Ayoka wasnât truly alone. The boy, Benoît, never spoke unless spoken to, but Ayoka noticed his presence like a weight in the room. Sabine might glance his way or occasionally attempt to soften the silence with light chatter, but Ayoka didnât indulge much. Her replies were measured, careful, her attention always half on Malik. She didnât trust the quiet, didnât trust the eyes that lingered. Benoît said nothing, offered no warmthâonly the occasional nod or distant stare that made her skin prickle. He wasnât there to help. He was there to monitor. To report. And no matter how still the house felt, Viktorâs shadows never really left.
Ayoka rose slowly and walked toward the basin, her hands trembling as she gently rocked Malik in her arms. After placing him down for a moment, she moved to the window, picking him back up and cradling him against her chest. She swayed lightly, staring through the warped glass at the dimming sky, the colors outside deepening into something solemn and still. The estate hummed faintly beneath it all, as if exhaling. Something had changedâsomething quiet, invisible. She felt it in the way the air thickened, in the silence that pressed too long, too deliberately. This was no longer survivalâit was staging, performance, a new layer of rules she hadnât agreed to but couldnât ignore. Benoît still lingered outside the doorway, still as the shadows, and even with the curtains drawn, Ayoka knew eyes were always on her.
Not long after, Sabine reentered the room with a spark in her step, arms full of fresh linens, a little gown for Malik, and a jar of sweet-smelling balm. âLook at this,â she beamed, laying everything out with uncharacteristic warmth. âAlmost like a proper nursery, hm?â
Ayoka blinked, watching the scene unfold like a strange dream. It had to be a better gig for Sabineâworking indoors, bringing soft things into quiet rooms, tending to someone who could still smile. Earlier that day, as Ayoka rocked Malik by the window, she caught a muffled conversation outside. Sabine was passing a few field hands near the back shed when one of them asked if sheâd be coming out to help with the wash or the picking. Sabineâs voice answered backâtoo loud, too fast, too rehearsed. âNot today. Iâm taking care of Master Viktorâs new doll.â
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There was laughterânot the kind that came from humor, but the kind that carried teeth. Ayoka didnât need to see Sabine to know the shape of her reaction. The way her voice rose just a little too brightly, the tone too polished when she called back, âNot today. Iâm taking care of Master Viktorâs new doll.â A pause. More laughter. Rough, cutting. Ayoka kept rocking Malik as if nothing outside the window existed, but her ears absorbed everything.
She noted the chain Sabine woreâthin and elegant, yes, but still a chain. The clasp glinted when she moved just right, something custom, something claimed. It wasnât gone. Just gilded. Magical, tooâAyoka was sure of it. A charm that granted Sabine freedom to walk through doors, to carry linens across thresholds, to smile in passing and speak without bracing.
Ayoka envied her. She wouldnât have admitted it aloud, but she did. Sabine could step into the sun without dread, talk to others in ways Ayoka couldnâtânot yet. Maybe never. She had the right tone, the right place, the right chain. Even if it still bound her, it let her move.
Then Ayoka caught her own reflection in the warped window glassâdim, uncertainâand noticed something no one else ever seemed to. Her shadow was wrong. It shimmered faintly, a gleam of restraint stretching from her wrist to ankle. Not on her bodyâon her silhouette. A line of magic. Faint but deliberate.
She turned, heart stuttering, but there was nothing on her skin. Only her shadow wore it. No one else noticed. Or maybe they didâand didnât care. But Ayoka saw it. A mark, a binding, a secret vow Viktor had etched without a word. Even her silhouette wasnât her own.
Ayoka would play her part in this quiet houseâbut only so long as her son remained safe.