Layla's POV
Days passed by in a quiet rhythm. Everyday was a new lesson to embrace. Mornings became less strange. I'd wake up to the smell of freshly brewed tea and polished wood blending with faint chirping from the courtyard.
My heart stopped racing at every sound when I woke up. Slowly, Europe was starting to feel less like an exile and more like a strange kind of home.
Henrik and Lucy were more frequent, always parading respect and courtesy that I was still finding difficult to embrace fully. They were somewhat deliberate in their actions as though they understood the invisible weight of my grief.
I finally summoned Henrik , I needed answers.
He came into the sitting room with his usual calm, wiping his hands on an old handkerchief tucked in his shirt pocket.
"Arthur," I calle
