Chapter One Hundred Three: The Celebration

Adrian's aunt insisted on hosting dinner.

Not at the penthouse. Not at a restaurant. At a small house she'd rented on the edge of the city. She said she wanted to cook. She said she wanted it to feel like family.

I didn't know what to expect. I'd never had a family dinner. Not a real one. Not since my mother died.

We arrived at seven. The house was small. Old. Warm. The windows were lit. The smell of garlic and rosemary drifted through the open door.

Beatriz met us at the entrance. She didn't smile. She just looked at us. At Adrian. At me. At Daniel, who had come with us.

"You brought the brother," she said.

"I did."

She nodded. She stepped aside.

We walked in.

---

The table was set for six.

Beatriz. Adrian. Me. Daniel. Thomas. And a woman I didn't recognize. Mid-thirties. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. She stood when we entered.

"This is Sofia," Beatriz said. "My goddaughter. She's visiting from Lisbon."

Sofia nodded at us. She didn't smile. She didn't need to. She just looked at me the way Beatriz had. Like she was reading something I couldn't see.

We sat. Beatriz served. The food was simple. Bread. Olives. A stew that tasted like it had been cooking for hours. We ate. We talked. About nothing. About everything. About the city. About Portugal. About the weather.

It was ordinary. It was simple. It was enough.

After dinner, Sofia pulled me aside.

"You're the one who died," she said.

I didn't respond.

"Beatriz told me. About the trial. About the balcony. About everything."

I looked at her. She looked at me.

"I don't know what to say," I said.

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to meet you. To see if you were real."

I didn't respond.

"You are," she said. "You're real."

She nodded. She walked back to the table.

I stayed in the hallway for a moment. I listened to the voices. Adrian's low murmur. Daniel's quiet laugh. Beatriz's sharp remarks. Thomas's steady presence.

Family. I had a family. Not the one I was born into. Not the one I'd lost. But a family nonetheless.

I walked back to the table. I sat down. I picked up my fork.

---

That night, I found Adrian on the balcony.

He was standing at the railing. The city stretched out in front of him. The lights were on. The sky was clear.

I stood beside him. He didn't turn.

"Your aunt," I said.

"What about her?"

"She's something."

"She is."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"She said something to me. Before we left. She said I should take care of you. She said you're not as strong as you pretend to be."

He didn't respond.

"Is that true?"

He turned. He looked at me.

"Yes."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"I'll take care of you," I said.

He didn't respond. He just looked at me.

"I know," he said.

He reached for my hand. He took it. His fingers were warm. Steady.

We stood there. The city hummed. The clock ticked.

I didn't lean my head against his shoulder. I didn't close my eyes. I just stood there. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't need anything else.