He finally touches his ear lightly, like testing a bruise.
No one reacts. Lucia keeps eating. I keep my posture loose, unthreatening. The tension drains from his shoulders just a fraction. He eats a strawberry.
That’s the victory.
After breakfast, I suggest the garden. Not the main grounds, but the wide, open spaces that feel like exposure, but the inner garden. The one built inside the original walls, stone thick enough to stop sound and sight alike. It’s where my mother used to go when the house grew too loud.
Lucia hesitates only long enough to meet my eyes. “You okay with that?” she asks Nico.
He nods. “Yes.”
I take him out myself. No guards inside the garden. They’re posted beyond the archways, close enough to respond, far enough not to be seen. The air smells like citrus and wet earth. Birds move freely here. Nothing watches except the sun.
Nico walks beside me at first, then ahead, then doubles back like he’s unsure which distance feels safest. I sit on the stone bench near the fig tree and pat the space beside me.
“Come here,” I say.
He climbs up, careful with his footing. His legs don’t reach the ground. He swings them once, then stills them deliberately.
“You know how you touch your ear…” I begin.
His hand lifts automatically. He freezes, like he’s been caught.
I raise my own hand. Touch my ear. Slow. Obvious.
His eyes widen. “You do it, too,” he says.
“I do.”
“Why?”
I look out over the garden for a moment before answering. Choosing truth without breaking something small.
“Because when I was little,” I say, “I did it when I was worried. And my papa didn’t like it.”
Nico frowns. “Why not?”
“He thought it made me look weak.”
Nico considers this with intense seriousness. “That’s silly,” he decides.
A breath escapes me before I can stop it. Almost a laugh. Almost grief.
“Yes,” I agree. “It was.”
“Did he tell you to stop?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No,” I say. “Not really. I just learned to hide it.”
I touch my ear again. Let him see it. Let it be normal.
“So now I do it without thinking.”
He nods, filing that away. “Was your papa mean?”
