Eureka's brows drew together in a scowl. "Those creatures ceased to exist centuries ago."
Lucas leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. "And how accurate is that story?"
She scoffed, flicking a speck of dust off her sleeve. "Very. The elder witches pass down their knowledge truthfully to prevent confusion or conflict among the younger ones."
Her tone was sharp, but Lucas didn't rise to the bait. "And what if they didn't know the full truth?"
Eureka narrowed her eyes, growing slightly defensive. "Then I wouldn't know either, would I? I can only repeat what I was taught."
With an air of indifference, she pulled out a small hand mirror from the folds of her robe and studied her reflection. It was a habit of hers—a way of reminding herself she was still beautiful, not the "hideous" witch some whispered her kind to be.
Lucas watched her for a moment, then asked, "What if the story you were told isn't completely right? Is there any chance—however small—that one of those shadows still exists?"
Her lips pursed. "Unlikely. Not unless the Venoms still exist. And that's doubtful. They were all wiped out long ago."
"Venoms?" Lucas echoed, his brow lifting.
"Yes, Venoms. They were the race the shadows were sworn to protect. They resided in the middle realm," Eureka explained, making a vague circular motion with her hand as if drawing a map in the air.
"Did they resemble humans?"
Eureka shot him a glare. "How would I know? I'm barely five decades old, not a thousand. I've never seen a Venom, only heard stories. If you want detailed answers, maybe find yourself an elemental witch."
Lucas let out an exaggerated sigh and clicked his tongue. "What a shame. We've already got a witch living under this roof, yet we might have to hunt for another. Such a waste."
Eureka rolled her eyes, their jade green hue glittering in the light. "Whatever."
Lucas turned to Lionel with a smirk. "Don't you think it's tragic, keeping her here when she's so... unhelpful?"
Lionel, who had been silently observing, sighed through his nose. "Master is absolutely right. Should I have her removed from the mansion?"
"No!" Eureka shot up from her seat, her voice sharp with panic. The last thing she wanted was to be thrown out of the mansion—it was the safest place she'd known in years. Her pride flinched as she added more quietly, "What exactly do you want from me?"
Lucas smiled, pleased. "I want you to invoke the elemental current that allows access to the past. Or, at the very least, lets you see glimpses—something that might tell us more about the Venoms."
"That would take at least two full weeks," Eureka huffed, folding her arms. "Elemental summoning is not some parlour trick. I'll need a dozen rare ingredients and complete concentration."
Lucas's smile widened. He knew how much that smug expression annoyed her. She clenched her jaw and glared at him. Smacking that smirk off his face was a fantasy she visited far too often.
---
Later that evening...
By the time Evie returned home, the house was quiet and still. Her grandmother had already gone to bed.
Evie tiptoed inside and slipped into her room, every bone in her body aching. She felt drained—as though half her soul had been pulled from her. Today had been overwhelming, and she doubted she'd forget it anytime soon.
She pulled off the clean dress she'd been given at the mansion. It had surprised her how well it fit—just slightly loose at the waist. She placed it neatly on the bed and reached into her wardrobe for her own clothes.
After changing into something more comfortable, she carefully folded the borrowed dress. She'd return it tomorrow. No need to keep anything of theirs any longer than necessary.
As she reached for her bedside table to place the dress, something glinting in the half-open drawer caught her eye. She hesitated, then pulled it open the rest of the way.
There it was the silver necklace.
Her fingers brushed against the cool metal as a wave of memories washed over her. She hadn't seen it in years.
It had been a gift from her father. The only gift, in fact. Sent the day before her tenth birthday. The letter that came with it had been painfully short: "For Evelyn." That was it. No warm words, no questions about her or her grandmother's well-being. Just two detached words that shattered her heart at the time.
She'd cried herself to sleep that night, thinking her father didn't care.
But the next day, her grandmother had given her another letter—one that said her father had asked about her, that he wished her happiness. The little girl she'd been had clung to those words like lifelines. She'd believed them without question.
It wasn't until she was older that she noticed the handwriting between the two letters didn't match. There had only ever been one real letter. Her grandmother had lied to protect her feelings.
As a child, she used to sleep with the necklace beside her pillow, imagining that her father was watching over her. But when she grew up and learned the truth, she couldn't bear to wear it. Instead, she'd bought a replica one that looked almost identical but held none of the weight of disappointment.
She lay on the bed, staring at the old necklace, a swirl of grief and longing turning in her chest. Had he ever loved her? Did he blame her for her mother's death?
After a long pause, she set the necklace back in the drawer and closed it. She lay down, the exhaustion finally crashing down over her. Whether it was from the emotional storm or sheer physical fatigue, she was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
---
In the quiet of the night, the shadows in her room shifted.
One detached from the others, slipping silently across the floor. It moved to her bedside and gently pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders.
"Anny… you don't have to…" Evie murmured in her sleep, her voice drowsy.
But there was no reply. The shadow said nothing. It simply stood there, watching over her, never moving, never blinking, until morning.
---
The next day…
Evie had just placed the bread into the oven when the creak of the door caught her attention. Her grandmother entered the kitchen, leaning on her staff, her face lined with disapproval.
"Vie, you were late again."
Evie flashed a guilty smile. "Sorry, Anny. I had to stop by a friend's place to pick something up."
The old woman scoffed. "You always have the same excuses. Don't think I'll keep believing them."
Though she said it sternly, her tone held no true anger—only concern. She knew Evie was grown, but she still worried for her granddaughter's safety.
"I'll come up with a better lie next time," Evie said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "When you scowl like that, you look like Mrs. Peter. It's terrifying."
"I hope it scares some sense into you, you stubborn child."
Evie chuckled, removing the flour-dusted apron and heading to the backyard with her grandmother. The fresh air greeted them, and together they sat on a wooden bench, gazing at the quiet woods that framed their secluded home.
Evie glanced sideways. She had noticed her grandmother walking a bit slower today. She tucked that thought away, then asked gently, "Anny… do you remember me ever having any kind of injury as a child?"
The older woman frowned, visibly confused. "No, Vie. I've always protected you. If you had been hurt, I would've remembered."
Evie smiled faintly, not pressing further. "If Anny says so, then it must be true."
Her voice, though light, didn't carry full conviction.
Her grandmother turned to her and asked, "Don't you want to say it out loud, just once?"
Evie looked toward the woods, her thoughts already drifting elsewhere.