The library was quiet.
This silence felt different from the ordinary quiet of the manor; it was softer. The countless books lining the shelves seemed to swallow sound before it could travel. The scent of old paper lingered heavily in the air.
Shawn followed the sound of Morgan's voice and found the chair pulled out for him. After sitting down, he rested his hands on the armrests and waited.
Morgan did not speak immediately.
The silence stretched for several seconds, which Shawn disliked. People like Morgan rarely stayed silent without a reason.
Finally, Morgan broke the quiet.
"I see that you've already met Kish."
Shawn recalled the impatient footsteps, the constant attempts to leave him behind, and the hostility.
"So that was his name."
Morgan chuckled.
"My second youngest son."
The statement explained a lot. The arrogance, the entitlement, and the belief that the world should move according to his wishes. Shawn supposed being born into Morgan Vonte's family created such habits.
"Kish lacks patience," Morgan added casually.
That was an understatement, but Shawn decided not to say it aloud.
The library fell silent again before Morgan spoke.
"You've adapted surprisingly well. I expected you to struggle much longer."
The statement made Shawn frown.
"Was I supposed to?"
"In your condition? Yes," Morgan replied calmly.
A chair creaked as he leaned back.
"You lost your sight recently. Most people spend months learning how to function again. Some never fully adapt."
Shawn didn't know how to answer.
The truth was that he hadn't had a choice. Adapting wasn't a decision. It was survival.
Morgan continued.
"Yet within a week, you were moving through unfamiliar rooms. Within days, you began navigating parts of the estate."
Shawn felt his shoulders stiffen.
Morgan had been watching. Not directly, perhaps, but watching nonetheless. The realization left an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.
Morgan's fingers tapped against wood while his gaze remained fixed on the boy across from him.
The speed of adaptation bothered him. No ability had manifested and no awakening had occurred, yet the boy progressed at a rate that bordered on abnormal. Once again, Morgan's thoughts drifted toward the inheritance. The possibility grew more convincing each day, but now wasn't the time to investigate.
"I've made a decision," Morgan said.
Shawn became alert.
"And what decision is that?"
"I'm arranging tutors for you."
The answer caught him off guard.
For several seconds, he wasn't sure he had heard correctly.
"Tutors?"
"Yes."
Shawn frowned.
Why?
The question surfaced immediately, but Morgan answered before he could ask.
"A blind boy sitting in a room all day serves no purpose. You'll receive instruction in etiquette, history, noble customs, and several other subjects."
Shawn blinked.
"Noble customs?"
"Correct."
A strange expression appeared on Shawn's face.
The man had wiped out an entire clan, and now he wanted to teach etiquette. The irony was impressive, but fortunately, Morgan couldn't read minds.
"You'll also learn systems used by the blind to read and write," Morgan added.
That part genuinely caught Shawn's attention.
Read?
His fingers tightened on the armrest.
For the first time since losing his sight, interest appeared on his face.
Morgan noticed.
Very little escaped his attention.
"The library is wasted on someone who cannot use it. That can be corrected."
The smell of old books became noticeable.
Shawn remained silent for a moment, then finally asked the question that had bothered him since the conversation began.
"Why?"
Morgan raised an eyebrow.
"I've already answered that."
"No."
Shawn's voice hardened, and the room seemed to grow colder.
"No, you haven't."
The library became completely still.
Even Morgan stopped moving.
Shawn leaned forward slightly.
"You destroyed my clan."
The words came out calm, far calmer than he felt.
"My father is dead. My mother is dead."
He swallowed the bitterness behind the words.
"You threw me into a dungeon, and now you're giving me tutors. Why?"
Silence followed. Long, heavy, and uncomfortable.
Morgan's expression remained unchanged.
Eventually, he spoke.
"Because your father was my friend."
The answer hung in the air.
Neither of them moved or spoke.
"It is the least I can do for Sigil," Morgan continued.
Shawn stared blindly in Morgan's direction.
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"Friend. That's an interesting word."
The single word carried more mockery than an entire speech, and Shawn shook his head.
Morgan didn't defend himself, explain, or justify his actions.
He simply sat there.
That annoyed Shawn far more than an argument would have.
Arguments could be challenged. Silence couldn't.
Inside him, resentment burned.
A friend.
The thought almost made him laugh again.
If this was how Morgan treated his friends, Shawn wanted nothing to do with his enemies.
Eventually, Morgan rose from his chair, the sound drawing Shawn's attention.
"Our discussion is finished."
"Convenient timing."
Morgan ignored the remark.
"As I said, your lessons begin tomorrow."
Shawn crossed his arms.
"And if I refuse?"
For the first time during the conversation, Morgan smiled.
It wasn't warm or kind. It was confident.
"You won't."
The certainty irritated Shawn immediately.
Morgan began walking away, his footsteps echoing softly across the floor.
Before reaching the door, he paused.
"Oh, and one more thing. Kish will occasionally accompany your lessons."
A groan nearly escaped Shawn.
Of all the news he'd received recently, that was the worst.
Morgan chuckled, then the door opened and closed.
The library fell silent once more.
Shawn remained seated, surrounded by the smell of old books.
His thoughts drifted through everything Morgan had said. Tutors, lessons, reading, etiquette, and that ridiculous excuse about friendship.
None of it made sense, which was exactly why it bothered him.
After several moments, he leaned back into the chair.
Tomorrow was going to be troublesome.