The garden was quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that feels borrowed, soft sunlight pressing through the leaves, birdsong scattered and unhurried.
The maids had set the breakfast table outside, and the twins sat across from each other the way they always did, like two halves of the same restless coin.
Ethan reached for his toast before anyone told him to sit still. Nathan reached for his more carefully, the way a three-year-old learns to be careful when the grown-ups around him have been careful with him for weeks.
He was getting his strength back, little by little, one quiet morning at a time. But healing is a slow, invisible thing, and it does not care that your brother is already on his feet, already running, already laughing too loud at something only he finds funny.
Ruby watched them both. She smiled, but her eyes stayed on Nathan.
