The moment Tarin spoke those words, the world seemed to stop.

  “…Isn’t that baby Lila?”

  The corridor fell into a silence so heavy it felt like it pressed against the chest, stealing breath. The distant sounds of Ridgehall—the faint clatter of servants, the whisper of wind through open arches—vanished, as though the castle itself had chosen to listen.

  No one moved.

  No one spoke.

  Daren stood perfectly still, the small framed picture clutched in his trembling hands. His cloudy eyes, long robbed of sight, widened slightly, as if they could see something at last—not with vision, but with memory. His breath came unevenly, shallow and quick, like a man afraid that even inhaling too deeply might shatter whatever fragile truth had just been spoken.

  “B-baby…” he whispered.

  The word trembled as it left his lips.

  “Lila…?”

  The name slipped free like a prayer buried beneath decades of grief—spoken once more, not in desperation, but in disbelief.

  His shoulders began to shake.

  At first it was subtle, almost imperceptible, as though he were merely cold. Then the tremor grew stronger, rolling through his frame until it reached his hands. The picture rattled faintly against the glass.

  “If—if what you’re saying is true…” Daren said, his voice breaking as something sharp and painful ignited in his chest. Hope was not gentle. It burned. “Then… then what am I still doing here?”

  His grip tightened around the frame for a moment, knuckles whitening—then his fingers loosened completely.

  The picture slipped from his hands and struck the stone floor with a soft clatter.

  “My daughter is out there,” he said, the words trembling but certain.

  In the next instant, the old butler moved.

  Kael barely had time to react before Daren surged forward, moving with a speed that seemed impossible for a man of his age. His hands closed around Kael’s and Tarin’s wrists, his grip firm despite the tremor still running through him. It was not the grasp of a frail servant—it was the hold of a father clawing his way back from despair.

  “You’ve given me hope again,” Daren said, tears spilling freely down his weathered cheeks. “After all these years… hope.”

  His voice cracked completely, splintering under the weight of emotion he had kept buried for so long.

  “Thank you,” he said again, bowing deeply. “Thank you so much.”

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  He bowed once more. Then again. Each movement was clumsy, unbalanced, but sincere beyond measure.

  “I don’t know how to repay you,” he said, words tumbling over each other. “I truly don’t.”

  Tarin shifted awkwardly, clearly out of his depth. He scratched the back of his head and tried to lighten the moment, his voice uncertain.

  “Hey, hey… hold on,” he said. “How are you even planning to find her if you can’t see?”

  The question lingered in the air—not cruel, but honest.

  Daren lifted his head slowly.

  The tears remained, streaking down his face, but something else had settled behind them now. Resolve. Quiet certainty. The kind born not from confidence, but from necessity.

  “I may have lost my eyes,” he said calmly, “but my senses were never dulled.”

  He released their wrists and tapped his chest lightly, just above his heart.

  “I can hear what others miss,” Daren continued. “Footsteps hidden beneath crowds. Breaths held when lies are spoken. I can smell what others overlook—blood scrubbed too clean, fear carried on sweat, the smoke of fires long extinguished.”

  His lips curved into a faint, steady smile.

  “The world still speaks to me,” he said. “I’ve simply learned to listen better.”

  Then, more softly, almost to himself, “My instincts… they’ve only grown sharper.”

  Kael let out a low chuckle.

  “Tarin,” he said, shaking his head, “you really are a frog at the bottom of a well.”

  “Huh?” Tarin blinked.

  “Daren could beat you all day, all year, even blind,” Kael continued, amusement lacing his voice. “His senses and instincts are sharper than a wolf’s. He was dangerous long before he lost his sight.”

  Tarin stared at Daren, then slowly leaned back.

  “…Wowww,” he said, letting out a long whistle. “Damn. That’s actually terrifying. And awesome.”

  Daren laughed quietly, embarrassed despite himself.

  Kael’s expression softened, the humor fading into something gentler. He stepped closer.

  “Will you at least stay tonight?” Kael asked. “Leave tomorrow.”

  Daren shook his head immediately.

  “No.”

  The word was firm. Absolute.

  “My daughter is out there,” he said, his voice steady but burning with restrained urgency. “She’s lived without a father for too long.”

  His hands clenched slowly at his sides.

  “I wasn’t there when she needed me the most,” Daren continued. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  He swallowed hard, his throat tightening.

  “Even if she hates me,” he said. “Even if she doesn’t want to see me… I still need to be there.”

  His voice wavered, but he did not stop.

  “I need to know she’s safe. I need to tell her that I never stopped looking.”

  The words poured out now, raw and unguarded.

  “Every night,” he said, “I told myself she might still be alive somewhere. And every morning, I told myself not to believe that lie too strongly—or it would kill me.”

  A weak laugh escaped him.

  “But now…” he said softly. “Now I don’t care if it kills me.”

  Kael smiled.

  There was no argument left to make.

  Daren moved with quiet purpose, retrieving his old travel pack from the corner of the room. His fingers traced familiar seams and buckles, adjusting straps by touch alone. Every movement spoke of long habit, of a man who had walked countless roads guided by memory rather than sight.

  He paused at the doorway.

  His fingers brushed the stone wall lightly, lingering as though committing the texture, the warmth, the presence of Ridgehall to memory.

  Before leaving, he turned back.

  “I’ve left everything in Tarin’s hands,” Daren said. “I won’t return to Veyren without my daughter.”

  Kael stepped forward without hesitation and pulled him into a firm embrace.

  Daren froze for a heartbeat—then returned it, gripping Kael tightly.

  “If you see Lila,” Kael said softly, close to his ear, “tell her I’m whole and hearty.”

  He pulled back just enough to look at Daren’s face.

  “And tell her,” Kael continued, his voice lowering, “that I’ll come find her. Even if she’s in the deepest pit of hell.”

  Daren nodded, his expression resolute, unbreakable.

  “I will.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  Each step was steady.

  Purposeful.

  Guided not by sight—

  —but by hope.

  Kael remained where he was, watching until the shadows at the far end of the corridor swallowed Daren’s figure completely.