Ebony Castle

As soon as he exited the arrival gate, Niklas, wearing a khaki zip-up hoodie, caught his eye. The young man with curly black hair, now even more unruly, was standing in the front row behind a black divider line, looking around. His eyes, busy scanning the people exiting the gate, soon landed on Doha.

“Eden!”

He waved cheerfully.

“This way, come out to the right!”

He turned his body and began making his way through the crowd. His sturdy frame floundered for a moment but soon found a path, cutting through the crowd like slicing through water. Watching Niklas’s back, Doha stopped by the guardrail at the end of the passage.

“Your friend has arrived,” said the flight attendant, who had been pulling Doha’s suitcase. Doha suppressed a sigh at the attendant’s kindly tone, which seemed to treat him like a child.

“This is far enough, thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” the flight attendant smiled warmly. Just then, Niklas arrived and took the suitcase handle from the attendant.

“Eden!”

He raised his voice, as if trying to overcome the noise of the airport.

“Was the journey tough?”

“…No, it was fine.”

If anything, it was the arrival at the airport that felt overwhelming. The sound of the suitcase wheels rolling over the cold floor, the constant announcements coming from some distant speaker. The wide space was crammed with people and noise, as if ready to burst. Though he hadn’t eaten, his stomach churned. When he turned his head slightly, the white lights on the ceiling left long trails, blurring his vision.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Niklas asked. Doha barely managed to shake his head.

“Looks like it’s a busy time,” he said.

“Yeah, even parking was hard. We’ll have to walk a bit. I’ll go get the car, so why don’t you wait inside?”

“No, I’ll come with you.”

Doha noticed Niklas glance at his uncomfortable legs but said nothing. As they stepped outside the airport, Doha finally felt some relief. It must have rained recently, as tiny droplets clung to the rows of black taxis. The sky was still gray, and the damp, metallic smell of post-rain air mixed with the odor of exhaust fumes.

“It’s gotten colder already,” Niklas said, zipping his hoodie all the way up as they stopped at a pedestrian crossing and set down the suitcase for a moment.

“Eden, do you need to grab a jacket from your bag?”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

“Well, where you were before must’ve been even colder. Is there a big difference in the weather?”

“…A little.”

At night, the forest temperature would drop sharply. When he woke up in the early morning, the warmth from the fireplace had long since cooled, and the biting cold pierced through the walls and windows like sharp needles. If he went outside in the morning, the chilly dew would cling to his ankles. Occasionally, Ulysses would come bounding through the grass, shaking off the dew from his fur.

“Must be nice to be back in London after all that time, huh?”

Doha snapped out of his thoughts. Niklas was looking closely at his face.

“You look thinner, Eden. That place might be nice to visit, but it’s too remote to live in, right? You must’ve had a rough time.”

“…Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” Niklas gave Doha a friendly pat on the shoulder with the arm that wasn’t holding the suitcase. When they reached the parking structure, he hefted the suitcase up, carrying it easily. Doha followed him into the elevator.

Niklas’s car was a small, old compact with peeling paint. He loaded the suitcase into the trunk and moved the crumpled papers and plastic bags from the passenger seat to the back. Doha bent his stiff legs and settled into the seat. The musty smell of an old car filled the interior.

Niklas started the engine and switched off the blaring music that had come on. The car sputtered as it reluctantly pulled out of the parking structure. It felt more rattling than Jean’s truck on a dirt road, judging by the sensation in Doha’s seat.

“Oh, right,” Niklas said, turning the worn-out steering wheel as they stopped at a traffic light, just after leaving the parking structure.

“We were supposed to go straight to the company from the airport, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’ll have to wait. Richard’s got a meeting today… he asked me to tell you that you’ll meet another day.”

Niklas glanced sideways at Doha, looking a bit awkward. Doha didn’t respond right away. Even without the expression on Niklas’s face, Richard’s attitude was clear enough from the message.

“I’m not heading straight to the company anyway, so you didn’t need to come all the way to the airport for me,” Doha said.

“It’s fine,” Niklas waved one hand dismissively. “Of course, I had to come. I have to drive you home, don’t I?”

“There are plenty of buses and subways. I’ll be traveling to and from the airport often, so you don’t need to come next time.”

“But with the suitcase and all…”

“I won’t be bringing a suitcase anymore.”

Niklas, who had trailed off with a “still…,” looked a bit unsatisfied, his expression lukewarm.

“Eden, I heard you’re cured…” His eyes drifted to Doha’s curled-up hand. His gaze, unable to hide the curiosity, lingered a little too long.

Doha suppressed the urge to move his hand aside and responded calmly.

“I moved it a little, but now it’s stiff again. I need rehabilitation, and I’ll have to continue treatment regularly. I think it will take some time before I can play the piano like I used to.”

“Still, it’s a relief you can keep getting treatment with Tristan Locke.”

Niklas said optimistically.

“That’s amazing. How did you even convince him?”

“…I didn’t convince him.”

Doha paused briefly.

“He just decided that way.”

He glanced down at his silent phone on his lap. At any moment, Tristan Locke could change his mind, saying there was no longer any need to visit the estate. Doha had no control over why Tristan had chosen to help him or how long that help would last.

The sound of raindrops pattering drew his attention. Round droplets formed on the car window, distorting and sliding down. The gray buildings beyond blurred into dark smudges.

“You know, Eden,” Niklas said, turning on the wipers.

“I always thought that when people got a Neim, they would automatically date and get married, but it turns out there are people who don’t, who just stay in contact. I read an article about it. Two people were both in happy marriages with others when they got a Neim. So they agreed to just have minimal contact and continue their lives separately.”

“……”

“The article said that the two couples even moved to the same neighborhood to be close. Every morning, the four of them have breakfast together at one house, and the two with a Neim have about an hour of contact while the other two watch. Of course, at first, they had some, well, intimate relations until they started recovering. But now, they only hug and kiss. It’s not quite enough, so both still have some symptoms like numbness, but at least they can live normally.”

The sound of the wipers squeaked. Niklas glanced at Doha and continued speaking.

“Of course, that case involved both having a Neim, and Eden’s situation is a bit different… But in the end, isn’t it somewhat similar? You and Tristan Locke can live your own lives like strangers and only meet for treatment, just like a business arrangement. Once your hand is better and you have performance or recording schedules, you can just make time to visit Scotland in between.”

It seemed like an attempt to encourage or reassure him that he would soon return to his normal life. Doha smiled at Niklas, who was looking at him.

“That would be nice.”

“Richard asked me to take on Eden’s management for the time being, so if you need anything, just let me know. When’s your next hospital visit? I’ll drive you there then.”

“I have an appointment the day after tomorrow in the afternoon… but I can go alone.”

“No, I’ll go with you. It’s my job.”

Niklas spoke with enthusiasm, clearly wanting to help, so Doha didn’t argue further. Soon, they entered the heart of London, and wide Georgian-style buildings began to pass by the windows.

Niklas, perhaps bored, glanced at Doha and then started playing a playlist from his music app. Hip-hop with a strong beat flowed out from the speakers connected to his phone.

“I like this kind of music too.”

He hummed, then added an excuse, almost apologetically.

“Eden only listens to classical, right?”

“…Yes.”

“I thought so.”

After a brief silence, Niklas asked, “Should I switch to classical?” But Doha shook his head. Niklas seemed to compromise by reaching out and lowering the volume. Tall trees in Green Park slipped by under the pale, sunset sky.

As the car began to drive along the riverside, Doha instinctively leaned closer to the window. Against the soft hum of the hip-hop in the background, the dreary riverside view unfolded. Occasionally, the lights of passing bridges reflected on the water like streaks of oil in different colors. Through the mist, the buildings across the river emerged darkly.

By the time they entered East End, the sky had darkened into a bluish hue.

“This area…”

Niklas mumbled, slowing down.

“It doesn’t look any different from a few years ago. I heard security had improved a lot.”

Under the eaves of a darkened convenience store, shadowy figures huddled to avoid the rain. The faint glow of cigarette embers and the rising gray smoke were visible. The yellow streetlights flickered over the worn shop signs and graffiti-covered walls.

“I haven’t had any real trouble.”

Doha answered, his voice rough as though he hadn’t slept.

“As long as you’re careful at night, it’s fine.”

“Eden, you don’t seem to be very careful sometimes. Even the other day…”

Niklas began to scold but suddenly stopped the car with a squeal at a turn in the alley.

“Did I take the wrong street…? This isn’t the one, right?”

“It’s the next alley.”

“It all looks confusing at night. Oh, now I remember. It was that building.”

After some awkward reversing and creaking forward, Niklas parked the car in front of the building where Doha’s flat was. The Arabic sign on the restaurant on the first floor was lit, but there were no customers inside.

“Hold on a second.”

Niklas opened Doha’s door first, then retrieved a suitcase from the trunk.

“Where’s the key?”

For Doha, turning the key could take as long as ten minutes on a bad day. Niklas managed it in seconds, lightly carrying the suitcase ahead. He climbed the narrow stairs, unlocking the flat’s door just as quickly. He flicked on the light and slid the suitcase next to the entrance.

“Thanks.”

Doha said, and Niklas turned around with a smile.

“Now, you’re going to get some rest, right? What about dinner?”

“I’m not hungry… I’ll eat something later.”

“Make sure you do. I’ll head off then. See you at the hospital the day after tomorrow. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Alright.”

Doha wanted to see him off, but Niklas’s footsteps were too fast as he rushed down the creaking stairs. Before he knew it, the curly-haired manager had reached the front door of the building, waved, and disappeared. Doha waited until he heard the sound of the car fading away before raising his hand to turn off the stairwell light.

Even after his eyes adjusted to the dim ceiling light, Doha stood in the entrance, unmoving. The familiar one-room flat, which he hadn’t seen in a while, felt smaller and shabbier, as if the walls had closed in. A narrow hallway was created between the small kitchen on the right and the upright piano against the left wall, leaving barely enough space for a person to pass. Across the room, the single bed and closed bathroom door came into view.

As Doha took a deep breath, a musty smell, like mold, filled his nostrils. He sidestepped through the narrow hallway and perched on the edge of the bed sheet. Dust puffed up and floated in the air.

There was no sense of security in being home. The small, chilly flat felt more like an uncomfortable accommodation in a foreign city, alien and unwelcoming. Even breathing felt stifling.

“……”

From the flat next door, faint sounds of a TV and occasional laughter seeped through the walls. Doha stared blankly at an unidentified brown stain on the yellowed wall, then drew his knees up and curled into a ball, lost in thought.

Even in the leaky motel room, the vast, empty guest room of the mansion, and in Tristan Locke’s bedroom, which felt like a torture chamber, he had constantly thought about wanting to go home. He wanted to let everything go, say it was enough, and return to a warm, safe place.

But it seemed that the place he had been envisioning in his mind wasn’t here. A small room with borrowed furniture and his own piano. Even after returning to this place, Doha couldn’t relax, not even a little. It was as if he had forgotten how to let go and release the tension in his body.

***

The hospital the secretary had informed him about was located in a wealthy suburb on the outskirts of London. Other than the small sign on the high brick wall indicating it was a private clinic, it looked just like any ordinary residence. Niklas parked by the curb, turned off the engine, and looked at Doha in the passenger seat.

“Are you sure you don’t need a guardian?”

“Yes.”

Doha answered without hesitation. It was partly due to security concerns and also because he knew just how explicit the conversation could get when meeting with a Neim specialist.

“Alright then. I’ll hang around nearby, so give me a call when you’re done.”

“Don’t you need to head back to the office?”

“There’s nothing much to do there. I can take my time going in this afternoon.”

After getting out of the car, Niklas waved from the driver’s side window. Doha glanced at the sign that simply read “PRIVATE CLINIC” before pressing the buzzer. After a brief mechanical beep, the front gate unlocked with a metallic clank and automatically opened.

The well-manicured lawn and the long, narrow path were landscaped like a Japanese garden. A large, curved bonsai pine caught his eye. Though the blinds were halfway down on the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could make out a spacious interior with cream-colored sofas inside.

As Doha reached about halfway down the path, the front door opened, and a tall white man in a sweater appeared through the crack.

“Eden Yeon?”

He smiled kindly as he pronounced the Korean name surprisingly well.

“Come on in. You don’t have to take off your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

The man held the door open for Doha. Although the man wore slippers, the spotless white marble foyer was immaculate. On a small alcove shelf by the entrance sat a persimmon tree, whether it was real or artificial was unclear.

The man led Doha into a spacious living room with large windows. Soft jazz played in the background, and the space didn’t feel like a hospital at all. Cream-colored sofas and marble tables were scattered throughout, with bold abstract paintings on the walls and a closed white grand piano off to the side.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sorry?”

“Coffee, tea, juice, anything like that…”

“Water will be fine.”

Doha replied, tearing his gaze away from the piano.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The man gestured to the sofas before disappearing through another door. Two long sofas faced each other across a round coffee table in the center. Judging by the open medical journal on the table, the man had probably been sitting on one of them earlier.

Considering the direction of the writing, Doha sat on the opposite sofa. The man soon returned from the kitchen, placing a tall glass of iced water and a white business card on the table.

“I’m Daniel Hunt.”

He made no move to shake hands, instead meeting Doha’s eyes as he took a seat across from him. A black straw bent towards Doha’s side of the glass.

“Up until last year, I was Tristan’s primary physician. This year, let’s just say I’m on a sabbatical, handling some personal matters.”

“…In that case, pardon me, but as for the Neim expertise-.”

“I’m completely out of my depth on that front.”

Daniel apologized with a friendly, apologetic smile.

“I’ve arranged for a Neim specialist. I asked them to come by around eleven-thirty…”

He checked his watch.

“And it’s almost eleven-thirty now, so they should be arriving shortly. You’ll have your consultation here. The clinic is equipped with most things you’ll need. We even have an X-ray machine.”

“…So, Dr. Hunt, you’re just lending out the clinic space?”

“That’s right. I’ll be observing today’s session, but moving forward, I’ll be coordinating with the Neim center to oversee your treatment.”

He shrugged with a smile.

“I’m sure I don’t inspire much confidence, but as you know, this is all tangled up in Tristan’s personal affairs.”

“…However-.”

“I think I just heard the gate. Sit tight.”

Doha watched as Daniel headed out into the hallway, feeling certain that once his back was turned, the man’s smile had vanished. Despite his friendly demeanor, it seemed like this was something Daniel had been forced into. Perhaps he couldn’t defy Tristan Locke, or he’d been promised a reward worthy of this task.

Soon, Daniel returned with the Neim specialist, whose expression was completely neutral. Having been briefed in advance, she avoided making eye contact with Doha during the consultation. After completing the questions and X-rays, she stepped out into the living room with Daniel, leaving Doha sitting quietly in the examination room.

About five minutes later, Daniel knocked and peeked inside.

“Shall we move back to the living room? It’s a bit cramped in here, isn’t it?”

Back in the living room, the Neim specialist was nowhere to be seen.

“Now then… please, take a seat.”

Daniel gestured to the same sofa.

“The ice has all melted. Would you like a fresh glass of water?”

“No, I’ll just finish this one.”

Small droplets of condensation had formed on the outside of the glass. Doha bent his head and touched the end of the straw to his lips. The cool water moistened his dry mouth. The string of X-rays had left him feeling a little dizzy.

“Shall we start by discussing your symptoms slowly?”

Daniel Hunt said while looking at the clipboard.

“To put it simply, the Neim symptoms have definitely improved.”

“…Is that so?”

Hearing this while his fingers were still unresponsive, Doha couldn’t fully grasp the reality. Daniel Hunt removed the X-ray images from the back of the clipboard and spread them out in front of Doha.

“Comparing these with the X-rays from the Neim Center you had before, you can see that the distortion in the bones has decreased significantly. Both in your legs and hands. We need to do an endoscopy to be sure, but the same should be true for the Jean. Going forward, improvements in digestive function or increased lung capacity could be seen… It’s a process of healing the parts that have slowly deteriorated. You’ll definitely notice the changes.”

Doha nodded silently.

“Next, let’s talk about the treatment cycle…”

“…Yes.”

“Normally, you would need to have regular contact every day, but that’s not possible under the current circumstances. We need to find a minimum threshold to maintain the treatment’s effectiveness without significantly disrupting your and Tristan’s daily lives, though there might be some trial and error… For now, the suggested schedule is as follows.”

Daniel drew an underline on the lower part of the paper with a pen and then turned the clipboard towards Doha. The number “10 / 3” stood out on the rectangular prescription area written in the doctor’s handwriting.

“Ten days in London, three days at Tristan’s home. Then, return to London for ten days… Something like that. You’ll need to visit Scotland about twice a month. Will that be a hassle?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“And while you’re in London, you’ll need to come here at least once every two days for rehabilitation. Since you need to use your fingers freely after recovery, rehabilitation will be as important as contact with Tristan. We need to ensure that the stiff and twisted bones return to their original shape… It’s quite a tedious and painful process.”

Doha nodded and recalled the rehabilitation room at the Neim Center he had visited before. There were always patients in the partitioned rooms whenever he passed by. Since Neim had no treatment methods other than finding a counterpart, many doctors who had studied rehabilitation therapy shifted to Neim treatment.

Daniel Hunt removed the paper with the numbers 10 and 3, like a prescription, and placed it in front of Doha. Doha looked down at the paper and finally asked:

“If the treatment progresses smoothly… how long will it take to play the piano again?”

At that moment, the music playing in the living room changed to a piano piece by Erik Satie. Daniel rested his chin on his hand and looked at the clipboard, then answered surprisingly clearly:

“It might depend on the level of your performance.”

“……”

“Playing the piano can be done with just your fingers being freed up. But how long it will take to regain your previous skill level…”

There was an implied nuance that, even if a lot of time passed, it might not be possible. Doha silently nodded.

Daniel Hunt saw Doha off to the entrance and added lightly:

“I heard that you were quite a famous pianist, Eden. When your hands recover, please play a piece on the grand piano in the living room. I bought it because I wanted to learn as a hobby, but it ended up being used for interior decoration.”

“…Sure, anytime.”

“I’ll see you after you visit Tristan.”

The man bowed his head in greeting, and Doha did the same. As soon as he stepped onto the path, he heard the front door closing softly behind him.

***

Niklas’s company was on the top floor of a six-story glass building in the city center. Niklas, having dropped Eden off and meandered around, arrived at the office only in the late afternoon. He ran into a female employee working on a lower floor in the elevator, chatted with her, and waved goodbye as she got off on the fifth floor before heading up to his office.

When the automatic doors opened, the view was the interior that Richard Evans had been particularly insistent on. On the right was the lobby desk, and directly ahead was a high ceiling that opened up. Next to the spiral staircase leading to the mezzanine terrace, there was a black grand piano prominently displayed. Unlike usual, the piano lid was raised high, and there were many people around the surrounding benches. Niklas, glancing briefly, asked Emily at the desk:

“Did something happen?”

“Did you just arrive? Bad timing.”

Emily gestured towards the piano.

“Julian Svensson came and played a few impromptu pieces. He even gave autographs.”

She showed Niklas Julian Svensson’s album, which had a sprawling autograph with Emily’s name and a heart symbol. It seemed that even in Emily’s eyes, hearts were floating around.

Niklas recalled something and said:

“Just last week, I said Julian Svensson wasn’t very skilled and I didn’t understand why they were managing a scandal-maker…”

“Shut up.”

Emily said with a still-smiling face.

“He played the piano well in person. And he hasn’t left yet; he’s in Richard’s office upstairs.”

The employees lingering in the lobby seemed to be waiting to see Julian Svensson as he came down again. Niklas craned his neck to look up. He could vaguely see someone through the glass of Richard’s office.

“Well, I’ll go to work.”

Just as he was about to greet Emily and head to his desk at the back of the first floor, the sound of the upstairs office door opening, along with laughter and noisy voices, came pouring out. Richard, with a smiling face, was holding the door open for a young man in black jeans and his manager.

“Oh, it’s Julian.”

Niklas mumbled as he saw the young man’s long platinum hair. It was his first time seeing him in person, and while he tried to get a look at his face, he made eye contact with Richard Evans, who was coming down the stairs first. Richard, momentarily frowning, asked:

“Out for business?”

“I dropped Eden off.”

Richard nodded roughly. Julian Svensson, who followed him down, looked over with curious eyes.

“Julian.”

Richard introduced with a hint of reluctance.

“This is Niklas. He’s Eden Yeon’s manager, the one you were curious about.”

“Eden Yeon?”

The young man’s eyes widened. Approaching Niklas with his pianist’s long fingers extended, he said:

“I’m Julian.”

His fingers were solid and well-balanced. After shaking hands, Niklas felt his own hand seemed small in comparison. The young pianist, who had subtly taken the initiative with just a handshake, suddenly asked:

“Does Eden not talk about me?”

“Excuse me? Eden?”

“We were very close in college. We lost touch now, though.”

It was something he hadn’t heard from Eden. Thankfully, Julian continued speaking before Niklas could respond.

“We had the same professor, and our mentor is curious about Eden’s well-being. Wondering why he stopped performing and where he is now. Did you just meet Eden? If so…”

“Oh…”

“That’s confidential information.”

Richard naturally interjected. He placed an arm around Julian’s shoulder and guided him towards the entrance.

“Go practice now. Before it gets too late.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t cause any trouble for a while.”

“What trouble, Richard?”

Julian responded briskly, waving to the waiting staff. Emily behind the desk also smiled and waved. As he left with his manager, he turned back to Niklas.

“If you can, come to the collaboration next month. Eden should come too.”

“Yes, if I have the time…”

“I’ll reserve the best seat for you.”

He waved and left with his manager. As the automatic door closed, the people in the lobby gradually dispersed. Two staff members near the piano were closing the lid and covering it again.

“Niklas.”

Richard, who had been standing right behind him, called in a low voice. Startled, Niklas turned around to see Richard making a silent gesture with a serious expression.

Niklas looked around, wondering if someone would come to his aid, but he had no choice but to follow Richard up to the second-floor office. On the table were snack wrappers and coffee, presumably from Julian.

“Sit.”

Richard said, clearing the empty coffee cups. Niklas closed the door and sat down in the chair still warm from Julian Svensson’s presence.

“What’s the diagnosis?”

Richard asked directly, without any preamble, while continuing to clear the desk. Concert posters featuring Julian Svensson and the London Philharmonic were visible around the office.

“Well…”

Niklas recalled the brief conversation he had with Eden in the car.

“In the future, there will be a regular schedule for traveling between Scotland and London, and rehabilitation will need to continue here.”

“How is his hand?”

“Um… When he was in Scotland, his pinky finger moved. But now it’s stiff again.”

Since he hadn’t seen it himself, his words were a bit vague. Richard, making a grim face as expected, piled up the posters in a corner and said,

“I heard that the contract with Tristan Locke can be terminated at any time.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing is certain.”

Niklas sat there with a sense of guilt. He had thought Eden was remarkable for persuading Tristan Locke on his own, but after meeting Julian Svensson, he began to understand how unlikely it was for Eden to return as a pianist. Compared to Eden, Julian exuded the vitality of an artist that drew attention even when not on stage, and he had the strong fingers of a pianist, not the blackened, paralyzed hands of Eden. He almost envied Julian’s manager.

“But taking care of Eden must be hard for you.”

Richard said in a softened tone as he looked at Niklas, who was dejected.

“It’s fine.”

“Anyway, since there’s a contract renewal with Eden Yeon early next year, just endure until then if things don’t work out.”

“Yes, understood.”

Niklas answered with relief. As he left the office, he thought of the pale face he had seen sleeping in a small inn in Scotland, still warm. The image of the thin figure limping through the forest made his conscience sting slightly.

***

About a week later, Doha had been sitting in the waiting area in front of the boarding gate at Heathrow Airport for three hours.

The plane should have already landed at Inverness Airport by now. The route from central London to Heathrow by subway, then from Heathrow by plane to Inverness, from Inverness to the town by a local man’s car, and finally from the town to the forest mansion by Jean’s truck—if everything went smoothly, it could be done in half a day. The problem was that if one flight was delayed, the rest would collapse.

Discontent murmurs erupted from the people sitting around. As Doha glanced at the new boarding time on the screen, he quickly calculated the time in his head and called his secretary.

The secretary’s voice on the phone was cold and composed.

“Still—”

“…Yes.”

The secretary’s words seemed to see right through Doha’s impatience. Doha looked at his phone on the armrest without speaking.

The secretary continued.

“…Yes.”

Doha inhaled and exhaled silently.

“Understood. I’ll go tomorrow.”

As Doha was about to end the call by touching the screen, the secretary’s voice coldly added.

“…Understood.”

Doha hung up and gazed out the window at the asphalt for a while. Where the plane should have been was an empty space marked in white. As the sun set, the colorful runway lights began to glow, resembling a city’s nightscape sprinkled with lights. Shifting his gaze to the horizon, he could occasionally see the elegant silhouette of an airplane taking off or landing against the backdrop of the sunset.

That night after meeting with Daniel Hunt and returning home, Doha almost called his secretary’s number on his phone. He almost begged to move up the visit to the mansion since rehabilitation was impossible until contact with Tristan was reestablished and to start the treatment schedule a bit earlier.

The ten days he had to stay in London was time Tristan was free from the annoying obligation of Doha. Proposing to advance the visit was something only a peer could suggest, not an uninvited guest dependent on the mercy of others.

So, instead of calling his secretary, Doha put down his phone and went out of the flat. He walked through the dark streets of London, trying to calm an inexplicable impatience. He repeatedly reminded himself not to cross the line and not to upset Tristan Locke.

“……”

A long line of people waiting at one counter were already dragging their suitcases, apparently trying to cancel or change their tickets.

Apology announcements about the delayed Inverness flight echoed repeatedly through the airport speakers. The airport, settling into the evening, was becoming more crowded. People swarmed the duty-free shop opposite the boarding gate, and the speakers repeatedly announced the names of passengers still missing at some gate in the airport.

At that moment, Doha’s phone on the armrest vibrated. The screen displayed Jean Thibault’s name.

“Yes.”

“No, maybe…”

In the background of Jean’s voice, the faint sound of Ulysses barking could be heard.

“…I think I’ll need to find a place to stay in Inverness for the night.”

He listened closely, but the barking had already stopped. Jean mumbled, “Hmm…”

“Yes. But Lowell said it wouldn’t be polite to ask you to drive in the evening…”

“…”

The call abruptly ended. Doha waited patiently without moving. In the meantime, many of the chairs around him had emptied out. People who were tired of waiting had either gone home or disappeared into the airport lounges.

Jean’s voice came through again when he answered the phone.

“But—”

“…Are you sure it’s okay for you to come out to the village at such a late hour?”

“Alright… Thank you. See you tonight.”

As soon as the call ended, the last sliver of the setting sun disappeared. White lights flickered on above the asphalt runway, and the airport noise filled his ears. Doha turned his head to look at the uniformed flight attendants and the long line of passengers. It felt surreal that the airport and the mansion in the forest existed in the same world.

***

When the car arrived in front of the village inn, Jean’s truck was parked under the streetlight. It was just past eleven. After greeting Peter and getting back into the truck, Jean’s bearded face looked a bit tired, likely from the late hour.

“You must’ve had a long day.”

Jean said as he skillfully maneuvered the wheel along the dark, familiar forest road.

“Tired from the trip?”

“…A little.”

“Hazel’s already prepared the guest room you stayed in last time, so you can rest as soon as we arrive.”

The truck rattled as it turned. After hesitating for a moment, Doha asked, “What about Mr. Locke…?”

“He’s probably asleep by now.”

Jean answered as if he’d expected the question.

“He went to bed shortly after dinner. Same with Scott Lowell.”

Shadows between the trees gaped black in the truck’s headlights. Doha closed his eyes.

The closer they got to the mansion, the more nauseous he felt. The truck seemed to jolt more violently than usual as it crawled up the steep dirt road. When Doha opened his eyes again, the forest beyond the windshield swayed gently like water, and bile rose in his throat. He thought numbly,

“We’re here.”

The dim headlights barely illuminated the darkened mansion. Jean expertly pressed a button and parked the truck in the empty spot in the garage.

“Eden? Did you fall asleep?”

“…No.”

Forcing himself to sit up, Doha grabbed his backpack and climbed out of the truck. He was relieved it was too dark for Jean to see his face. Jean yawned widely as he closed the truck door and held open the door leading into the mansion’s hall for Doha.

A dim light on the wall illuminated the dark entrance hall. Jean glanced around the sleeping mansion, sweeping his gaze over the stairs into the shadows, before lowering his voice to ask, “Do you need anything?”

“…No.”

“You know where your room is, right? Get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He yawned again and disappeared into the corridor toward the kitchen. As the sound of his footsteps crossing the marble floor faded, Doha felt his legs give out as he slowly climbed the stairs.

“…Ugh…”

He clung to the railing, swallowing the bile that filled his mouth. His vision flickered black. He forced his trembling legs to move, knowing he had to get to his room before his body gave out completely.

He had thought the seizures would stop once he started contacting Tristan. But thinking about it now, there was no reason for the seizures to stop while the other symptoms remained. A wave of searing pain crashed through him like a toxic surge. Doha clenched his teeth to keep from crying out.

The old wooden stairs creaked as if they might collapse beneath his knees. Barely making it to the second floor, Doha sank down in the hallway and shakily opened his backpack.

He shoved his stiff fingers through the open zipper, spilling the contents onto the floor. Finally, the cool plastic of a pill bottle scraped against the back of his hand. Doha twisted the cap off with his teeth, shaking a few painkillers into his mouth and swallowing them dry.

“…Ugh…”

The dim gray darkness of the hallway spun around him. The bitter taste of the unwashed pills coated the back of his tongue.

Then, a small sound pricked his heightened senses, creeping into his ears. Doha froze, unable to stifle his breathing.

The sound of the stairs creaking. This time, it was loud, as if deliberately announcing someone’s presence. Doha raised his blurred gaze, blinking heavily as though seeing a vision.

A black silhouette stood at the top of the stairs on the third floor. Pale moonlight from the window rippled over the man’s face, his white gown, and the fingers clutching the railing. It had been a long time since Doha had seen that face. The figure he had thought was an illusion on the road to this place stood before him.