Always reading. Always escaping into someone else's story.
I should leave her alone, give her space like Callum suggested.
But I can't.
I need to see her. Need to talk to her. Need to start building whatever this is going to become.
I head upstairs. Down the long hallway to the east wing.
The library door is open.
I can see her curled in her usual chair by the window, book in her lap, completely absorbed.
Jane Eyre. Still.
She's been reading it for three days now, savoring every page.
She looks peaceful.
For the first time since she arrived, she looks almost content.
I don't want to disturb that.
But I need to talk to her.
I knock softly on the doorframe.
She looks up. The peace vanishes instantly. Her entire body tenses.
"I'm sorry," she says immediately. Defensive. "I know you said I could use the library but if you need?—"
"Eden." I step into the room but stay near the door. Don't crowd her. "You don't need to apologize. This is your home too."
She doesn't look convinced.
"May I join you?" I ask.
Surprise flickers across her face.
I'm asking permission.
Not demanding. Not commanding.
"I—yes. I suppose."
I cross to the chair opposite hers. Sit. Leave the coffee table between us as a buffer.
She's watching me warily.
Her book is still open in her lap, but she's not reading anymore.
Just watching me like I'm a threat she needs to monitor.
"What are you reading?" I ask.
She glances down at the book like she's forgotten she's holding it. "Jane Eyre."
"What do you think of it?"
