The manor's guest was scheduled to arrive on the following market day. Edward hadn't committed to anything, but the thought followed him like a shadow all week. Every time he looked up at the sky, his mind drifted—not to dreams, but to decisions. If someone powerful wanted to fund his glider, was that a good thing? Or a trap in a finer cage?
He spent the days building. A larger model this time—wider wingspan, a new set of curved spars, thinner canvas. The airframe alone took two days to carve, and the bindings gave him blisters again. But the work steadied him.
Mira noticed the difference immediately when he brought the sketches to the library.
"You're scaling up," she said, not a question.
Edward nodded. "I think it's time."
Mira tapped one of the margin notes. "You'll need more tension here. And a better way to attach the spar joints. If it folds mid-glide, it's worse than failure."
"I know," he said. "I'll test it first."
She didn't look satisfied, but didn't stop him.
---
Leonard helped collect materials—thin reed poles, salvaged rope, even a torn sailcloth from the old creek barge. They built behind the forge, away from prying eyes. Edward's father gave permission without asking questions, though he lingered longer each time he walked past.
"He's worried," Leonard said one afternoon as they smoothed a wing strut. "But he won't say it out loud."
"I know," Edward replied. "I'm worried too."
That admission hung in the air like woodsmoke. Neither of them brushed it away.
---
Elsie arrived one evening carrying a bundle under her arm. "Silk," she said, setting it down. "Bit stiff, but strong. Mum owed me a favor."
Edward ran his fingers along the weave. "This is perfect."
"You'd better not crash it into a tree."
He smiled. "No promises."
She stuck around longer than usual that day, watching him adjust the wing curvature by lantern light. Eventually she helped stitch the harness, not saying much. But her presence helped. Like ballast in the wind.
---
By the end of the week, the new glider was ready. It wasn't meant for flying yet—just gliding. A full body frame, wide canvas wings, and a harness Edward had stitched together himself. It looked crude up close, but from a distance it almost resembled something... real.
He tested it on the hill with Mira watching from a distance. She didn't say anything, just stood with her arms folded, a figure of quiet judgement.
The glide lasted nearly twice as long as the last one.
Edward didn't cheer this time. He didn't need to. He felt the difference in his bones.
The design worked. The adjustments mattered. He was closer.
Afterward, they sat together on the slope, Mira scribbling in a small notebook and Edward picking grass from his sleeves.
"Will you go?" she asked.
"To Hawthorne's?"
"To wherever this takes you."
Edward didn't answer at first.
"Depends who wants to take me," he finally said.
---
Two days later, a carriage arrived at Hawthorne's estate. Edward, invited by letter sealed in red wax, walked up the road alone. He'd left the glider behind this time—only the latest model and the full set of diagrams traveled with him, wrapped in clean cloth and tied with string.
The guest turned out to be a trade representative—lean, with a sharp nose and a narrow voice. His clothing was plain but too perfect. Polished boots, no dust.
He inspected the model carefully, asked a few technical questions, then asked for a demonstration. Edward spread the diagrams on a long table under the garden canopy and answered as best he could.
When Mira's notes came up—her triangular balance corrections, her notation about lift differentials—the man raised a brow. "Who wrote these?"
"A friend," Edward replied.
The man said nothing, just folded his hands.
"There's potential here," he said finally. "With investment. But we'd need exclusivity. You'd work under my name, with my direction. We'll handle production. You'll provide designs."
Edward frowned. "What about credit?"
The man shrugged. "Unnecessary. The work will speak for itself."
"And my name?"
He smiled faintly. "Names are for patrons. Not tinkerers."
Edward walked home that evening in silence. The breeze was behind him, but it didn't feel like a victory.
---
At the library, Mira saw the look on his face before he spoke.
"He wants the wings," Edward said. "But not me."
She nodded once.
"Then he doesn't get them."
Edward took a breath. "No. He doesn't."
He looked out the window toward the hills.
"We build our own sky."
Mira said nothing. But this time, she smiled first.