I pause at the end of the hall, listening.
Nothing.
The lights are dimmed in her room. I pull my phone from my pocket and glance at the time.
11:47 PM.
She's probably sleeping now.
I turn to head back to my room to get ready, and I notice light spilling out from beneath the library door.
I move closer, silent, and push the door open just enough to see inside.
Keira stands in front of the far wall, her back to me, staring at a collection of framed photographs. Her red hair is curly and falls loose over her shoulders, looking radiant from the warm glow of the desk lamp.
She's changed out of the clothes she wore earlier at dinner and into a fitted black shirt and sweatpants that cling to her hips.
I open the door more to get a better look at her. She doesn't hear me.
Her fingers rest lightly against the edge of one frame, tracing the glass like she's trying to reach through it.
I should leave her be and wait in the hall, but I don't. Instead, I step inside and let the door shut behind me.
She tenses immediately, her head snapping toward me.
"Holy smokes," she hisses, hand flying to her chest. "You scared me," she says and brushes her hair over her shoulder, her hand grazing the top part of her breast. Another thing I shouldn't notice. "You always lurk like this?"
"You're awake," I say, raising my eyes. "I'm here."
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't argue. "You're like a damn ghost, you know. Make more noise next time," she says, turning back to the photographs.
I stay where I am, hands loose at my sides, watching.
After a moment, she gestures vaguely at the wall. "Just reminiscing. Don't let me stop you from whatever shadowy patrol you were doing."
I don't respond.
She glances over at me, the light dancing in her green eyes. "Seriously. You can go. I'm not going anywhere tonight."
"I'll leave when you do."
She rolls her eyes and turns back to the photos.
I move closer, just enough to see what she's looking at.
The frame she touched holds a photograph. A man stands in the center, tall and broad-shouldered, his arm draped around a woman with dark hair. Two young boys flank them, grinning at the camera. A young girl sits on the man's shoulders, her red hair wild and her smile brighter than the sun.
Keira and her father.
She doesn't look at me as she speaks.
"He was different then," Keira says quietly, as if reading my thoughts.
She taps the glass lightly. "That was before the weight of running this family turned him into what he is now."
I look at her, wanting her to continue but not breaking my silence.
"Everyone always says Callum has his eyes. But they were different, back then."
