A few days had passed since her quarrel with Serena.
The velvet box had not surfaced again, and Evangeline wondered if her sister had truly returned it to Adrian. But deep down, she doubted it. Serena was the type to keep treasures close—hidden, locked away, yet never relinquished. Eva could almost picture it, tucked somewhere between dresses and shawls, waiting like a secret Eva wasn't meant to uncover. She avoided opening her sister's wardrobe, not because she lacked curiosity, but because she feared the crushing weight of disappointment more than ignorance.
Silence had become her companion in the household. At first, the absence of voices, of warmth, gnawed at her like hunger. Now, she had grown used to it, folding herself neatly into the quiet as if it were a second skin. She spent her hours in labor, weaving the red lace ribbon that Coachman Jack had ordered. Her fingers moved carefully, tugging and looping thread, the steady rhythm soothing in a way words no longer could.
