Forbidden by name

Ep:3SmallThings

FORBIDDEN BY NAME

It became a habit neither of them named out loud.

Ophira would end up in the east wing library most evenings now — sometimes with a book, sometimes just with her laptop and an excuse she didn't examine too closely. Finnick was always there first, folded into the same corner chair, and he'd glance up when she came in like he'd been half-expecting her.

"You finished it," he said one night, nodding at the book under her arm — the one he'd told her to read.

"I finished it." She dropped into the chair across from him. "Chapter fourteen destroyed me."

"Told you."

"You could've warned me better."

"I did warn you." He almost smiled — that same small, private thing he did instead of a real smile, like he was rationing it. "You didn't believe me."

"I didn't think a guy who barely talks at dinner was going to recommend the most emotionally devastating thing I've read all year."

"I contain multitudes," he said dryly, and went back to his own book, and Ophira sat there grinning at nothing for a second longer than she should have.

It kept happening like that. Small things.

He started leaving books on the kitchen counter with a page dog-eared, no note, no explanation — just read this part. She started saving him a plate when she made herself food late at night, because she'd noticed he skipped dinner more often than he let his mother know. Neither of them talked about why. It was easier not to.

Bianca noticed before Ophira admitted anything.

"You've mentioned him, like, six times in this conversation," Bianca said, pointing an accusing fry at her. "Six. I counted."

"He's my stepbrother, Bianca, I live with him."

"You didn't mention him six times a week ago."

Ophira didn't have a good answer for that, so she ate her fries and let Bianca smirk at her in silence, which was somehow worse.

Julian's visits got more frequent that month, and more pointed.

He showed up on a Wednesday she hadn't invited him for, found her on the terrace, and sat down like he had something to say before he'd said it.

"You seem different lately," he said.

"Different how?"

"Lighter. Distracted." He said it lightly, but his eyes weren't light at all. "You used to tell me everything."

"I still do."

"Do you?" He looked toward the house, toward the east wing, though he couldn't have known that's where it started. It was just a guess. A good one. "I just don't want you getting caught up in something you haven't thought through, Ophira. That's all."

"I'm not caught up in anything."

"Okay," Julian said, in the tone of someone who didn't believe her and wasn't going to say so twice — not yet.

She didn't like how long that conversation sat with her after he left.

Rosalind cornered Finnick in the kitchen a few nights later, waiting until Magnus was upstairs.

"You're spending a lot of time with her," she said carefully, not quite meeting his eyes as she wiped down a counter that didn't need wiping.

"She's easy to talk to."

"Finn." Rosalind set the cloth down. "I need you to be careful. Please."

"Careful of what?"

"You know what." Her voice was gentle, but there was something underneath it — old, tired, like she was carrying a fear she'd had long before she ever set foot in this house. "This family is still new. Fragile. I won't let anything put it at risk. Not for you, not for her."

Finnick didn't answer. He just looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable behind his eyes, and then went upstairs without another word.

Rosalind stood in the kitchen a while longer, hoping she was wrong about what she'd seen growing between them — and quietly certain that she wasn't.

End of Episode 3

To be continued...