Dinner

Raymond’s arrangements were swift.

In less than half an hour, the dining table was set. Roasted lamb chops, a thick vegetable soup, rye bread, and half a carafe of red wine. The portions were significantly larger than usual.

By the time Klein sat down, Ophelia was already across from him.

Between them sat a dining table of modest width, four candlesticks, and a plate of sliced bread. The distance was appropriate—neither too far nor too close. In the past, this was a perfectly normal seating arrangement. But today, Klein suddenly felt the table was a bit narrow.

No, it wasn't a problem with the table.

It was a problem with him.

The aroma of roasted lamb chops drifted through the air. Klein picked up his knife and fork, lowering his head to cut the meat.

From across the table came the sound of a spoon clicking against a bowl—Ophelia was having soup. Neither of them spoke. It wasn't exactly awkward; they had long since established a habit of silence at the dinner table. It was just that there was something extra in the quiet today, something indescribable and different. It was like a thin string stretched between them; as long as no one touched it, everything was fine, but the slightest brush would make it hum.

Klein took two bites of the lamb, then glanced up, catching Ophelia just as her spoon paused at the rim of her bowl. She was using her right hand—which wasn't strange, as she was right-handed. But today, her movements were a bit slower than usual, and the turn of her wrist was more restrained.

Last night, that hand had gripped the edge of the bedsheets tightly...

He banished the thought from his mind almost instantly. He lowered his head and continued cutting his meat. The blade scraped against the porcelain plate, letting out a short, piercing screech.

Both of them paused simultaneously.

Ophelia’s spoon hovered over her bowl. Klein felt her glance at him, but he didn't look up.

He cleared his throat and adjusted the angle of his knife. This time, it was much quieter.

“...The soup is good,” Ophelia said.

“Mhm, it looks good.”

“You haven't had any.”

“I’m busy with the meat.”

“Oh.”

The conversation ended.

Silence followed for a few seconds.

Klein finally couldn't help it and let out a soft laugh.

Ophelia looked up at him.

“Aren't you laughing a bit too much today?” Her tone was flat, but her grip on the spoon tightened slightly.

“I’m hungry,” Klein said. “People tend to act a bit silly when they’re hungry.”

Ophelia looked at him for two seconds, her gaze carrying a clear 'do you even believe that yourself' vibe, but she ultimately didn't comment on the credibility of his excuse. She lowered her head and went back to her soup.

The rhythm of the spoon hitting the bowl returned to normal.

The meal didn't last very long. Klein was indeed hungry; the lamb chops and bread disappeared quickly, and he finished most of his soup. Ophelia ate little, though she did have one more piece of bread than usual. Klein noticed. He didn't say anything, merely pushing the bread plate a little closer to her.

Ophelia’s fingers brushed the edge of the plate before she pulled back.

“That’s enough.”

“Oh.”

Klein pulled the plate back and broke off another piece for himself.

When it came time to clear the dishes, Martha came to help. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, her mouth opening and closing as if she were dying to say something. Margaret followed behind, precisely stepping on Martha’s foot before she could speak.

“Ungh—!”

“The bowl almost slipped, be careful.” Margaret spoke with an unwavering expression. Martha, with tears in her eyes, held the bowl steady.

Klein pretended he hadn't seen a thing and rose from the table. As he passed the back of Ophelia’s chair, his pace slowed for a fraction of a beat. His fingertips almost brushed the curved wood of the chair back, but he ultimately pulled his hand away.

“I’m going to handle a few things; it won't take too long. Karen’s condition has changed a bit lately, so I want to take another look.”

Ophelia tilted her head slightly, catching him in her peripheral vision. “Go on.”

Her voice was soft, brief, and clean.

When Klein walked out of the dining room, his stride was much steadier than when he had arrived—a person is different once there is food in their stomach. He walked down the corridor toward the study, the cluttered thoughts in his mind having been tidied away and replaced by business.

Lyra and Karen were already waiting in the study as Raymond had arranged.

When he pushed the door open, Karen was sitting in a chair by the window, hands crossed over his knees.

Lyra stood behind Karen. Seeing Klein enter, she gave him a nod.

“How is the state of things today?” Klein asked.

“Better than yesterday,” Lyra said.

Karen turned his head to look at Klein, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something. After two seconds, he managed to speak—

“...It’s a bit quieter. The sound of the sea.”

Klein sat down across from him.

“Then let's continue.”

...

The three of them stayed there until nightfall.

Ophelia didn't know the specifics of what Klein discussed with Lyra and Karen in the study. She didn't intend to ask, either. That was business for the third floor; once the study door was closed, the conversation inside had nothing to do with her. She understood that boundary very well.

However, she had noted what Klein said as he left: “Karen’s condition has changed a bit lately.”

After dinner, she was in her room on the second floor—no, it should be called 'their room' now—cleaning her sword. Outside the window, the sky shifted from orange-red to deep blue, then to black. Martha had come by once to bring a cup of hot tea. When the girl set the tea down, her eyes did a lap around the room before finally landing on the neatly folded quilt on the bed. They lingered there for two seconds before drifting to the pillows.

Ophelia didn't look up, her hands never stopping as she wiped the blade.

“Seen enough?”

“No... ah, no, I mean, yes, plenty!” Martha pulled her neck in and slipped away as if her feet were greased.

She even tripped over the threshold on her way out. Ophelia returned the sword to its sheath.

She drank half the tea and set the sword by the table.

Faint footsteps and voices drifted down from the floor above. She couldn't make out the words, but she could distinguish Klein’s voice. His speaking pace was faster than usual—he always got like that when he was talking seriously about something. Occasionally, it was punctuated by other voices—Karen’s, which was intermittent and oddly rhythmic, as if he were struggling to organize his speech. And then there was Lyra’s; she spoke rarely, but every time she did, Karen’s side would fall silent, like a hand gently pressing down on a rippling water surface.

Later, the sounds upstairs moved in a different direction.

They shifted from the study toward the other end of the corridor—where the laboratory was located. Ophelia was familiar enough with the layout of the building to tell which door was being opened by the sound it made.

Once the laboratory door closed, the upstairs remained quiet for a long time.

In the interval, only a few short sounds drifted down—the clinking of glassware, something being poured into a container, the friction of a mortar and pestle. Those were all noises associated with experiments.

Ophelia leaned back against her chair. At some point, the moon had climbed into the sky, casting a rectangular patch of silver light onto the floor, right across the back of her left hand.

The blackened skin and the fine scales took on a dull luster under the moonlight.

She glanced at it, then turned her hand over, palm facing up.

He had said, “Karen’s condition has changed a bit lately.”

Sea monster whispers and sea monster pollution were essentially the same thing. If Karen’s condition was truly improving, it meant Klein’s research direction in alchemy was correct.

It was true for Karen.

And perhaps... it was true for her as well.

She pulled her left hand back into her sleeve and picked up the tea cup.

A long time passed.

The sound of a door opening came from the third floor. Footsteps crossed the corridor and headed down the stairs. There were two sets of footsteps, one heavy and one light. The heavy one had an irregular rhythm, pausing every few steps—Karen. The light one followed close beside him, the distance between them never wavering—Lyra.

Ophelia walked to the window just in time to see the two of them exit through the side door of the main building. The light from the corridor lamps fell upon them.

Karen walked in front. His stride was much steadier than it had been a few days ago, and his back was straighter. Under the moonlight, his profile even held a hint of a normal person's expression—no longer that vacant, unfocused look that seemed as if it were viewed through water. Lyra followed half a step behind, her right hand held loosely near Karen’s elbow; she didn't touch him, but she was ready to support him at any moment. Ophelia couldn't see the expression on Lyra’s face clearly from that distance and in the dim light—but the corners of her mouth were turned upward.

The progress was good.

Ophelia withdrew her gaze, picked up the tea cup, and finished the remaining half.

Just as she set the cup back on the table, another door sounded on the third floor.

This time, there was only one set of footsteps.

Fast. Faster than usual. Klein always walked at a moderate pace; tonight, the rhythm was clearly off.

The footsteps came down the stairs, crossed the second-floor corridor, and headed straight for this room. There was no hesitation—he didn't even slow down at the corner of the hallway.

The door was pushed open.

Klein stood in the doorway, his hair a bit messy—he likely hadn't noticed that a few strands at his forehead were sticking up during his time in the laboratory. His sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm, and his right index and middle fingers were stained with a bit of silver-gray powder, the residue of some ground mineral.

He was panting slightly—not heavily, but his breathing was faster than normal.

Ophelia looked at him.

“What happened?”

Klein didn't answer immediately. He stood there, his eyes very bright. It wasn't the kind of brightness reflected from candlelight; it was a light shining from within. Ophelia had seen his focus when researching alchemy, and she had seen his satisfaction after solving a difficult formula, but this level of—

This look, as if his entire being were glowing, was something she was seeing for the first time.

“Come up with me,” Klein said, his voice carrying a suppressed energy, like something was stuck in his throat that he had to say, yet he wanted her to see it with her own eyes. He wasn't sharing this with just anyone; he was sharing it with her. She was the first person he thought of.

“The laboratory?”

“Yes.”

He reached out his hand.

Ophelia glanced down at her left hand resting on her knee.

Then she stood up and reached out her right hand.