Sign

After stepping out of the washroom, Eve headed into her room and lay down on the bed for a while. She felt exhausted—not just physically, but mentally.

She could accept Adrian Voss's offer, but what guarantee did she have that he could truly cure Leo's speaking disorder?

Was she ready to take such a step without being certain she wasn't putting her son in danger?

Her fingers traced absent circles over her stomach through the fabric of her night suit as her thoughts deepened.

Her gaze drifted across the room, landing on the table—and she paused.

Where was her bag? She hadn't checked her phone since returning. Normally, she plugged it in before showering, but her routine had become so restless that she had completely forgotten.

Then, it came back to her. She had left it in Leo's room.

With a sigh, she sat up. It was also time to prepare dinner. Rising from the bed, she walked out and into Leo's room.

"Hey, love. What do you want to eat today?" she asked as she entered, spotting him sitting at his desk, just as he had been before.

He looked up at her.

She knew he wouldn't answer—he never did. She had only asked out of habit. As she moved toward her bag, which was resting on the bed, she saw him lift his hand and point.

She followed his gaze toward the counter. A box of pasta sat there.

"You want pasta?" she asked, though something about it felt… off.

Leo never made specific requests. He simply ate whatever she prepared.

But he nodded.

"Okay, love," she said softly, running a hand through his hair before turning toward the kitchen.

He returned to his desk while she rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling a chill. Her pajamas were thin, and her eyes instinctively flicked toward the window.

She walked over and reached for the curtain, but just as her fingers touched the fabric, she felt a gentle tug at her side.

She turned.

Leo stood there.

"You want to keep it open?" she asked.

He nodded.

She figured he must be feeling cooped up after being indoors all day and wanted some fresh air. Releasing the curtain, she gave him a small nod before heading for the door.

Leo lingered for a moment, then walked back to his bed.

"I'll call you when dinner is ready," she said.

Another nod.

Something about him seemed… more responsive than usual. The thought lingered briefly before she pushed it aside, stepping into the kitchen to prepare the meal.

As she hummed softly, the minutes passed, and for a fleeting moment, she felt free from the weight of the day's worries.

Once the food was plated, she returned to Leo's room.

"Dinner's ready," she called.

Leo stood and took his seat at the table while she settled across from him. As he picked up his utensils and took a slow bite, she watched him carefully.

"Is it good?" she asked.

He paused, then nodded.

Satisfied, she started eating her own meal.

Then, she noticed something.

Leo's gaze had fixed on something across the room.

She followed his eyes—toward a sleek black coat draped over the sofa.

"Do you remember it?" she asked, though she expected no response.

"Sir."

A soft, mellow voice—so quiet, yet unmistakable—reached her ears.

She froze.

She couldn't believe it.

Again.

Her eyes snapped back to Leo, but he was already eating again as if nothing had happened.

"What did you say, love?" she whispered, disbelief thick in her voice.

He didn't answer. Instead, he simply pointed at the coat before continuing his meal.

Was this a sign?

A sign that if she went to Adrian Voss, he might truly be able to help her son?

Her appetite vanished. She sat there, unmoving, watching Leo finish his plate and retreat to his room.

Eve remained at the table, staring at the door, lost in thought.

She barely registered the quiet clatter of plates as she gathered the dishes and carried them to the sink. The water ran warm over her fingers, but she hardly felt it. Her mind was elsewhere—on that moment.

"Sir."

That single word echoed in her head, refusing to fade.

She scrubbed the plates with slow, deliberate movements, her hands working on instinct. Leo had never spoken a word so clearly. Not in years. And yet, tonight, he had.

Was it mere coincidence? A fluke?

Or was it something else?

She rinsed the last plate and set it on the drying rack, wiping her hands on a towel. Standing there in the dim kitchen, she let out a shaky breath.

Her first instinct had been to dismiss it, to tell herself she was imagining things, that she was reaching for hope where there was none. But the weight in her chest told her otherwise.

This was a sign.

A message from something greater.

She turned off the kitchen light and made her way to her room. The air felt heavier now, charged with a quiet anticipation. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

She laid back down on the bed her hand circling on the fabric above the stomach she she closed her eyes. 

Adrian Voss.

She had been hesitant—fearful, even. But what if she had been wrong?

What if this was the push she needed?

Tomorrow, she would go.

They would see him.

And she would find out if he could really cure her son. 

Her hand slowly stilled, fingers resting lightly against her stomach as her thoughts faded into the quiet pull of sleep.

The night breeze drifted through the open window, rustling the curtains in a slow, ghostly dance. Moonlight pooled across the bed, casting soft shadows that seemed to cage her in their embrace as she curled into herself, surrendering to the embrace of slumber.