Chapter 4

The house was run by a ghost. Not a real one, but the memory of Eliza Sterling was everywhere. Her portrait hung in the main hall, her sad, gentle eyes following you. Her books still filled the shelves. But the person who should have kept her memory alive, Mr. Sterling, was the most absent of all. He was a phantom who paid the bills.

Blake' s mother was the key to understanding him, and I wanted to understand. One rainy afternoon, I found a small, leather-bound book tucked away in the back of a drawer in the library. It was her diary.

Her handwriting was elegant, looping. She wrote about her love for Blake, her passion for the stars, and her growing illness. And then, a new name appeared. Dr. Evelyn Reed. And something called the "AuraHealth Wellness Program."

[Eliza' s Diary: "Dr. Reed says the program is revolutionary. Experimental, but it' s my only hope. John is so worried, but he agrees. Anything to get me back to my old self, for Blake' s sake." ]

A chill went down my spine. The entry was dated just two months before she died.

I was so engrossed I didn' t hear Blake come in. I was trying to reach a book on a high shelf, climbing a rolling library ladder. My foot slipped. I cried out as I fell, bracing for impact.

But I didn' t hit the floor. Blake had moved with impossible speed, catching me in his arms. My heart hammered against my ribs, from the fall and from his sudden closeness.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded, his voice tight with fear. He held me for a second too long before setting me down, his hands shaking slightly. "You could have broken your neck."

He looked at my ankle, which I' d twisted. "Sit down."

He disappeared and came back with an ice pack and a bandage. He knelt in front of me, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wrapped my ankle. He didn' t say a word, but his focused silence was more comforting than any empty platitude. He was taking care of me.

A few weeks later, it was the anniversary of his mother' s death. The house felt even colder, heavier. I found Eliza' s recipe book. Using the housekeeper' s instructions, I spent all afternoon baking her favorite cake: a lemon and lavender sponge.

When Blake came home, the scent filled the house. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide.

"It' s for your mom," I said quietly. "I thought... we could take it to her."

He just nodded, his throat working. We drove to the cemetery in silence and placed the cake by her headstone. It felt like we were a team, a small, two-person family paying tribute.

His father' s birthday was a few days later. Mr. Sterling made a rare appearance at dinner. He didn' t mention his wife. He didn' t mention the cake. He looked at Blake' s report card, grunted in approval at the straight A' s, and slid an envelope across the table.

"Your allowance," he said, his voice flat and business-like.

Blake stared at the envelope, then at his father, his expression turning to ice. He pushed the envelope back. "I don' t want it."

Mr. Sterling' s jaw tightened. "Don' t be difficult, Blake."

"I' m not being difficult," Blake said, his voice dangerously low. "I just don' t want anything from you."

He stood up and walked out, leaving the envelope and his half-eaten dinner on the table. The air crackled with unspoken resentment.

I knew Blake' s birthday was the following week. He wouldn' t want a party, wouldn' t want a cake. But I had to do something. I spent my meager allowance on a large, framed star chart. It was a map of the constellations on the exact night he was born.

On his birthday, I left it outside his room. I didn' t know if he' d even take it. But later that night, I peeked into his room as I passed by. The door was slightly ajar. He had hung the chart on the wall right next to his telescope. He was just looking at it, his face soft in the dim light.

Over the star chart, a faint line of text glowed.

[Object of Significance: A new star in a dark sky.]

But over Blake' s head, another message flickered, this one a pale, worrying gray.

[Fear of abandonment: Critical. Attachment to Chloe Miller becoming a potential vulnerability.]

I felt a pang of protectiveness. I wouldn't leave him. I wouldn' t let his fear come true. I walked past his door and went to my room, feeling more a part of this broken family than ever before. He was my responsibility. My friend. My brother.