The conversation happened late.
Not because it was planned that way, but because that was when the house finally allowed space for things that weren't urgent.
Theon was in the operations wing when his right hand entered — a man who had worked with him long enough to understand which silences were stable and which ones were not. He didn't interrupt immediately. He waited until Theon finished reviewing the report in front of him, until the pen was set down and the page turned with deliberate care.
"Sir," he said then, neutral as always. "May I ask something?"
Theon didn't look up right away.
"Ask."
The man stepped closer, posture professional, not deferential. He wasn't a subordinate who feared consequences — he was someone who understood them.
"You've let others leave with less scrutiny," he said. "Some with more capability than her."
Theon's pen paused.
"And yet," the man continued evenly, "she's still here. Under the roof."
Theon finally looked up.
"Go on."
The man took that as permission, not invitation.
"If it's about risk," he said, "sending her back to her family would reduce exposure here. They're responsible for her."
The words were careful. Strategic. Not accusatory.
Theon regarded him for a long moment.
"They offered her without hesitation," he said.
The man blinked once. Just once.
"Offered," he repeated.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
"They didn't negotiate," Theon went on. "They didn't delay. They didn't ask what would happen to her."
The man absorbed that quietly.
"They handed her over," Theon said, voice level, "as repayment."
The man exhaled slowly through his nose.
"So you believe—"
"They might do it again," Theon said, cutting him off. Not sharply. Just firmly.
The words landed with weight.
The man nodded once, acknowledging the logic rather than the emotion.
"She's naive," Theon continued. "She reacts instead of assessing. She trusts the surface of things."
He paused, then added, almost clinically:
"In this world, that gets people hurt."
The man considered that.
"And you believe keeping her here prevents that."
"For now."
The man didn't argue. Didn't agree either.
"What about her perception?" he asked. "She doesn't see it that way."
"I know," Theon said.
"Then why not let her go anyway?"
Theon leaned back slightly.
"Because protection without understanding is still protection," he said. "Until it isn't."
The man studied him carefully. "And when it isn't?"
Theon didn't answer immediately.
Outside the window, the grounds were dark and still. Quiet enough that even distant sounds felt intrusive.
"When she stops mistaking restraint for control," he said finally. "When she can evaluate risk without personal bias."
The man's expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes sharpened.
"And if that never happens?"
Theon met his gaze.
"Then keeping her becomes a lie."
The man nodded once.
"That's all I needed to know," he said.
He turned to leave.
At the door, he paused.
"For what it's worth," he said, without looking back, "sending her back would have been easier."
Theon didn't respond.
Easier had never been the point.
__________________________________________
Mia didn't know about the conversation.
She noticed only its effects.
The next few days felt… quieter. Not in sound, but in attention. Theon no longer crossed her path as often. He didn't ask questions directly. Didn't linger in shared spaces.
Books still appeared when she needed them.
Tea was restocked.
Dessert came and went without comment.
But the sense of being held in mind — not watched, not controlled — had shifted somewhere she couldn't see.
She told herself it was relief.
She told herself it meant progress.
Theon adjusted systems.
Not out of detachment, but preparation.
He reviewed external options. Quietly. Carefully. Routes that would not expose her to unnecessary danger. Contacts that could be trusted not because they were kind, but because they were predictable.
He didn't rush.
He had learned long ago that haste was a form of negligence.
__________________________________________
One afternoon, Mia passed through the administrative wing and noticed something she hadn't before.
Other employees left freely.
They came and went with the ease of people whose presence was transactional. They worked, they departed, they returned the next day without ceremony.
She paused, watching them disappear down the drive.
Why me? the thought surfaced uninvited.
She pushed it away.
Because I was repayment, she reminded herself.
That explanation had always been sufficient.
The loyalty test continued without announcement.
It tested whether she would notice what wasn't said.
She didn't.
It tested whether she would question why she alone lived under the roof.
She didn't.
It tested whether she would ever ask what it cost someone else to keep her safe.
She never did.
_______________________________________________
Late one night, Theon stood alone in the study again.
The drawer remained closed this time.
He didn't need reminders.
The decision wasn't immediate. It wasn't emotional. It didn't arrive with certainty or relief.
It arrived the way most irreversible decisions did.
Quietly. Logically. Exhausted of alternatives.
He had confirmed what he needed to know.
Not that she was ungrateful.
Not that she was disloyal.
Not that she was malicious.
But that her understanding would always stop at herself.
And that made continued protection dishonest.