The silence lingered after the word uncle.
It didn't break. It didn't soften. It simply stayed there, heavy and cold, pressing down between the three of them as snow continued to fall, thicker now, gathering on stone and shoulders alike. Valttair didn't respond. Armand didn't either. For a moment, it felt as if the entire courtyard had narrowed to that single space, the rest of the world pushed far enough away not to matter.
Trafalgar felt his breath steady.
A memory surfaced, uninvited but clear.
I did well in adopting you.
Valttair had said it long ago. When Trafalgar had revealed his talent. When there had been no witnesses, no reason to perform, no audience to convince. The words had slipped out naturally, almost carelessly. At the time, Trafalgar hadn't known what to do with them. He had buried them under everything else.
Now, after his conversation with Rhosyn, they came back sharp and unmistakable.
He didn't wait for either of them to speak.
