Lucan's legs burned by the time he neared the edge of his neighborhood, the air colder now, the sky slipping into a deep violet haze. The old bike rattled with every turn of the pedal, squealing as if protesting each revolution. But he didn't stop—not until he reached the gate, slid the bike into the shed, and stepped inside the quiet creaking house.
Home.
It smelled like dust and faint antiseptic. The kind of scent that clung to the furniture, to the walls, to time itself.
"Grandpa" he called softly as he shut the door behind him.
A raspy cough answered from the living room. Still alive. Still holding on.
Lucan exhaled, peeling off his jacket and hanging it over a chair. He washed his hands, rolled up his sleeves, and headed for the kitchen.
The soup was simple—boiled vegetables, a pinch of salt, whatever he could get from the fridge. He fried an egg with care and reheated leftover rice, plating them neatly like it made a difference.
In the living room, he placed the tray before his grandfather, adjusting the pillows and nudging the old man until he blinked awake. Without words, Lucan sat beside him and quietly ate his own meal.
They chewed in silence. The only sound was the ticking clock and the occasional wheeze of breath.
Later, when the dishes were done and the blankets straightened, Lucan collapsed into bed, clothes still clinging to him with the cold. The window was cracked just enough to let in the night breeze. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the world whisper outside.
He fell asleep thinking about Lyra.
The morning began with knocking—two short taps against the bedroom window.
Lucan blinked blearily at the noise. The sun hadn't fully risen, but its light was already casting soft orange streaks across the wall.
Another knock.
He opened the window to find Lyra perched on the ledge just outside, balancing a small white box in one hand and grinning like a thief.
"Happy Birthday, old man." she said.
Lucan squinted. "How long have you been out there?"
"Long enough to start freezing to death," she said, swinging a leg over and climbing in. "But worth it."
She opened the box with a flourish. Inside sat a small cake—slightly smushed from travel, but clearly handmade. Uneven frosting. A single candle stabbed into the center.
"Vanilla. With mystery jam filling. I stole it from a café's 'oops' pile."
He chuckled despite himself.
"Come on." she nudged him. "We're doing this properly."
Still yawning, Lucan followed her into the living room.
His grandfather was already awake, blinking groggily at the candlelight.
Lucan lit the tiny flame.
No singing.
Just quiet warmth between them.
He made a wish without knowing what to wish for, then blew it out.
Lyra clapped, mockingly dramatic.
He cut the cake into uneven slices and feed to his grandfather, then one to her.
"This is horrible." she said after a bite. "But in a good way."
Lucan smiled. "Best cake I've ever had."
Later, after checking Grandpa's meds and setting water to boil, they headed toward college, side by side on the sidewalk.
The streets were louder today. Crows cawed from rusted poles. Cars hissed through puddles. People moved in clumps, bundled in jackets, faces hidden behind cold breath and distraction.
The moment they stepped onto campus grounds, the mood shifted.
A teacher spotted them.
Then another.
Before they could slip into the crowd, a voice barked behind them.
"Vale. McCall. Office Now."
The principal's office smelled like old paper and too much air freshener. A slow fan hummed in the corner, not helping the tension.
The man behind the desk—Principal Dorn—glared at them with narrowed eyes, tapping a file with thick fingers.
Lucan sat stiffly. Lyra beside him, arms crossed.
"I should expel you." Dorn said, voice flat.
Lucan didn't respond. He didn't even blink.
"Cain Strader is in hospital all thanks to you."
Lucan's eyes flicked up at the name. He just realize that he didn't even remember the bully's name.
"He's fine." Dorn added. "Broken ribs with bruised ego. His parents were furious."
"I didn't mean to—" Lucan began.
"I don't care." Dorn cut him off. "Intent doesn't matter. You snapped Mr. Vale."
Silence stretched.
Then, the principal sighed and leaned back.
"You don't have any record. Teachers say you're quiet and keep to yourself. But this… just doesn't fit."
Lucan stared at the floor.
"You're on a probation. One more incident, and you're done."
Lyra opened her mouth to argue, but Lucan touched her wrist lightly. She fell silent.
They were dismissed without another word.
Outside, the cold air felt sharper. Cleaner.
"You should've let me speak." Lyra muttered.
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. He didn't even ask what Cain did."
Lucan shrugged. "He won't stop."
She glanced at him. "No. He won't. But that doesn't mean you can't."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he followed her across campus, past the crowd, past the stares, past the murmurs and side-glances.
They left the gates behind.
Her parents' old apartment stood at the edge of a crumbling block, where vines curled between bricks and mailboxes hung rusted open. A metal door groaned open as she pushed it, revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled up into the dimness.
Lucan knew something tragic had happened to Lyra's parents. The kind of thing people speak about in hushed tones. He asked her about it twice—just twice—and both times she shut down, her expression blank but her eyes quietly pleading: Don't make me go there.
He never pushed. He couldn't. Not when he carried his own silence—his parents had vanished into nothingness, as if the world had simply forgotten them. No goodbyes. No graves. Just a boy left behind, waiting. So he's waiting for her too. Not for answers, but for the moment she might choose to trust him with them.
"I haven't been here in year." she said, quieter voice now.
Lucan followed her up the creaking stairs, hands in pockets, heart beating a little faster than he liked to admit.
At the front, she fumbled with a key, then nudged the door open.
Dust swirled in the fading light that spilled through torn curtains. The air smelled like old wood, mold, and something else—something unfamiliar.
"It's just a storage now." Lyra said. "But I found something a few days ago. Weird. Thought you might want to see it."
Lucan stepped inside, eyes adjusting.
Photos hung crooked on the wall. A toppled bookshelf. A lamp with a torn shade.
It felt like stepping into a living being, but he ignored the feeling and continue looking all around.
She motioned for him to follow her.
"Come on. It's in the back."
And just like that, something subtle shifted.
Something in the silence.
The house seemed to exhale around them.
Waiting.
[End of Chapter 2]