Gerard Oaten read the same line three times before realizing he hadn't absorbed a word of it.
Looking at the page you could tell the ink was faded in places, the parchment thin from age and handling. Numbers marched neatly across the page…expenses, debts, projections that no longer projected anything hopeful.
Grain.
Repairs.
Taxes.
Names of merchants who had stopped replying altogether.
Truthfully he found it all exhausting, He exhaled slowly and set the ledger aside.
The study smelled faintly of old paper and oil. Once, it had smelled of polish and wine, of confidence and new ambitions. Now it smelled like careful decisions, things postponed, and those lost.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," Gerard said without looking up.
The door creaked open.
Theo stepped inside.
Gerard's gaze lifted immediately, habit more than intention. His son stood straight, hands clasped behind his back the way Lyra had taught him. He was taller than Gerard remembered—he seemed to notice that every few weeks now. Thinner, too. His clothes hung properly but not generously.
Nine years old, Gerard thought. Already too aware.
"Yes?" Gerard asked.
Theo hesitated. Not fear—calculation. Then he stepped forward, stopping a few paces from the desk.
"I wanted to ask you something," Theo said.
Gerard leaned back in his chair. "Go on."
Theo swallowed. His hands twitched behind his back before stating, "I want to bake."
The words were simple. Too simple, perhaps, for how carefully he had prepared to deliver them.
Gerard didn't answer immediately.
He studied Theo instead—the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked briefly to the ledger before returning to Gerard's face. Observant. Always watching. Gerard had noticed long ago that Theo understood more than he should.
"I know Hollis said another year," Theo added quickly. "But I wanted to ask you."
There it was. Respect. Covered with a tone of hopefulness that his father just might say he could stay now.
Gerard closed the ledger, "So you've been thinking about this for a while," he said.
Theo nodded. "Yes."
"How long?"
Theo hesitated. "Since I was little."
Gerard almost smiled. Almost.
He stood and moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back now. Outside, the grounds were quiet. Grass trimmed shorter than necessary to conserve effort. Paths repaired just enough to remain usable.
"You know why we don't allow it yet," Gerard said.
Theo nodded again. "Mistakes cost things."
"Yes," Gerard said. "They do." He turned back, "But that isn't the only reason."
Theo looked up at him, attentive.
"You bake because you want to help," Gerard continued. "Because you see the kitchen and think… it can fix things."
Theo didn't deny it.
"That instinct is good," Gerard said. "But instinct without foundation is dangerous… and costly."
Theo frowned slightly. "Foundation?"
Gerard returned to the desk, resting his hands against its edge.
"You've noticed the numbers," he said. "I know you have. You've been copying ledgers. Counting loaves. Watching how supplies move."
Theo's eyes widened just a little.
"You haven't been subtle," Gerard added dryly.
"I didn't mean to—"
"I'm not scolding you," Gerard said, raising a hand. "I'm explaining."
Theo nodded, shoulders easing a fraction.
"You learn quickly," Gerard said. "Reading. Counting. Patterns. I didn't push you toward lessons because you didn't need them yet—and because time and tutors cost coin we didn't have."
Theo absorbed that silently.
"But baking," Gerard continued, "is not just hands and heat. It's timing. Ratios. Supply chains. Knowing when to stop as much as when to act."
Theo's fingers curled slightly.
"If I allow you into the kitchen," Gerard said, "I am investing in you. And House Oaten cannot afford careless investments."
Theo's face fell—but he didn't argue, honestly, it made sense.
"So," Gerard said, tone firm but not unkind, "here are my terms."
Theo straightened.
"If you want permission to bake," Gerard said, "you will begin a formal education."
Theo blinked. "Education?"
"You will learn properly," Gerard said. "Reading beyond scraps. Writing beyond notes. Mathematics beyond counting loaves. History. Trade. Basic accounting."
Theo's mouth opened slightly, then closed.
"You will study," Gerard continued, "because if you fail in the kitchen, I need to know you failed knowing why. And if you succeed… I need to know you can build on it."
Theo thought hard. Gerard could see it… the way his son weighed the words instead of reacting to them.
"How long?" Theo asked quietly.
Gerard met his gaze.
"Try not to take to long, but as long as it takes," he said. "I will work to set it up so that you may begin lessons immediately."
Theo hesitated. "And baking?"
Gerard allowed himself a small breath.
"When Hollis says you are ready," he said. "And when your studies prove you understand what you're doing."
Theo nodded slowly.
"I'll do it, I'll work hard father" he said.
Not eagerness. Commitment.
Gerard felt something in his chest ease, while something else tighten at the same time.
"Good," he said.
Theo hesitated at the door. "Father?"
"Yes?…"
"Thank you," Theo said. Then he slowly turned and left.
Gerard remained standing long after the door closed. Thoughts hitting him like a flood.
Education would cost time. Tutors would cost favors. Favors would cost influence they barely had left.
But investment, Gerard knew, wasn't always measured in coin.
Sometimes it was measured in patience.
And sometimes, if the world allowed it…it would paid dividends far beyond expectation.
He reopened the ledger.
For the first time in years, he added a new line.
Theo Oaten — Instruction
The ink was fresh. The risk, considerable but necessary. A change was needed, and maybe… just maybe his son would be that change.
But for the first time in a long while, Gerard allowed himself to hope.