The day after Miles and I returned from the rink felt strangely off-balance. Breakfast passed without Aiden. He slipped in late, grabbed a mug of coffee black, and vanished before anyone could speak. At lunch he took a sandwich upstairs. When the group gathered for afternoon cards, he appeared only long enough to mutter “headache” and disappear again. Every time our paths might have crossed—hallway, kitchen, stairs—he turned away fast, like looking at me would burn him.
By dinner I’d had enough.
The table was loud with the usual banter—twins arguing over who ate the last roll, Dirk teasing Liam about his third helping—but Aiden’s chair stayed empty. He’d taken his plate to the small study at the back of the cabin. I waited until the others cleared the table, then walked down the dim hall
