined the sketches closely and asked intelligent questions. Edward answered everything as clearly as he could, feeling a little steadier each time.
Then Lord Hawthorne arrived.
He was broad-shouldered, finely dressed, with a neatly trimmed beard and a hawk-like gaze. Two aides flanked him, one holding a clipboard.
He stopped in front of Edward's display and raised an eyebrow.
"Young man," he said. "What have we here?"
Edward explained the model—the construction, the wind testing, the scale concept. Hawthorne listened, nodded once or twice, then circled the display like a buyer at a livestock auction.
"Interesting," he finally said. "You built this?"
"Yes, sir."
"You say it glides? How far?"
"Thirty paces in the last test. But we're improving control."
Hawthorne scratched his chin. "Unusual. Not quite useful, but clever."
He paused.
"You should come by the manor next week. I might have someone who'd like to see more of this."
Edward blinked. "Sir?"
Hawthorne gestured vaguely. "A foreign guest. Curious sort. Pays well for curiosities."
"I… I'll think about it."
"Don't think too long."
With that, the man turned and walked off.
Edward exhaled slowly.
His hands were still steady.
He packed the model carefully, took one last look at the garden, and began the walk home.
He hadn't made any promises.
But the sky felt a little closer.