Lucian and the Director stepped out into the corridor, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The long hallway was familiar to all the Home's children, the place where they'd hide and eavesdrop whenever someone was in trouble. The walls, covered with cracked wallpaper, were decorated with picture frames filled with pictures of children long gone and of those still present.
As the Director finished locking his office, they started walking towards the staircase at the end of the hallway.
"Director," Lucian said quietly, hesitating before finishing. "Could you wait for me downstairs? I'll… catch up."
Lucian fixed his eyes on a patch of peeling wallpaper. He cleared his throat softly, but didn't look up, pressing his lips together while the silence lingered an extra moment between them.
Blackwood paused, taking in Lucian's averted eyes and stiff posture. Seeming to understand, he patted him once on the arm.
"Of course," he said. "Just don't take too long, the children are all waiting to say goodbye downstairs, and I'd rather not keep them waiting."
His footsteps receded down the old staircase that led to the common room, leaving Lucian alone with the quiet creaks of the old building that had been his home for the last 16 years. He had never known anything else.
He stood there for a few seconds, breathing in the familiar air, listening to the familiar sounds: muffled laughter from downstairs, the floorboards which creaked underfoot and the distant sound of children running where they shouldn't be.
Then, turning back, he walked to where the pictures began on the wall.
The first frame held a crowded photo, a cluster of children squinting at the camera in the sun. Lucian remembered them all, although some had left years ago. Faces pressed close together, some making silly faces when they thought the Director couldn't see. In the center a much younger Lucian was frowning on the shoulders of an older child, scowling at the lens.
Another held a photo of a 12 year old Lucian being headlocked by an older boy, Charlie, who had long since been adopted by a well-off family in the better parts of the city.
Lucian coughed. Maybe it was better to skip this one
He walked through the rest of the hallway, each photo bringing back memories of the past, everything he had enjoyed. Everything he was now scared to lose.
The last frame held a faded photograph. The Director, back when the Home was founded. He had fewer wrinkles and stood straighter, but the biggest difference had to be the woman standing next to him, her arm looped in his. Mrs Blackwood, although she had never liked being called that by the children, insisted on being called Grace.
Lucian could still remember the day she died. How strange the Home had felt. Quiet but not peaceful. A heavier sort of silence, reserved for the emptiness death often left in its wake. The Director continued like nothing had changed, the same timetable, the same chores and lectures.
He had only been 10 when it happened. Old enough to understand that she wasn't coming back, and old enough to see the toll on the Director.
Old enough to feel anger at the Nightmare Creatures that had killed her.
Old enough to feel powerless.
He swallowed, once again questioning whether Blackwood had made his tie too tight.
As he reached the beginning of the stairs, he took the steps slowly, one hand grazing the worn bannister on his right, polished by hundreds of small hands over the many years.
At the bottom of the stairs, huddling near the door, were the others. The younger children noticed him immediately.
"Lucian!" A small projectile launched itself into Lucian's embrace - Mira. She was only 6, her twin braids slightly crooked. She threw her arms around his leg, nearly knocking him over. "The Director said you're going on a trip! To deliver a package!"
Lucian steadied himself, resting a hand softly on her head.
"On a trip, huh?" he echoed. "It sounds a lot more exciting when you say it like that."
Mira tilted her small head backwards, looking up at him, her big green eyes wide and serious. "When are you gonna be back?"
Lucian hesitated for a heartbeat. His eyes burned; he blamed all the dust in the air.
"Will you be back for my birthday?" a little boy asked, coming forward and tugging Lucian's hand.
"As soon as I can," he said. "Just need to deliver this parcel to the Director's ancient friends."
"Will you bring us something?" Mira demanded, tightening her grip. "A present from the city?"
"Yeah!" another girl chirped. "Like sweets! Or a toy! Or - or" she paused, searching for the most exciting thing she could imagine, "- or a TRAIN WHEEL."
The other children quickly approved and joined in, begging him to bring back a train wheel.
"A train wheel," he repeated, failing to keep a smile off his face. "You're aiming high."
"It's important," she said stubbornly.
"It's also very attached to the train it belongs to. Tell you what, though, I'll see what I can do, something that doesn't get me arrested. Something small.
They quietened down and grouped up to brainstorm, pacified. For now.
Behind them, the older kids had gathered, not crowding him. They just watched. After all, they were old enough to understand the reality of what was happening.
Bram, his bunkmate, came first. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was resisting a strong gale.
"So," he said, scowling at a point somewhere over Lucian's shoulder, "You're leaving. It's about time."
Lucian met his gaze for a heartbeat. Bram looked away first.
His jaw flexed. "Well. Don't.. Don't do anything stupid like you normally do." His voice wobbled on that last syllable; he tried coughing to cover it.
"Me?" Lucian raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know -
Before Lucian could respond, Bram had stepped in and enveloped him in a rough, almost too-tight hug, his forehead resting on Lucian's shoulder. Lucian just smiled. Bram was always like this, tough on the outside and caring on the inside. He had gotten used to his antics over the years.
"If you die," Bram muttered into his blazer, "I'm stealing your bed… and the money you stash."
Lucian gave a small laugh, one hand thumping him on the back. "You do that, and I'll haunt you forever."
Bram pulled away abruptly, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. "Whatever, the dorm'll be quieter without you, easier to sleep in."
He scoffed and quickly retreated to the wall, glueing himself there with exaggerated indifference.
One by one, the others came too. Some with awkward pats on the back, and some teary-eyed and sniffling. Lucian wasn't surprised. For the last few years, he had been the eldest amongst them, the universal big brother and someone who took care of them.
"Lucian."
The Director's voice softly cut through the chatter. He had been standing beside the door, hat in hand, coat and shoes on, allowing the children to have their moment. Lucian quickly gained everyone's attention. "Listen," he said quietly. "You'll all need to help the Director while I'm away, alright? Make sure you behave. No fires, no climbing on the roof, and no trying to adopt dogs bigger than you."Mira interrupted from the gathered group, "But if they're smaller than us, is it okay?" He considered. "We'll negotiate when I'm back."
She nodded solemnly. Lucian straightened and grabbed his coat from the rack next to the door. His vision blurred briefly. He blinked it away.
Tired, That was all. Just tired."Right," he said lightly. "Nobody cry, or I'll end up staying, and the Director will be very cross with me for dereliction of courier service."
"I would be," Blackwood replied dryly, "We can't have you setting such a poor example of punctuality for the children." Some younger kids sniffled anyway. One boy's chin wobbled. Lucian looked away from the sea of teary eyes and pouting faces, because if he met them for too long, he wasn't entirely sure what his own rebellious eyes would do. The Director clapped his hands once."That will do, everyone," Blackwood said, "You all have your chores and studies to return to. Lucian and I have a journey to make. Say your goodbyes, my children, but keep them brief. You'll see him again."Lucian looked away, trying not to notice the way his chest tightened in response.