Chapter 116: HEART UNFOLDING

The house had finally settled into an evening hush — that soft, warm quiet that only comes when a family is perfectly at peace. The kids had curled up on the rugs with their sketchbooks and colored pencils, murmuring to each other as they drew the Memory Garden from every possible angle.

Lucian was reading beside them, one arm crooked behind Arianna, the other resting near Aria as she leaned forward, tongue poking out in concentration. Arian had perched on the armrest like a tiny sentinel, chin on Lucian’s shoulder as he labeled every plant they’d planted earlier.

Adrian had retreated to the far corner of the porch, where the last gold of sunset still touched him like it had chosen him, somehow. His posture was tight, thoughtful — like a man who had spent his whole life being steady and had suddenly stepped onto shifting ground.

And Cassian…

Well.

Cassian was pacing.

Not dramatically (for once).

Not wildly (yet).

But with a strange tension in his shoulders — a tension I couldn’t remember seeing in him before.

I watched him for a moment.

His hands were in his pockets.

His head was slightly lowered.

His steps were measured, thoughtful.

Thoughtful.

Cassian.

That combination alone was alarming.

When I approached him, he didn’t look surprised — just tiredly amused.

“You’re staring,” he said, glancing sideways at me.

“You’re pacing,” I replied.

He smirked. “I pace beautifully.”

“Yes, but silently,” I said. “Which means something’s wrong.”

He paused mid-step.

“I’m never quiet,” he agreed, almost offended at himself.

Then he let out a soft exhale — not dramatic, not chaotic, not theatrical.

Just… human.

“Adrian,” he said simply.

I nodded. “He’s overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” Cassian huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s like a computer thrown into an emotional hurricane. He keeps trying to reboot, but the storm won’t let him.”

I smiled, because he wasn’t wrong.

But his eyes were not teasing — not fully. There was something deeper tucked behind them.

“Cassian,” I said gently, “he’ll find his way. He always does.”

“I know.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “But I also know him better than anyone. And he’s at war with something he doesn’t have the emotional tools to handle.”

“You think he’s scared,” I said.

“No,” Cassian said quietly. “I think he’s terrified.”

There was a weight to his voice that didn’t quite match his usual lively presence. And when he turned to face me fully, his expression wasn’t mischievous or teasing.

It was protective.

Fiercely, painfully protective.

“He’s… he’s my brother,” Cassian said, voice rougher than usual. “My twin. My mirror. I make everything a joke because—” he stopped, jaw tightening. “Because someone has to. Someone has to keep the house from falling apart emotionally. Someone has to keep everyone laughing when things get ugly.”

I blinked.

Cassian never said things like this out loud.

He looked away, clearing his throat. “He’s the strong one. The steady one. The one who always knows what to do. And now? He’s lost. Really lost. And I can’t fix it.”

“You don’t need to,” I whispered.

He gave a small, expressionless laugh. “I don’t know how to not fix things.”

I touched his arm.

Cassian stilled.

“You are fixing things,” I said softly. “You always have. Not by solving them — but by reminding all of us that laughter doesn’t disappear just because the world gets heavy.”

For once, Cassian didn’t joke.

He swallowed.

Then he nodded once, quietly.

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” he said.

I squeezed his arm gently. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” His jaw clenched. “People like us… we don’t get gentle endings. We don’t get soft landings. We get storms and choices and consequences.”

“Maybe this time,” I said, “we get something better.”

Cassian’s expression softened — painfully so — before he tore his gaze away.

“Anyway,” he said abruptly, voice lighter, “if he does anything stupid, I reserve the right to tackle him like a heroic sibling.”

“There it is,” I smiled. “The Cassian I know.”

He gasped. “Excuse you. I am multi-dimensional. I have layers like an onion.”

“Cassian,” I said, “that’s not—”

“Or a croissant,” he insisted. “A sexy croissant.”

I stared at him.

He stared back, dead serious.

Then we both burst into laughter — too loud, too real, too relieving.

Cassian smirked triumphantly. “See? Emotional crisis handled.”

“You didn’t handle anything,” I said, smiling. “You distracted.”

“Same thing,” he shrugged.

He paused again — smaller, quieter than before.

His gaze drifted toward Adrian.

“Just… keep an eye on him for me,” Cassian murmured.

“I always do,” I whispered.

And just like that, Cassian’s mask slipped back into place.

He cracked his knuckles, stretched dramatically, and called out, “Alright, munchkins! Who wants to hear the TRUE story of the time I single-handedly saved the universe with nothing but a spoon and terrifying levels of charisma?”

Aria screamed, “ME!”

Arianna raised her hand like a scholar.

Arian looked intrigued, skeptical, and ready to take notes.

Lucian sighed like a man accepting defeat.

Cassian grinned like chaos incarnate and launched himself onto the rug between them.

Adrian didn’t join — but he turned his head slightly.

Listening.

Always listening.

Always observing.

Always on the edge of understanding something he was terrified to feel.

And I watched my family — loud, messy, brilliant — and felt the kind of peace that only comes when love fills every corner of the room.

But deep in Adrian’s shadowed corner…

Something had shifted.

Something quiet.

Something powerful.

Something new.

And he didn’t know how to name it yet.

But he would.

Oh, he would.

Later that night, after the kids had been tucked in and Cassian had finally exhausted himself by reenacting an “epic cosmic battle” using only spoons and kitchen towels as weapons, the house sank into a gentle stillness.

The kind of stillness where you could hear your own heartbeat…

and the heartbeat of the family around you.

Lucian was outside locking up the tool shed.

Cassian was in the pantry searching—loudly—for “something sweet that doesn’t require moral responsibility.”

The kids were asleep.

The house breathed.

But Adrian was still on the porch.

Still sitting where the last of the sunset had left him.

Still silent.

Still perfectly still.

Except for his hands.

They moved restlessly.

Barely.

Subtly.

But enough.

Enough to show that inside him, thoughts were colliding like storm tides against the walls he’d spent years building.

I opened the porch door gently.

The wooden step creaked beneath me, the familiar sound pulling his gaze toward me — slow, reluctant, as if he’d hoped I wouldn’t come…

…but also as if he had been waiting.

“I brought tea,” I said softly.

He didn’t answer.

Just stared at the cup in my hand before finally — slowly — reaching for it.

His fingertips brushed mine by accident.

He froze.

Not dramatically.

Not visibly.

But I felt it.

A hitch in his breath.

A tiny tightening in his shoulders.

I sat beside him, leaving space, but not distance.

He held the cup in his hands, staring into the steam like it carried answers.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was… fragile.

Like the air between us was waiting.

Finally, he murmured, “You’re going to ask me about her.”

“Only if you want me to,” I said.

He lifted his eyes to mine.

There was something raw there.

Something unguarded.

Something he didn’t want to admit even existed.

And yet he didn’t look away.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there,” he said quietly. “I’ve walked that trail a hundred times. I know every path. I know every scent of the trees, every sound the branches make in the wind.”

His jaw tightened.

“And then… she was just there.”

I waited.

He wasn’t simply talking.

He was unraveling.

“She didn’t make a sound,” he whispered.

“No snapped twigs. No footsteps. No startled animals. One moment the trail was empty, the next—”

His hand clenched around the cup.

“—she was looking at me like she knew something I didn’t.”

“What did she look like?” I asked gently.

He shook his head once, sharply.

“Not what’s important.”

“Then what is?”

He exhaled a whisper. “…How I felt.”

My breath caught.

Adrian never talked about feelings.

He barely acknowledged having them.

“It was—” His voice faded. “I can’t explain it.”

“Try,” I whispered.

He hesitated.

His fingers trembled.

“It wasn’t fear,” he murmured. “Though I thought it should’ve been. It wasn’t recognition, either. Not exactly. It was… like something in me stopped. Like a part of my mind stepped forward and froze the rest of me in place.”

He searched for a word.

“…alignment.”

My eyes widened.

Adrian didn’t use words like that lightly.

“It was like my instincts recognized her before I did,” he said, voice low. “Like some part of me understood something I wasn’t ready to accept.”

I swallowed.

“And what do you think that is?”

He shook his head, staring back into the dark as if afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know.”

But he did.

He knew.

On some deep, instinctive level, he knew.

He just didn’t want to believe it.

And then he said something he had never said to me — not once.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” Adrian whispered.

I blinked.

Not from surprise — but from the heaviness of the confession.

Because Adrian was the one who controlled everything.

His emotions.

His instincts.

His choices.

His life.

He bent everything to his will.

And now something — someone — had slipped through the cracks.

“Adrian,” I said gently, “feeling something new isn’t a weakness.”

“Yes, it is,” he said instantly. “It is exactly that.”

I shook my head softly. “No. It’s simply unfamiliar.”

He didn’t respond.

His shoulders rose with a slow inhale — and for the first time in all the years I’d known him, he looked… young.

Not childish.

Not fragile.

Human.

“Your brothers care about you,” I whispered. “They’re not trying to push. They’re just excited for you.”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“Cassian?” he said. “Excited? He’s planning a wedding we haven’t even confirmed is necessary.”

“That’s how he shows love,” I said.

Adrian stared at me.

For a long moment.

Too long.

“Then how do I show it?” he asked quietly.

My heart clenched.

Because he wasn’t asking about her.

He was asking about everything.

How to be part of something softer than the world he’d learned to survive.

How to let himself be vulnerable.

How to exist in a family where love was loud, messy, chaotic, everywhere.

“You already do,” I whispered.

He frowned. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” I said. “You protect. You anticipate. You observe. You carry burdens that aren’t yours because it makes everyone else safer. You think that love always means responsibility—but sometimes it means letting yourself be cared for too.”

He stared at me.

And something flickered — a crack in the armor.

But before he could respond—

The porch door flew open.

Cassian stepped out dramatically, holding a giant bowl of popcorn and wearing Lucian’s coat for no reason.

“I SENSE FEELINGS,” he announced loudly.

Adrian closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.

I tried not to laugh. “Cassian, we’re talking—”

“Perfect!” he cut in. “Continue. I’ll just be here. Quiet. Beautiful. Supportive.”

He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and sat down between us like a golden retriever forcing itself into an emotional conversation.

Adrian stared at him. “Cassian.”

“Yes, darling?”

“Leave.”

Cassian gasped. “Rude.”

“Leave,” Adrian repeated.

“I CAN’T,” Cassian declared, clutching his chest. “I felt the emotional tension through the walls. It physically dragged me outside like a romantic tractor beam.”

“Cassian—” I started.

“No, no,” he said, waving dramatically. “Don’t thank me. I am here for moral support and unwanted commentary.”

Adrian’s eye twitched.

Cassian leaned closer to me. “Has he confessed anything yet?”

“Cassian,” I warned.

He pointed at Adrian accusingly. “He has been weirdly quiet ALL DAY. That means he’s either falling in love or plotting to move to the mountains and live as a cryptid. And I need to know which.”

Adrian stood.

Cassian shrieked and dove behind me.

I sighed.

Adrian walked into the house without a word, the porch door shutting behind him with a soft, decisive thud.

Cassian lowered himself slowly back into the chair. “…Okay. So maybe I pushed too hard.”

“You think?” I said.

He grinned sheepishly. “But in my defense, he’s MUCH more entertaining when emotionally compromised.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself.

Cassian took another handful of popcorn. “He’ll thank me one day.”

“Will he?”

“No,” Cassian admitted cheerfully. “But I will know.”

Inside, Adrian didn’t go far.

I found him only minutes later in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, hands gripping the edge like he needed something solid to keep him steady.

He didn’t look up when I approached.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“You didn’t do anything,” he murmured. “He did.”

“Yes. But I should have stopped him.”

“No,” Adrian said. “If you had, he would’ve doubled his efforts.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I stepped a little closer.

“Adrian,” I whispered, “we’re here for you. All of us. In whatever way you need.”

He finally lifted his eyes.

And there it was again.

That flicker.

That quiet, painful, unspoken truth.

“I don’t know how to need anyone,” he whispered.

My heart tightened.

“You don’t have to,” I said gently. “You just have to let us be here. That’s enough.”

Adrian didn’t respond.

But he didn’t pull away, either.

And for someone like him…

That alone was monumental.

Back in the living room, Cassian had fallen asleep with his face in the popcorn bowl, Lucian was carrying him to the couch with a resigned sigh, and the house returned to its soft, peaceful hum.

But Adrian?

He lingered in the doorway.

Watching.

Listening.

Breathing.

Still quiet.

Still conflicted.

Still unraveling.

Still changing.

And for the first time since I’d known him…

He didn’t look like a man trying to stand apart from the world.

He looked like someone who wanted to step into it—

He just didn’t know how yet.

But he would learn.

We would make sure of it.

Together.

Always.

The house was silent — or at least it seemed silent — until a soft rustling from the kitchen drew me out of my thoughts.

It was nearly 3 AM.

The kind of hour where dreams linger in your chest like uninvited ghosts.

I found Adrian leaning against the counter again, eyes half-closed, his expression unreadable. For a moment I thought he was asleep, but then I caught the slight twitch in his jaw — the telltale sign that something, somewhere inside him, was stirring.

“Adrian?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer at first. His hands tightened around the edge of the counter, knuckles white. Then his eyes snapped open, dark and luminous in the faint light of the kitchen.

“I dreamed of her,” he muttered.

My chest tightened.

“Tell me,” I urged softly.

He swallowed. “It wasn’t like a normal dream. She… she wasn’t fully there. Only fragments. Her hair caught the light differently each time. Her eyes… her eyes were everywhere, in the shadows, in the flames of the candles, in the cracks of the walls. And she was speaking, but the words weren’t words. Just… meanings. Images.”

I drew closer. “Images?”

“Yes. Feelings. Memories. Promises. Pain. Joy. Chaos. And she was smiling at me… like she knew something I had forgotten.”

A chill ran through me. “And you?”

He exhaled slowly, a shiver of something almost like awe threading his voice. “I was terrified. And… longing. At the same time. I wanted to follow her, touch her, understand her… and I couldn’t. Every time I reached, she vanished.”

Cassian, of course, chose that precise moment to make a dramatic entrance — arms flung wide, hair sticking up like a small, confused hedgehog.

“And here I thought my life was entertaining,” he whispered. “Apparently, I’ve been sleeping while supernatural forces invade Adrian’s subconscious.”

Adrian’s jaw twitched. “Cassian.”

“I was concerned,” Cassian continued, eyes scanning the dimly lit kitchen. “A man in emotional turmoil is a catastrophe waiting to happen. Did he scream? Cry? Turn into a velociraptor?”

“I didn’t scream,” Adrian muttered.

“You cried?” Cassian pressed, eyes wide.

“No,” Adrian said evenly.

Cassian frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Then I don’t know why you’re telling me. I should be cataloging this information for—”

“Cassian.” Adrian’s tone was final, sharp enough to slice through the humor.

Cassian froze.

Adrian continued, softer now. “I dreamed of her. That’s all. I didn’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Cassian raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Fine. I shall retreat silently. But just so you know, I have… feelings. Empathy. And possibly superpowers.”

He tiptoed toward the living room, tripping over his own shoelaces, mumbling something about “stealth training.”

I watched Adrian carefully. He remained leaning against the counter, but his body had relaxed just a fraction. The dream, unsettling as it was, had left him raw, exposed… alive in a way he rarely permitted.

I stepped closer, resting my hand lightly on his arm. “Dreams are strange. They reveal what the mind can’t say aloud.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Then he whispered: “It wasn’t strange. It was… necessary. I don’t know why, but I feel like she’s reaching for me. Even from wherever she is.”

I swallowed. There was no fear in his voice. Only anticipation. And a strange, painful pull.

The next morning, the kids were up at dawn, already plotting.

Aria had tied a red ribbon around her wrist like a mission badge. “We have to find her again,” she declared.

Arianna, notebook in hand, was calculating probabilities. “If she appeared yesterday at the forest edge, statistically she could return anywhere within a three-mile radius.”

Arian, ever methodical, had already drawn a detailed map of the forest perimeter with compass directions, estimated tree heights, and even a small diagram titled: ‘Potential Zones of Reappearance.’

Cassian watched them with a mixture of horror and fascination. “I am too old for this. I have responsibilities. I have emotions. And yet here I am, babysitting three tiny detectives plotting to kidnap fate itself.”

I found Adrian standing by the window, observing quietly. He didn’t speak, didn’t smile, didn’t frown. He just watched.

Watching the kids. Watching Cassian. Watching the forest.

I realized something then. For the first time, he was letting it all in — chaos, curiosity, possibility.

“Adrian,” I said softly, stepping next to him.

His eyes never left the forest. “They think finding her is simple. A game. But it’s not. It’s… more. It’s complicated.”

“Yes,” I said. “But sometimes the impossible begins with a single, brave step.”

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if I can take that step yet.”

“You don’t have to alone,” I reminded him.

His fingers brushed the glass. “I’ve always been alone.”

“Not anymore,” I said firmly. “Look at them. Look at all of us. We’re a team. Always. And if she’s out there… we’ll be ready.”

Adrian’s eyes flickered briefly toward me, as though he wanted to argue, but no words came.

Later that evening, Cassian experienced what could only be described as a catastrophic emotional meltdown.

He had been quietly observing Adrian’s subtle shifts all day, occasionally making jokes, but mostly pretending he wasn’t emotionally invested.

At precisely 11:17 PM, he stumbled into the living room, clutching a throw pillow like it was a life preserver.

“She’s coming back!” he shouted, voice high and cracking.

“Cassian,” I said calmly. “Who?”

He dropped the pillow dramatically to the floor. “The prophecy! The girl! The forest woman! Adrian’s soul companion! I cannot sleep because my emotional cortex is overwhelmed!”

Arian groaned from the couch. “You’ve been sitting there eating popcorn for two hours.”

“Yes!” Cassian snapped. “And analyzing! And strategizing! And silently suffering while my brother pretends he’s untouchable!”

Adrian, standing by the kitchen counter, remained silent. Observing. Calm.

Cassian threw himself onto the couch, covered his face with the pillow, and whispered dramatically, “I can’t handle the weight of destiny.”

The kids giggled. Arianna scribbled furiously in her notebook. Arian shook his head like the world had gone mad.

Adrian’s jaw twitched. “He’s ridiculous.”

“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Yes, he is. But he’s also ours.”

Cassian peeked one eye out of the pillow, wagging a finger at Adrian. “And you, sir, are dangerously close to admitting feelings, which will in turn trigger your brotherly chaos, which I will catalog extensively for science.”

Adrian didn’t respond. He merely turned and walked toward the window, watching the shadows stretch across the yard.

And there it was again — that subtle shift in him. The one that told me he was already thinking about her, even if he refused to speak it aloud.

Aria, Arianna, and Arian had snuck outside to “start Operation Find Her Again,” armed with binoculars, colored chalk, and a detailed map of the forest edge. They were whispering to each other excitedly.

Adrian watched them. I watched him watch them.

I realized then that for all his control, for all his quiet, for all the walls he had built around his heart… the truth was unavoidable:

She had reached him.

And he knew it.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

The night stretched on.

The wind whispered through the trees.

And somewhere deep in the shadows of the forest, a presence stirred.

A pulse.

A movement.

A promise.

And Adrian — silent, steady, unyielding Adrian — finally seemed aware that the storm had already arrived.

But he didn’t know how to stand in it yet.

And that… was the beginning.