The sun had risen higher now, casting long, slanted shadows through the gaps in the trees. Dew clung to the tips of the grass, and a cool hush still lingered over the village's outer edge. Evan remained pressed against the trunk of a crooked pine, his breath caught somewhere between his ribs.
Claire hadn't moved much.
She was still sitting by the fence, thin arms wrapped around herself like she could disappear if she squeezed tightly enough. Her head was lowered again, that tangle of golden hair hiding most of her face. The hem of her dress fluttered in the breeze, revealing knees scraped raw and bare feet mottled red with cold. She was the same girl from the book the one he'd read about so many nights in a row. The same girl who had suffered, hardened, broken, and in the end… lashed out.
But in this moment, she wasn't some villain in a tragedy.
She was just a child.
Alone. Cold. Crying.
And Evan Leon, now was the only one around to see it.
He crouched a little, peeking through the bushes like some awkward, guilty ghost. He didn't want to scare her. Or push too hard. But the image of her hunched and silent kept scraping against something raw inside him. That vision of Leon, curled up in the hollow, had shaken him more than he expected. His breath still trembled remembering it. The memory hadn't been his, but it might as well have been. It sat in his chest like something he'd carried for years.
Maybe this was why he'd ended up here.
Not to fix the whole story. Not to rewrite fates.
But to show up. Just once. Just here.
He stepped out from behind the tree.
Deliberately, he walked to the base of the fence but didn't say anything. He didn't move too close. Didn't make a sound. Just stood there, a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of the oversized hoodie that sagged on his thin frame.
Claire didn't look up.
Seconds passed. Maybe a minute.
Then, her hand moved just slightly and wiped at her cheek. It was a clumsy, careless swipe, like she didn't care if it helped or not. Her chin trembled.
"I'm not gonna talk if you don't want me to," Evan said gently, voice quiet and even. "I'll just stay here for a bit."
That made her glance up. Just a flicker of blue between strands of hair. Her eyes were rimmed red. Suspicious. Wary.
Then she glared and turned her face away.
Evan didn't flinch. He sat down cross-legged in the grass, a little distance away from her, making a show of minding his own business. He looked out toward the path ahead instead of at her. "I don't like mornings either," he said after a moment, just loud enough to be heard.
Claire didn't respond.
"I tripped twice already. And a bug flew into my mouth."
Nothing.
He plucked a weed and twisted the stem between his fingers. "I used to think the woods would be prettier up close," he muttered. "But they're really just muddy. And full of thorns."
Still silence.
But he wasn't talking for her to answer. Not yet.
He was giving her what he hadn't had what Leon hadn't had.
Someone willing to stay.
Even if they didn't say anything back.
The minutes stretched. A bird called in the distance sharp and lonely. Wind whispered through the pines, nudging loose needles into slow spirals. Somewhere, water trickled over rock. The world moved gently around them, but inside their small, silent bubble, nothing stirred.
Evan's leg had started to go numb. He shifted a little, groaning softly as pins and needles raced down his calf. He glanced at Claire she hadn't moved, but her head wasn't tucked quite as low anymore. She was listening. He could feel it, like the way you feel someone watching you from behind.
"When I was little," he said, tugging at a grass blade, "I used to pretend I was someone else. Not because I wanted to lie. Just... because being me was too loud sometimes. I wanted to be my own hero."
Her shoulder twitched.
"I picked a name," he added. "Evan."
He hadn't meant to say it. The word had just slipped out.
But once it did, something settled. Like putting down a bag he'd carried too long. At least he gets to exist even if its just as fragment of an imagination.
"It felt safer," he said. "Like I could breathe if I didn't have to be Leon for a while."
A soft sniffle.
He didn't press it.
He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small wooden charm. It was shaped like a bird roughly carved and slightly crooked, with a red string looped through a hole at the top. He turned it in his hand, thumb brushing its wings.
"My mother made this," he said. "Before they left."
That wasn't true, and yet it was. The memory didn't belong to Evan. It belonged to Leon. But now they were the same. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Evan gets to be Leon's alter ego that's the best he could do.
"I keep it with me," he said. "So I don't forget that even people who leave... don't always mean to. Maybe they have a reason to."
Claire shifted.
Her arms unwrapped, one hand resting on the ground beside her, fingers curling slowly into the dirt.
Evan noticed but said nothing.
A squirrel darted across the clearing, pausing to sniff the air before vanishing into a bush. The wind picked up again. Claire's hair lifted just slightly, revealing more of her face now. Freckles. Tear tracks.
"I used to scream when I was alone," she said suddenly. but it's like she realized what she'd done and turned red.
Evan blinked.
Her voice was dry and flat, like a page left too long in the sun. But it was a voice. Hers.
"In the forest," she continued, as if she hadn't just felt ashamed. "No one hears you. So you scream just to know you're real."
Evan nodded, slowly. "I used to whisper instead. Thought if I was too loud, something worse would hear me. And people hearing but not helping me scared me more."
Claire turned her head slightly. "There's always something worse."
They looked at each other.
For just a second, no fence. No thorns. No book pages between them.
Just two kids each stuck in their own world, reflecting.
They sat there for a while longer. A silence not quite heavy, not quite light.
Eventually, Evan stood.
"I'm going home now," he said, brushing off his shorts again. "It's not far from here."
He hesitated, then added, "You can come if you want. There's tea. Or milk, I think."
That earned him a cold glance. it was like their momentary peace had just been broken and Claire turned sharp.
then there was a small glance thrown at him fleeting. But she was listening.
"I'm not gonna drag you or anything," he added with a shrug. "Just… the offer's there."
"I don't want to," she said crassly.
"You don't have to come, I was just trying to be a gentleman,"
He turned and walked away slowly. Not too fast. Just being considerate as if he knew she was just being stubborn for no reason. He didn't want her to feel chased or left behind. Just far enough to give her space to choose.
And after a few steps...
Soft. Faint. A shuffle behind him.
He didn't look back.
But his chest ached in relief.
She was following.
Not close. Not confidently.
But she was coming.
The path stretched longer than Evan remembered.
The sun had risen higher now, burning off the mist between the trees. Birds flitted across the gaps in the canopy. Bugs hummed low in the grass. The air smelled of pine sap, damp earth, and the faint sweetness of wild berries.
Claire's footsteps were uneven behind him. Sometimes they faltered, paused, then caught up again. Once, he heard her cough a small, ragged thing.
"You okay back there?" he asked without turning.
"…Fine." she said coldly.
That was all. But again, she'd answered.
They walked on.
At one point, they passed a broken cart wheel lying in the underbrush. Evan pointed it out. "Looks like something from an old fairy tale, huh?"
Claire didn't reply. But he heard her footsteps slow, then pause beside the wheel. When she caught up again, she was closer than before.
They stopped at a creek to drink. The water was clear, rushing gently over smooth rocks. Evan knelt and cupped some in his hands, drinking deeply. Claire hovered near the edge.
He stepped aside. "It's clean."
She hesitated, then knelt beside him. She didn't speak. But when their reflections met on the surface of the water, they didn't look away.
He saw Leon's eyes in his reflection. And hers still rimmed red, but steadier now met his without flinching.
When they reached the rusted gate of the house, Evan paused. The house itself was modest paint peeling at the edges, roof patched in spots, but with a comforting shape. A real home. Smoke trailed lazily from the chimney, and the scent of something warm maybe porridge lingered faintly in the air.
Evan placed a hand on the gate, then glanced back.
Claire stood a few feet behind, her eyes flicking between the house and the woods behind her. She looked ready to bolt. Ready to vanish again.
Evan nodded toward the steps. "You don't have to go inside," he said quietly. "You can sit on the porch. Or the swing. No one's gonna ask you questions."
Claire's eyes narrowed like she didn't believe him.
But she stepped forward.
That was enough.
The screen door creaked as Evan opened it. He stepped inside and was instantly greeted by the soft clink of dishes and the faint, sweet scent of something baking.
"Leon?" Grandma's voice called from the kitchen. "That you?"
Evan swallowed. "Yeah, Grandma. I'm back."
She poked her head out from the archway, apron dusted with flour and smile warm enough to melt the morning chill. "Where've you been, sweetheart? You're all muddy."
"Got turned around in the woods," he said quickly. "I'm okay."
Her eyes softened. "Come wash up. Breakfast's almost done."
Evan hesitated, then turned. "I brought someone."
Grandma blinked. "Oh?"
Claire was still on the porch. Evan moved aside so she could be seen.
Grandma's expression didn't change. She didn't frown. Didn't question.
She just smiled. "Well, you're welcome, dear. Come in if you like. It's warm inside."
Claire didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But eventually… she stepped inside.
Just a foot past the doorway.
Evan felt something shift in the air. Like the start of something.
Like a door cracking open.