That morning, something resonated differently. Perhaps because it was a Friday, completing three full days of classes and, in theory, his first week in the country—but who could guarantee that was all it was.

  His father hadn't left yet; he was reading a newspaper. His mother wasn't on a voice call. His siblings hadn't yet left for their educational institutions, and not even any staff were there, for any reason.

  It was a rare feat for the family to be gathered like this. Alexandru calmly drank his coffee in the living room armchair, which seemed less rustic and terrifying.

  Elena was appreciating a beam of light on the flowers she had ensured arrived safely from the other continent, among them the beloved peony, with its striking symbolism.

  The bellflowers and asters were Anya's favorite representations in that house; the garden beside the porch was divine, it was her little reading nook.

  And Vlad had his similarities with their father, but there was something indiscernible about him, as if he were planning something without needing to, just as a precaution, and worse, like a dissimulator.

  He could be wrong, but he would come with the whole calculated plan and turn the problem into a question of who classified him as wrong. However, he was calm, in the corner, observing his relatives with naturalness, but he wasn't the only one.

  Lucian, already unsettled by the unusual presence of others for no apparent reason, decided to proceed with his breakfast and leave for school once and for all.

  The path was gray, foggy, without a single drop, but something within him was weeping in essence. It was possible his melancholy was his happiness in being sad, to that point.

  When he arrived, he came across Kael's group at the entrance; they were arriving at that moment and hadn't seen him arrive.

  He thanked with a quick prayer, following a route that diverted from mischievous glances. No one should cross his mind, nor should they reach his heart with malice in sight.

  He was in a corridor, near the classroom he would have. It was a strange atmosphere for an eccentric academic hothouse; there wasn't much norm to uphold.

  The group was approaching with a mild voice, gradually dissipating as those in their final year left. He decided to enter the classroom and finally heard Diego saying goodbye, already far away, while Kael entered the room with a charming smile, waving to his friend.

  He turned his face again and saw him, with an even bigger smile. He felt that the day might not be as gray as it seemed. Simultaneously, he was organizing his materials on the desk, and Kael was walking toward him, greeting him quietly with a light posture.

  "It's class with Teacher Lúcia again," he began, observing Lucian from head to toe, analyzing him. "We have a different class today. I met her in the teachers' lounge and, well," an expression of someone who was up to something appeared, "we have a paired activity. If you want, you can partner with me."p

  He had a mischievous look. Lucian was well aware of that credible contemplation of Kael upon him; the meaning wasn't pertinent at that moment, and he would ignore it as much as he could.

  Bordering on a convinced laugh, he leaned in, lowering himself a bit to Lucian's eye level, intending to start with something, but was interrupted.

  "I accept partnering with you, Miguel."

  He laughed as if he had noticed something—a something Lucian wouldn't understand so soon. Double semantics was very possible, but he didn't care; there was no reason to care.

  People began entering the room, and Kael brought his own desk close to his. The teacher arrived at that moment, handing a confidential sheet to Miguel.

  He passed another one to Lucian as if pretending not to know the reason for that sheet, eliciting a short, incredulous, natural, and amused laugh from him.

  The task was simple; it sounded like a checklist. In pairs, they had to decide which of the activities on the list should be carried out during the semester.

  Both concluded quickly, arguing plausibly, coherently, and authentically about the choice of each point on the list.

  They made a good pair. Amid laughter and heated debates, they were dismissed early; there was no reason to keep a student in class if they had nothing more to do.

  On the way to the courtyard, the group was gathered, playing a strategy game about war.

  Both who had just arrived became the audience, activating in the wings the imperial instinct of those players who stole territory from each other, destroying a nation's army and taking it for themselves.

  They were in ecstasy, but they couldn't spend an entire day there; they returned for the next class. The dynamic of completing tasks and continuing this conquest in the courtyard lasted until the break, but by that point, the topic was already different.

  They were discussing the events of the previous week, before Lucian settled in Brazil. Last Sunday, a municipal law had been proclaimed following a series of protests. And well, there was a party at the Cruz Solar condominium, coincidentally, in the same domain where Lucian lived.

  It was PH's mansion, a close friend of Kael's, who continued to blush as the conversation progressed; he had participated. The party included politicians from the municipality and nearby cities; many titles of renown took part in that celebration.

  "Ah, it wasn't just the people who celebrated; the cultural politicians did too," Diego remarked, putting his arm around Kael's shoulders. "Your family was there too, right? So, how was it?"

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  A strange and amusing atmosphere shared the space. If he was at a politicians' party and his family was participating, he wasn't a scholarship student.

  Lucian was beginning to understand that Kael was closer to the society he lived in than he had imagined. Observing him, he realized something had happened at that party.

  "It was just a social gathering," he began with a playful voice, "but I swear I saw the mayor jump into the pool in his suit. My mother," he tensed again in an aristocratic tone, "even painted a picture of that scene; I'll send it to the group later."

  He was still surprised by how close they had been that Sunday night, but he wondered what happened at those parties at such a caricatured hour.

  Everything he knew about parties and their timings were his customs, contexts, and what being at them implied. And if it occurred at this time of day, it wasn't a conventional banquet.

  He observed Kael again, who continued slightly flushed, tense. Perhaps he didn't want to tell how the party was for some reason, yet he couldn't figure out why.

  He didn't seem to be like the others; he couldn't just assume the same as everyone else—it would mentally place him in a situation he wasn't sure of.

  The conversation ceased after a few other comments, and they separated into other groups, other islands. They were very well-known at that school. Strange—he was among the popular crowd in his first week of school, befriending someone in demand.

  Someone who, for the first time, understood why he was liked by many. There was an advantage to being a wall, for walls had ears, and people talked a lot about the dear dawn of that institution.

  The classes that followed on Friday were all MEDs, and Lucian wasn't officially enrolled in the system yet and therefore didn't have a fully formed schedule, but it wouldn't be the first time he wandered the school, killing time.

  While strolling, he saw people who had only filled the requirement of two MEDs, fulfilling only two days, leaving Friday free for chatting around the school.

  He walked to the library in search of the oldness—those old papers of books, the freshly brewed coffee by the librarian who read until the end of the shift, the comfortable floor cushions, and those books full of narratives to be read.

  It would be perfect. The path seemed longer, but he knew he was closer when he saw fewer people. When he arrived, only he was there.

  He greeted the librarian with a timid smile and reached the darkest back of that place, hunting for a book as old as his soul could someday inspire to represent.

  He had found an old edition of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. That introduction about the universally acknowledged truth had made him think a bit.

  He certainly would be an heir, and even at that moment, he was a single man in possession of a good fortune, but it had never crossed his mind that he might someday be in need of a good wife.

  Not that the problem was her being good, but a wife—getting married had never been in his plans. He had always had in mind being a person of good virtues, religious and upright, just like his grandfather.

  However, at some point, he should think about it, and given his age, he should have thought about it at some point already. His own thoughts were starting to become redundant.

  He inhaled and exhaled deeply, continuing the reading. After a while, reaching the ball, he realized he was similar to Mr. Darcy.

  He missed his country, his city, and being among people who wouldn't understand the disparity of experiences because they hadn't lived it didn't help much. Time truly passed while he read. He was reaching the halfway point of the book when the bell for the last class resonated, meaning he had one more free period for reading.

  However, he wasn't the only one with the last hour free on Friday. Kael had appeared through that door, contagious, as if a literal ray of sunshine were brightening even the darkest corner of that room.

  And by a native instinct, when he completed his discreet greeting to the librarian, his gaze turned to meet Lucian's eyes through the shelves of the various bookcases.

  There was no escaping; he was cornered in the last row, between two large bookcases with books piled on the floor. It was his fate; he would die right there, by the unacknowledged son of Rá.

  "Good afternoon, Lucian," he began, trying not to step on the books. "Do you always come here?" he asked playfully, sitting down beside him on the same floor cushion. "It's quite a hideout, huh."

  The clock of Lucian's heart ticked fast. The cuckoo was mute in context and stuttered when it tried. He didn't need to be there, so close.

  Of course, it was a short and narrow space, but two people barely fit in the same area. If it wasn't intentional to cause that... whatever it was, he didn't quite know what he wanted then.

  "I see you're reading an English classic, Lucian," he stated, touching the middle of the book, forcing it down. "I thought you were more into French or German literature." He mumbled the last sentence, as if ensuring enough sound for only him to hear.

  "What do you mean by that?" Lucian questioned.

  "You know, all that business with the human condition," sharing minimal space, he stared into his eyes with a sublime smile, "with freedom. Reading lets us live what we cannot in tangible life, and you seem like a very contained person; you look like someone who reads a lot."

  "Are you saying I'm not free? That I don't know myself? And what does German literature have to do with it?" he asked quickly, before the fear of getting a word wrong ran through him. His knee had touched his, and he made no effort to pull away.

  "Look at him, the kitten has a tongue," he said amid a laugh that embarrassed Lucian more with each second he thought about his answer. "There's a bit of the Brothers Grimm's tales in you, as if you had stepped out of one of them."

  "Are you calling me somber?"

  "No, Lucian," he denied, pulling back a little. "You seem folkloric, noble, memorable, and," he paused, revealing a shy smile, "perhaps a bit tragic, raw, and somber, yes, but not in a bad sense."

  He averted his gaze, trying to get closer. "Don't make that face; you only answer with questions. It intimidates me to be here."

  Despite the apparent sincerity, that smile bordering on cynicism and that sharp gaze, like a fox with its prey, gave him away. And honestly, Kael wanted to be caught in his own game.

  If he was transparent, there was a reason. He wanted to see if the intellect of his prey was equivalent to his, and if he noticed the game, he would have lost, fortunately.

  "Don't play with me; I'm not like you."

  "'Like' how?" echoed back.

  "You're right, I read a lot," he began, hesitant, trying to increase the space by moving away. "But I am free, in my own way. And I know myself well enough to see where you're trying to go."

  Kael began to laugh solemnly; he was enchanted by the foreign classmate. If he were fluent, he would have cursed him by now, or just recited subtle insults, for he seemed too polite to act any other way.

  He noticed how Lucian reacted to the way he was being teased, without certainty as to why, simply remaining in the Russian roulette.

  "Read a lot of what? The Bible doesn't count, Lucian," he retorted acidly, receiving an equally acid laugh, as if he had poked him with something specific.

  "No, Kael, I read a bit of everything, but I like detective novels, suspense," he searched for words while listing tersely. "Classics like Sherlock Holmes, sometimes Agatha Christie, and—"

  "That I wouldn't have guessed. Elementary, my dear," he retorted, ironizing, while watching Lucian's face flow from pale to a violent blush, noticing the repetitive expression.

  It wasn't the first time Miguel had called him "my dear," but he hadn't realized it was in the same manner as the address in the Holmes books. And now that he noticed the force of the expression upon him by him, he felt once again transcribed by Kael—much more than transparent, he was already translucent.

  "Don't worry, there's still more to try to defend, right?" he asked, presumptuously.