Chapter 7

The Carringtons usually don't invite me places.

So when Julian knocks on my door mid-morning holding two takeaway coffees and wearing an expression that could best be described as mildly human, I assume I’ve either hallucinated him or he’s about to ask me to help bury a body.

“Don’t look so suspicious,” he says, stepping in like he owns the place. Which, to be fair, he kind of does.

I sit up slowly, tucking my laptop under a throw pillow. “Are you here to mock my work ethic or confess a felony?”

He hands me one of the cups and flops into the armchair by the window. “Neither. I was bored. You looked like you could use caffeine.”

I squint at the cup. “You bought me coffee?”

Julian shrugs. “I also considered doing shots at ten in the morning, but this seemed marginally less self-destructive.”

I take a cautious sip.

It’s exactly what I like. Down to the oat milk and the stupid sprinkle of cinnamon I always pretend I don’t want but secretly require like air.

“You guessed this?”

“Lyra, I’ve watched you order the same thing three times a week for a year.”

That… is disturbingly observant. I file that under unexpectedly competent traits of Julian Carrington.

I glance at him, suspicious. “So what’s the catch? Did someone dare you to be decent for a day?”

“No catch,” he says, lounging like a bored lion. “Can’t I check in on my emotionally mysterious not-quite-sister without it being a negotiation?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Emotionally mysterious?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “You’ve been doing the ‘haunted Victorian governess’ routine lately. Ghosting dinners, staring out windows. It’s very Jane Eyre meets Get Out.”

I snort. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what? Scheming? Communing with forest spirits?”

I sip my coffee to avoid answering.

“I’m serious,” he says after a moment. “Are you... okay?”

The question catches me off guard. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the way he says them—genuine, a little awkward, like someone who’s not used to asking.

I don’t answer right away.

I can’t say “I’m fine”—it’s not true, and Julian, for all his glamorized uselessness, would smell the lie a mile away.

But I’m not about to spill my reincarnated guts either.

So I settle for, “I’m managing.”

Julian sips his drink, eyes still on me.

“That’s not nothing,” he says. “You’ve got that look. The one where you’re thinking about burning something down, but politely.”

“That’s just my face,” I mutter.

“Sure,” he says, “but this time it feels strategic.”

I pause. “Strategic how?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got this... vibe lately. Like you’ve already packed your emotional bags. Like you’re here but you’re not planning on staying.”

My chest tightens, just a little.

He doesn’t know. He can’t know.

But he's close.

“That’s dramatic,” I say, brushing it off. “Even for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right. You’re not distant. You’re just naturally ethereal and love skipping breakfast.”

I laugh once, quietly. “Fine. Maybe I’m... reevaluating.”

“Reevaluating what?”

“All of it.”

He watches me carefully. “You know, if you’re planning on staging a coup, I support it. Just let me know when to fake an injury and fall down the stairs for dramatic effect.”

“I’ll keep you in mind.”

Another pause. Then Julian says, more seriously, “I know we don’t really talk. Like, not about real stuff. But if something’s going on... you can tell me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly knocks the wind out of me.

Because here’s the thing: Julian Carrington is a disaster of a person, but he’s never been cruel. Detached, yes. Distracted, constantly. But underneath it, there’s something—some core of loyalty he doesn’t know how to express without hiding behind jokes.

I don’t know what to say. So I just nod.

He leans back again, like he’s spent all his emotional currency and needs to recharge.

We sit in silence for a minute, sipping our drinks.

Then I say, “What about you? Ever think about walking away from all this?”

He snorts. “Every day. But I’d just end up buying a yacht and spiraling.”

“Nice to know you’ve got a plan.”

“I’m always one emotional breakdown away from naming a boat Daddy Issues and sailing into the void.”

I laugh again, this time genuinely.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Julian finishes his coffee and rises. “Anyway, I’ve got to attend a brunch where everyone pretends to care about water shortages while sipping cocktails flown in from Iceland.”

He heads for the door, then pauses, his hand on the frame.

“You might not think anyone notices, Lyra. But some of us do.”

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

I stare at the door for a long moment, the warmth of the coffee still in my hands.

He doesn’t know I’m leaving.

But he suspects.

And weirdly... he might be the only one who’d care.