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She scoffs. “La matinée est bien triste quand les morts ont rôdé toute la nuit.” — The morning is sad when the dead roam all night.

“Soyez silencieux, nous avons des invités.” Kyrin’s response is curt, his eyes narrowing on the chef. —Be quiet, we have guests.

I look over Sophie.

They probably think I don’t know what they said; hence the use of a foreign language.

But I took four years of French, and while I don’t use it as often, I can understand and speak it.

I’m intrigued to get to know Sophie and see what she knows about what lurks around the estate at night, and it makes me feel less crazy to hear someone speak about it and not write me off.

“Breakfast will be in the next hour,” Sophie says, looking between us.

“That’s fine, Soph. Take your time. We’re just getting coffee.”

Once we’re both caffeinated, Kyrin leads me through a small tour of the house he neglected the other day.

There’s a full library, a theatre, a pool, and even a solarium filled with plants that look well tended.

The pool is indoors, and the room is temperate, even with the chill settling outside the estate.

“You can go wherever you’d like to,” he says.

We make our way to the kitchen again; this time, breakfast is ready, and the ghosts haunting Sophie seem far off. Her eyes are brighter, and she smiles as she works.

“I can go wherever I want, other than the west wing, correct?” I ask Kyrin, forking through some leftover eggs on my plate.

He wipes his mouth and swallows before answering. “Yes. Everywhere but the west wing. It’s fallen into disrepair.”

“Will I ever meet your brother?”

“God willing, no.”

“What’s the matter with him? If you don’t mind my bluntness.”

“Seraphine, your bluntness is why I adore you.”

My cheeks heat at his words, my lips curling into a smirk.

“He’s… haunted. It makes him very rough around the edges.”

“Haunted.” I scoff. “Look around. How could he not be?”

“He’s been through a lot,” Kyrin counters.

“That’s an understatement,” Sophie adds, leaning between us to take our plates.

“Oh.” Kyrin sits straighter in his chair. “Did I forget to mention Sophie lives here, too? Well, during the week. She’s in a room near the solarium downstairs. If you ever need her, you can just dial nine on your phone. She’s available until 10 p.m. on weeknights. Weekends, we fend for ourselves around here.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” I smile at Sophie, who once again flicks her blue eyes away, something I can’t quite read in them.

“Sophie’s been with our family a very long time. She’s like family at this point,” he adds.

Sophie smirks, tight-lipped before making a quick retreat from the room.

I don’t blame her.

Not after the night we had.