Author's POV
Keegan's door remained open, but the room was quiet. Nobody rushed inside.
Keifer stayed near the doorway while Percy, Aries, Angelo, Cora, Luna, Alex, and Denila waited outside, giving Keegan the space he needed. Jay was the only one who had moved farther into the room, settling into the chair beside his study table.
Keegan sat on the edge of his bed. Since opening the door, he had offered little more than a few short answers, an occasional nod, or a shake of his head.
Keifer didn't push him, and neither did Jay. She simply stayed.
After a while, Jay's fingers found the edge of her sleeve. She twisted the fabric once, then again, without seeming to notice.
Keegan's gaze settled on her hand.
"You still do that."
Jay stopped and looked at him. "Do what?"
He gestured faintly toward her fingers.
"That."
She glanced down and released the sleeve. "Oh. I guess it's just a habit."
Keegan continued watching her, his tired expression touched by something else—recognition.
"You used to do that when you were little."
Jay's smile faded. "When?"
"I don't know." He looked away. "I just remember."
She studied him, as did Keifer. Keegan wasn't trying to explain the memory; he seemed genuinely confused by it himself.
Jay offered a small, careful smile. "Maybe."
She tried to make the answer sound casual, but the room fell quiet again.
A moment later, her hand moved to the table. Without thinking, she tapped the wood twice.
Keegan looked up.
"You do that too."
Jay blinked. "Do what?"
He glanced at the table. "Two taps. You always did two."
No one outside the room spoke. Keifer's expression shifted as Jay slowly withdrew her hand.
"I… don't remember that."
"I do."
The certainty in his voice unsettled her. It wasn't that she distrusted him—she trusted him completely. She simply couldn't understand how he could remember something from her childhood that she couldn't remember herself.
Jay smiled too quickly and stood. "Anyway, you should drink some water."
Keegan blinked. "What?"
"Water." She pointed toward the glass on his bedside table. "You haven't had enough."
He stared at her for a moment before reaching for it. Jay watched as he drank.
"Good."
Keegan lowered the glass.
"There," she said, sitting back down.
After a brief silence, he looked at her again. "You changed the subject."
Jay froze. Near the doorway, Keifer almost smiled.
"No, I didn't."
"You did."
"I was talking about water."
"You weren't."
Jay held his gaze for two seconds before giving him the most innocent expression she could manage. "You're tired."
Keegan looked unimpressed. "You always do that."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Do what?"
"Change the subject when you don't want to answer."
Jay opened her mouth, then closed it.
Keegan looked away. "I'm tired."
Her expression softened. "Then don't think about it."
He nodded faintly.
This time, when Jay sat down, she kept both hands folded neatly in her lap. No sleeve twisting. No tapping.
Keifer noticed. So did Keegan.
Neither of them said anything.
The question remained suspended in the room: How could Keegan remember those tiny details? And why did Jay feel there was something buried in her childhood that she wasn't ready to touch?
For now, neither of them asked.
Keifer didn't push. He simply watched them in silence, aware that Keegan had somehow remembered two small pieces of Jay's childhood—pieces she herself had forgotten.