Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Reize walked in and saw Ethan standing by the sink, absorbed in his task, his hands covered in suds and humming softly, barely breaking the silence.
—Need some help? —she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Ethan turned his head and smiled.
—Well… I could use a little help.
Reize stepped closer, rolled up her jacket sleeves, and began washing dishes silently by his side. Water splashed between their hands as they shared a quiet, almost domestic moment. The sound of dishes and suds filled the air.
Just as they were finishing, Reize looked up and fixed her eyes on the wound on Ethan's face.
—Doesn't that hurt?
Ethan shrugged with a half-smile.
—It's nothing.
When everything was clean and dry, Reize went over to a small shelf where they usually kept first-aid supplies. She took out a small bottle of alcohol, some cotton, and tape. She noticed that someone had already used it recently… the bottle was open and the cotton was a bit messy. Still, she didn't think much of it.
—Sit down on the bench —she told him.
—It's not necessary, Reize. I'm fine.
—Sit down —she insisted, this time without looking at him.
Ethan complied, somewhat resignedly, and sat down. Reize tended to his wound carefully, gently applying the rubbing alcohol. Then she pulled a small band-aid decorated with cat designs out of her pocket.
—Do you always carry that with you? —Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.
—I'm a bit clumsy. I always end up with cuts on my hands —she replied, as she carefully placed the band-aid on his face.—. It never hurts to be prepared.
—Looks like you really like cats —Ethan said, touching the band-aid with an amused smile.
—I always wanted to have one —Reize admitted, lowering her gaze slightly—. But I lived in a very small room… I couldn't afford it.
Ethan looked at her for a moment, his expression softening.
—I could give you one —he said—. But that depends on your answer.
—What? What answer? — Reize asked, turning quickly to change the subject.
Ethan stood up and grabbed her by the arm, stopping her from running away.
—You're not getting away this time —he said firmly, wrapping his arms around her waist—. You know exactly what I mean.
Reize froze for a second, while Ethan, sitting on the bench, looked up at her, meeting her gaze directly.
—You said that if you came back without a scratch, I'd tell you. But you came back hurt, so it doesn't count —she said, averting her eyes.
Ethan let out a soft laugh, without letting go of her.
—Really? I'm not that bad off. The important thing is that I'm back. So tell me… what's your answer?
Reize glanced at him sideways.
—You're not going to let go of me until I say it, are you?
—Exactly —he replied, smiling.
Silence fell for a few seconds. Ethan loosened his embrace slightly, as if he thought it was time to give in.
—Well… maybe another time—
He didn't finish the sentence.
Reize leaned down slightly, lowered her head, and kissed him. A gentle, yet direct touch. Ethan was taken aback, his face flushing completely. His eyes wide, as if his brain couldn't quite process it all.
Reize pulled back just a little, keeping her face close to his.
—This… is enough of an answer, isn't it?
Ethan nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
—More than enough.
And this time, it was he who closed the distance to kiss her.
When they finally pulled apart, silence enveloped them once more, warmer than before. Outside, the night had deepened without them noticing.
The moon was already high in the sky when the house began to quiet down. Little by little, one by one, everyone retired to their rooms to rest.
Only from the third floor did distant voices, soft laughter, and fragments of conversation drift out: the boys were still talking, resisting sleep just a little longer.
On the second floor, Reize and Stella were already in their rooms. Stella fell asleep without difficulty, but Reize lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to stop thinking about what had happened in the kitchen.
In another room, Arika slept soundly. Her breathing was calm, as if, for the first time in a long while, her mind had given her a break.
A little further away, Althea was carefully arranging the blankets on the bed, smoothing them out again and again, as if that gesture gave her some sense of control. Beside her, Delma was finishing getting changed when, suddenly, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and spoke in a low voice.
—Althea… there's something I need to tell you.
Althea sat up immediately, alert to the tone.
—¿What's wrong?
Delma looked down, took a breath, and then spoke with restrained calm.
—Those men from earlier… the ones who were looking for you. They're still after you.
Althea felt a chill run through her chest.
—What… what do you mean?
—All these days —Delma continued, now looking at her— I've been leading them astray. Every time they got close, I'd throw them off the trail, send them in another direction… away from you. But I can't keep doing this much longer. Soon… they'll find us.
A tense silence fell between them.
—So…?
Delma held her gaze for a moment before answering.
—We have to split from the group. Leave before it's too late. The faster we get away, the better… and when they make their next sortie, that will be the moment. We'll take advantage of it and leave without drawing attention.
Althea's fingers trembled slightly on the blankets.
—Is it really necessary? —she whispered—. I… I've already grown fond of everyone here. I don't want to leave anyone behind.
Delma reached out and gently placed her hand on Althea's.
—I know. But if we stay, they'll be in danger too. We can't let that happen.
Althea swallowed hard. The weight on her chest didn't lift, and tears threatened to spill, but she simply nodded silently.
Delma blew out the candle. Darkness filled the room, barely pierced by the faint moonlight filtering through the window. They settled onto the bed, back to back.
To one side, on a small blanket on the floor, Mian slept curled up, breathing softly, oblivious to everything being said.
Althea turned her head slightly and looked at him in the dim light. Her eyes softened ever so slightly.
—I don't want to leave, Mian…—she whispered, almost voicelessly.
The little dog didn't move, barely a slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Little by little, exhaustion began to outweigh her thoughts… until, without realizing it, sleep finally overtook her.