Lennox’s POV

Seeing that Olivia was suffering from a headache after our barrage of questions, we decided to leave her alone. We went to the study, where I poured myself a gin.

Did she ever open them? My heart raced—confused and heavy. But that couldn’t be right. “I… I got a response from her,” I said quietly, my voice rough with uncertainty.

Levi turned to me, his eyes wide. “Me too,” he said. “In fact, I got a response just two hours after we gave her the gifts.”

Louis nodded slowly. “Same here. And her response made it clear she saw my gift.”

We all fell silent again. That didn’t make sense. If she never opened the gifts… how did she respond to us?

Louis rubbed his forehead. “Maybe her memory really is messed up,” he muttered. “We should remember, she’s not the same. Her memory isn’t stable anymore.”

But I shook my head firmly. “No. That’s not it.”

Levi spoke, sounding equally certain. “She remembered the wrapping. The exact colors. Down to the ribbons.”

“She didn’t guess,” I added, thinking aloud.

Louis sighed. “She remembered it clearly. But… she said it was from Gabriel.”

A long silence followed.

“She must’ve confused him with us,” Levi said. “Maybe that’s how her mind filled in the blank. We gave her those gifts. Not him.”

I nodded slowly. That felt more plausible.

Louis still looked conflicted. “But… she said she lost her father that day,” he said.

“That’s not true. He didn’t die; he was arrested.”

My stomach twisted.

“Yeah. She might be wrong about that, but remember—he could have been hanged that day if Father hadn’t intervened. Maybe her memory clung to that,” Levi said.

Louis didn’t respond. I stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up.

“What was in them?” I asked suddenly. “Your gifts. What did you two give her?”

They both froze. That question had been buried for years. Ever since her fourteenth birthday, we’d all stopped sharing our ideas as we used to.

We used to plan it together, ever since Olivia turned eight. We’d each get her something and help wrap it. Sometimes we’d even compete over who got the best reaction from her.

But that year… that year was different. We kept it secret. All three of us. We refused to show each other. Even I didn’t let them see mine.

I looked at them now, hoping they’d finally reveal it. But Louis glanced away. Levi’s jaw tightened. Neither spoke. So I didn’t press them.

But I was more curious than ever. What was in those boxes?

Hours later, night had fallen, but my mind wouldn't rest. I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, trying to force myself to sleep. But it wouldn’t come. Too many thoughts. Too many memories. Too many questions. I sighed deeply, dragging my palm over my face. Then… a knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

I sat up immediately, alert. My eyes flicked to the clock—it was well past midnight. Another knock, slightly louder this time. I slipped out of bed, walking over. Even before I touched the handle, I felt it—her scent. Olivia.

I pulled the door open, and there she was. Standing there in one of her oversized shirts, her hair messy from sleep. But what caught me off guard was her face. She was trembling. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but nothing came out for a moment. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

Finally, in a quiet, broken voice, she said, “I had a dream.”

I stepped aside, but she didn’t enter. She just looked up at me, eyes wide and glassy.

“It was Gabriel…” she whispered. “He—he was killed.”

My brows furrowed. Gabriel? Killed? That made no sense.

I stared at her, trying to formulate a response. The dream clearly shook her—her body was still trembling slightly, and she looked pale, as if the nightmare had drained the warmth from her skin. But how was I supposed to explain this? Because I knew, without a doubt, that Gabriel was alive. And more than that—I knew there was no war. But how was I supposed to explain this? How do you tell someone that their mind is lying to them? That what they felt so deeply—what made them tremble like this—might not even be real? How do I explain that her dream might not be a dream at all… or worse, that it might be a false memory in disguise?

I stepped closer, slowly, carefully. “Olivia…” I said softly, my voice steady, “Gabriel’s not—” But I stopped myself. I stepped aside gently, holding the door open. “Come in,” I said softly.

She hesitated. Her feet didn’t move. Her eyes darted around the hallway, as if she feared something lurking in the shadows.

“Olivia,” I said again, more firmly this time. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She finally stepped inside, slowly, as if unsure. I closed the door behind her. She stood in the middle of my room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her shoulders were still shaking a little.

I walked over and placed a hand on her back. “I’ll call tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll find out about Gabriel—just to be sure, alright?”

She looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes. “Please do,” she whispered. “I’m really scared.”

Her voice cracked. I frowned. The fear in her voice wasn’t just from a dream. It was real. I hated seeing her like this.

“You don’t have to go back to your room,” I said quietly. “Stay here tonight.”

She blinked at me. “W–What?”

“Just sleep,” I added quickly. “On the bed. With me. I promise—I won’t touch you, Olivia.”

She shook her head. “No… I–I can’t. It’s not right.”

“I won’t hurt you,” I said softly. “You know that, right?”

She didn’t answer at first. She looked away, chewing on her lower lip. Then, slowly, she nodded.