The world had stopped, suspended in a single heartbeat. Catarina no longer felt the cold, nor the wood beneath her fingers.
Only that gaze. The one she had fled from, the one she had believed dead, and yet, it still burned.
Sylus.
He stood there, at the foot of the stairs, his coat still dusted with snow. His face was the same, and yet everything had changed.
His eyes pierced through her, sharp, impossible to hold, like a memory one had tried too hard to erase.
Time stretched, drawn out between two breaths.
Then Althea's voice broke the silence, bright, joyful, unaware of the storm she had just unleashed.
"Dad! You're home! Catarina's here!"
Catarina wished she could vanish, dissolve into the pale light of the hallway. Her legs refused to move. Sylus laid a fatherly hand on his daughter's shoulder, but his eyes never left Catarina.
One more second, and she could have sworn he would whisper her name, her real name, the one he no longer had the right to speak. But he stopped himself, hiding everything behind a simple nod.
"Good evening," he said at last.
His voice, deep, calm, vibrated inside her like a memory.
Catarina answered in a tone she didn't recognize.
"Good evening, Mr. Ashbourne."
The word Mister tasted bitter, almost violent. It was a wall, thin, fragile, between them.
Althea beamed.
"Come on! I've prepared everything! Catarina, you're going to love dinner!"
She led them toward the kitchen, light, happy, blind to the tragedy that had just crept into her home.
The kitchen glowed in golden light. Candles burned on the table, the scent of cinnamon mingling with that of woodsmoke.
Everything looked perfect, except to Catarina, who saw nothing but a fragile stage built around a trembling secret.
Althea chattered endlessly, her words bouncing from one topic to another. Sylus nodded, smiling with quiet ease, the perfect father.
But every now and then, his gaze returned to Catarina. Not for long. Just enough to remind her they shared the same fear.
Catarina laughed out of reflex. Her movements were too controlled, her laughter too clear. Every second weighed heavy. Every sentence rang false.
"Dad, did you know Catarina loves old songs? We made a special playlist for tonight!"
"Ah, really?" he replied evenly.
"Old songs have something timeless about them."
That tone. That phrase. Exactly like before, in the café. Catarina felt her throat tighten.
The table became a silent battlefield: three plates, three breaths, two truths.
"Are you all right, Catarina?" Althea asked, pouring the wine.
"Yes, just a bit tired from the trip."
Sylus lifted his eyes. A brief glance. A silent warning. Say nothing. She understood.
When Althea went upstairs to fetch blankets for the Christmas movie, silence fell at once. He remained standing, hands on the table. She, motionless, her fingers clenched around the napkin.
The fire crackled softly.
"Catarina," he murmured.
His voice was no longer that of a father, nor the echo of the past, it was something else. A fracture. A breath. A word too many.
She rose instantly.
"Don't say anything. Not here. Not now."
"I wasn't planning to," he replied.
But his eyes spoke too loudly.
She felt the ground shift beneath her.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered.
"I could ask you the same."
A bitter smile crossed his face.
"Fate has a twisted sense of humor."
"Fate?" she repeated.
"You still believe in that?"
Footsteps echoed upstairs. They stepped apart at once, each retreating to their role.
When Althéa came back down, her arms full of blankets, everything seemed back to normal. Almost.
The movie began. The firelight danced across their faces. Althea laughed, then slowly drifted asleep against her father's shoulder.
Catarina watched her, heart tight. The scene should have been beautiful. It was, but in a cruel way.
Sylus lifted his eyes to hers. Silence.
He raised a finger to his lips, a simple, almost tender gesture.
She nodded, rose quietly, gathered her blanket, and left the room.
In the hallway, the light flickered. She climbed the stairs, closed her door, and leaned against the wall. Her heart pounded too fast.
Then, through the floorboards, a sound rose. A piano. A slow, fragile melody, one she knew by heart. The one he used to play on rainy nights, before everything fell apart.
The tears came without warning. She closed her eyes and slid down against the door.
That Christmas night, she thought she was about to live the most beautiful night of her life. But fate, had already chosen to make it the cruellest.