My Son Has His Eyes

Chapter 3:

Daisy’s POV:

He let out a breath, as if he already knew he couldn’t hide it.

“I took it from Lucas.”

I froze.

Lucas Sherwood was Mr. Sherwood’s only son, arrogant, hot-tempered, and cruel enough to turn even the smallest offense into a disaster. He would toss his gloves onto the floor just to make Logan bend down and pick them up. He would call him humiliating names just to make the guests laugh. If Lucas found out Logan had stolen his ticket, I didn’t dare imagine how badly he would be beaten.

“Are you insane?” I lowered my voice, but fear made it shake. “What if Lucas finds out? What if Mr. Sherwood finds out?”

Logan looked at me. His usual calm expression was still there, but I could see the exhaustion hidden beneath his gray eyes.

“They won’t know right away. Lucas has too many tickets and too many places to go. Tonight he’s drunk at the club. By tomorrow morning, he probably won’t even remember where he left the ticket.”

“But what if he remembers?”

“Daisy.” Logan placed a hand on my shoulder, very lightly this time. “You’ve waited for this day for too long. Don’t turn back because of me.”

My throat tightened.

I wanted to tell him he should come with me too, that Asterveil was so vast there had to be room for both of us. But I knew Logan couldn’t. Not because he didn’t want to. But because there were still too many ropes tied around his neck. The Sherwoods kept Logan’s papers. He had no money. No status. No one to protect him if he was caught halfway down the road. And me, at least I still had my own name, my own documents, and this small bag.

Suddenly, the train whistle echoed from the platform.

That long, low sound cut through every word left unsaid.

I turned.

White Raven was still standing on the tracks, but the stillness from before was gone.

A deep vibration traveled along the body of the train, as though something enormous had slowly awakened from a long sleep. Then, one by one, the windows of each carriage lit up in sequence, beginning at the front and stretching toward the rear like small flames being lit in the night.

The sound of the engine grew steadier. Pale white steam drifted slowly beneath the iron wheels.

Then the station announcement echoed through the terminal.

“White Raven bound for Asterveil will depart in a few minutes. Passengers, please complete boarding.”

The voice reverberated through the crowded station before dissolving into the sound of rolling suitcases and hurried footsteps.

It was time.

Passengers began moving some pulling luggage, some carrying children, some checking their watches in haste.

Logan immediately took my hand.

“Come on. You need to board now.”

I followed him through the crowd, gripping the ticket tightly.

Every step toward the train made me want to run faster and slow down at the same time.

I had dreamed of this moment for years.

And yet when it finally arrived, my chest ached in a way I didn’t expect.

Maybe because freedom had never been free.

To have it, I had to leave everything behind including the only person who had ever stood by my side. Logan stopped in front of the carriage. The conductor looked at my ticket and nodded. I stepped onto the first stair, but I couldn’t move any farther. I turned back.

Logan stood below on the platform, looking up at me. The yellow station lights softened his face and spread across his dark brown hair.

“Will you be okay?” I asked.

Logan smiled.

“When am I not?”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

His smile faded.

After a moment, Logan reached into his pocket and handed me an old handkerchief.

“When you get there, don’t trust people too easily. Keep your money close. Don’t follow anyone who promises too much. And if you can…”

He stopped, and his eyes softened.

“Live well, Daisy.”

My eyes burned.

“What about you?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Promise?”

Logan looked at me for a long time before nodding.

“I promise.”

The whistle sounded again.

The carriage doors began closing.

I stepped farther inside but kept looking at Logan through the window.

He stood motionless on the platform that was slowly drifting away, lifting a hand in a quiet goodbye.

I pressed my palm against the glass.

Cold seeped into my skin.

White Raven moved.

Slowly at first.

Then faster.

Logan’s figure blurred among the steam and lights until he became nothing more than a small dark shape left behind.

I didn’t cry.

At least, I tried not to.

The second-class ticket led me into a carriage cleaner and warmer than anywhere I had ever slept in my father’s house.

The seats were upholstered in dark green velvet—not new, but soft.

Beside the window was a small fixed table holding a vase of dried flowers and a dim yellow lamp.

There was enough room on the luggage rack for my bag.

But I didn’t put it there.

I held it in my arms as if letting go would make everything left of my life disappear.

Inside were clothes, money, documents, my mother’s keepsakes, and an old photograph of her holding me before I knew anything about unhappiness.

I couldn’t clearly remember my mother’s voice.

I couldn’t remember her smile.

But I remembered the scent on the handkerchief she left behind, even though after all these years it had faded until almost nothing remained.

I held my suitcase throughout the journey, resting my forehead against the window and watching darkness tear apart beneath distant streaks of light.

White Raven raced across grasslands, through dark forests, past villages sleeping under moonlight.

Sometimes I heard distant howls.

I didn’t know if they were stray dogs or wolves.

The sound stretched through the night, lonely and strange.

It made me shiver but not entirely from fear. I didn’t know when I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again, the sky outside had already faded into pale color. Dawn spilled across the tracks. Then the conductor’s voice echoed through the carriage.

“Asterveil. Next stop, Asterveil.”

I sat upright.

My heart raced.

Sweat gathered in my palms.

When the train stopped, I hugged my bag and stepped down, following the stream of passengers. The moment my feet touched the platform at Asterveil, I almost forgot to breathe. This city looked unlike anywhere I had ever seen. When I stepped onto the platform, the large clock beneath the glass roof showed just before four in the morning.

The station was still grand and magnificent, its curved glass ceiling covered in a thin layer of lingering night mist.

Columns carved with roses and white birds stood motionless beneath the pale blue light before dawn.

The polished stone floor reflected scattered silhouettes passengers dragging suitcases, station staff in dark uniforms hurrying past one another.

The rolling of wheels echoed through the vast space like distant water.

Outside the station, Asterveil was still half asleep.

Stone-paved streets stretched beneath a gray-blue sky.

Streetlights had not yet gone out completely.

Traffic was sparse.

Occasionally, a car passed by or a delivery wagon headed toward the early market.

Most shops remained closed, though faint yellow lights had begun appearing behind a few windows.

The air was strangely cold and clean.

Then I smelled bread.

A bakery on the corner across from the station had already opened.

Steam fogged the glass.

Warm light spilled onto the damp street.

A baker carried trays fresh from the oven golden honey bread with crusts still crackling from the heat.

The sweet scent mixed with freshly brewed coffee and drifted through the quiet dawn.

I stopped and stared for a long time.

The baker looked up, caught my eye, and smiled through the glass.

Everything felt new.

Signs had not fully lit up yet.

Curtains still covered second-floor windows.

A woman carrying flowers crossed the square.

The fountain at the center of the city was still asleep, its water smooth as a mirror reflecting the sky before sunrise.

I walked along the street in front of the station looking for a cheap inn.

Not a grand hotel with polished glass doors and uniformed doormen but somewhere smaller.

More modest.

Somewhere that wouldn’t ask too many questions about a girl traveling alone with an old bag.

I slowed my steps. Then suddenly realized, I was smiling.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t need to rush home before someone got angry. I didn’t need to worry whether there would be leftovers for dinner. I didn’t need to fear hearing my name called like a sentence being passed. The city had not even woken up yet but I had already begun a new life.

I was free.

The thought filled my chest until it hurt.

After asking for directions, I found a small inn at the end of Willow Street.

The room was cheaper than I expected.

The owner was a kind gray-haired woman who only glanced at my suitcase before handing me the key without asking anything else.

I left my luggage in the room, locked the door carefully, hid the suitcase beneath the bed, and went outside again.

I wanted to see this city.

Wanted to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

To find an inn that met all my conditions, I had to move farther toward the outskirts, places beyond the beautiful streets where simple places like that actually existed.

So I kept walking.

The thinning scenery around me told me I had chosen the right direction.

When I reached the foot of a bridge, I was about to stop and breathe for a moment, then suddenly saw something strange.

Someone was standing on the bridge railing.

Well…

Standing on a bridge wasn’t strange by itself. There wasn’t exactly a sign forbidding it.

But the problem was he looked like he wanted to jump. He wore a black coat. Tall. Silent in a way that didn’t resemble someone admiring the view.

The wind lifted the edge of his coat. One hand rested against the stone pillar. The other hung loosely at his side. One more half-step and he would fall into the freezing river below.

The arm I had been stretching froze midair. Every sound around me seemed to disappear.

And then… “Ah!”

He plunged straight into the water.

And of course, that scream had come from me. Not from the man who had apparently decided to go looking for death.