Alexis Phokas paused.
"My reaction was rude and unfair," Junior continued after his apology. "I didn't realize you'd be here, but that's not your fault."
"Apology accepted," Alexis responded without pause, "but unnecessary. I am capable of inferring the circumstances."
Her gaze flicked pointedly toward Orestes.
"I am not here at your discretion, Mr. Stoneberg," she said. "You are not my client. Mr. Stoneberg the younger is."
Alexis studied Junior again, more carefully this time.
It had been years since she'd last seen him in person.
"You've changed," she said at last. "Grown."
Junior nodded; polite but guarded.
"I suppose that was inevitable," he replied.
Alexis' lips twitched, not quite a smile.
"Not always," she said. "I've seen people reach adulthood without ever truly arriving."
Junior flinched but nodded again. Orestes made a soft sound in his throat, halfway between agreement and amusement.
Alexis ignored both.
"You didn't contact me," she continued. "You were diligent about returning my messages once. Even when you disagreed with them."
"That was a long time ago," Junior said.
"Yes," she agreed. "It was."
She shifted her weight subtly, then turned on her heel. She returned to her previous chair and sat, then looked to Orestes, one eyebrow raised.
Orestes caught the meaning of the wordless rebuke instantly. To his credit, he owned up to it immediately.
"It seems it's my turn to apologize," he said as he stepped toward Junior. He briefly offered his palm for Achilles to sniff, then scratched the dog's head as he continued to speak. "I'm a poor host today. Please, let me help you find a seat."
"Thank you, Uncle Orestes," Junior agreed. He knew better than to argue, or worse, to try to have Achilles guide him. This was Orestes' house and personal domain. To reject his offered hospitality would be an insult more dire than his tradition-bound uncle would bear quietly.
Orestes took Junior gently by the arm and guided him to a free chair. Junior heard Achilles padding along beside him, but he also heard the rustle of clothes and shifting weight as Millie rocked on her heels.
"Don't worry, Miss Averry," Orestes said before Junior could think of something to say. "I haven't forgotten you. Please, take any seat you like."
Millie mumbled something vaguely polite and found a seat for herself.
Alexis watched the exchange without comment. Only when Orestes had returned to his seat did she speak again.
"When the court appointed me," she said, "you were eight years old. You refused to speak to anyone you didn't already know. You memorized voices instead of faces. You corrected adults when they lied to you. Which was often."
Junior stiffened.
Millie glanced between them.
"You learned very early," Alexis went on evenly, "that silence could be a shield. You used it well."
"That's not why I'm here," Junior said, more sharply than he intended.
"No," Alexis said. "It isn't. But it is why I am."
The words landed quietly, but Junior felt them nonetheless. The familiar burden. The weight of his past. The father whom he still didn't know if he was supposed to love or hate. The mother he definitely loved, but who'd killed his father right in front of him. He'd been a child, in pain and blind, but he still remembered.
Some acts could never be forgotten.
"You have avoided assuming responsibility for the Trust for over a decade," she said. "Not out of defiance. But because engagement requires reopening doors you would rather keep closed."
Orestes placed the butt of his cane between his feet and folded his hands over its head; satisfied but restrained.
Junior exhaled through his nose.
"And yet," Alexis continued, "here we are. Together again."
Her eyes flicked briefly to the room. The old stone, the weight of family history embedded in the walls.
"You came seeking answers," she said. "Just not from me."
Junior hesitated. "Yes," he admitted finally. "That's true."
"Then understand this. Whatever questions you intend to put to your uncle, they do not suspend the Trust. They do not pause the courts. And they do not absolve you of the choices you have deferred."
"I never asked for any of it," Junior said quietly. A protest, albeit a perfunctory one.
"I know," Alexis replied.
She said it without pity. Without softness. But not without memory.
"No child does."
The room fell silent again.
Orestes shifted at last.
"This is precisely why I asked you here," he said. "The boy stands at a threshold. He will not cross it without being made to see-"
"Enough. This is not a family council. And I will not allow my role to be repurposed as leverage in whatever scheme you're currently advancing."
Orestes inclined his head, conceding the point without surrendering it.
Alexis turned back to Junior.
"Ask your questions," Alexis said. "But when you are finished, you and I will speak about the Trust. Not as an inheritance or as a burden. But as unresolved business."
Junior registered the faint shift of fabric from across the room: Millie adjusting in her chair. He exhaled and let his attention settle there, grounding himself.
"Hey," he said quietly, angling his head in her direction. "You okay?"
"Don't worry about me, my dude," Millie replied just as softly. "I can tell you've got a lot going on. I can come back later if you want."
Before Junior could answer, Orestes leaned back in his chair, reclaiming the moment with practiced ease.
"I'm sure Lyra would be delighted to offer you a tour," he said. "If she hasn't already. Taft can summon her."
Junior frowned.
"No," he said to his uncle. "I want her to stay." Then, to Millie again, more quietly. "Please."
Millie nodded, forgetting Junior's blindness momentarily, but she recovered quickly. "No problem, you got it."
Junior oriented on his uncle again. He scratched briefly at the side of his neck, then let his hand fall.
"What do your beliefs tell you about the System?" he asked.
He emphasized the word 'System'. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough.
He was acutely aware of Alexis Phokas' presence now, of the way silence around that word carried differently depending on who heard it.
The System was common knowledge, but his status as Reclaimed was not.
And he preferred to keep it that way where Alexis was concerned.
Orestes studied him for a moment.
"You ask about belief," he said. His fingers wrapped around his cane's handle as he propped it up before him. "Very well. I will answer you honestly, though I doubt you will like the shape of it."
Junior nodded, reining in his impatience. This was why he'd come.
"Faith," Orestes continued, "does not begin with this System. It predates it. By centuries, depending on how one measures continuity. Palea's oldest religions are not unified. They never were. They are regional, maritime, and insular. Island faiths shape themselves around absence as much as presence."
Junior listened. Alexis watched him without expression. Millie shifted slightly, attentive but reserved.
"The sea is not merely a domain," Orestes said. "It is authority. It decides who trades, who starves, who vanishes without burial. It always has. So it is no surprise that the god who rules it also rules the rest."
Junior frowned faintly.
"Poseidon," he said.
"Yes," Orestes replied. "Poseidon. King of the gods."
Alexis' brow twitched almost imperceptibly, but she did not interrupt.
"Not a storm-bringer alone," Orestes said. "Not merely a wrathful figure to be placated. He is law. Boundary. Passage. The one who grants safe crossing — or denies it."
"That isn't how he's usually depicted," Junior said carefully.
Orestes leaned forward slightly.
"Depictions change. Authority does not. Our oldest hymns describe a sea-court. Later writers tried to impose hierarchies on it." He shook his head. "That was never how it functioned. Gods of current and depth. Of pressure. Of time measured in erosion rather than years."
"And where are they now?" Junior asked.
The question landed softly, but it was the first true probe.
Orestes' smile faded.
"Unseen," he said. "Withdrawn. Bound."
Millie glanced at Junior, then back to Orestes.
"Which?" she asked.
Orestes inclined his head to her, acknowledging the challenge without yielding.
"The language differs," he said. "Some texts say they are barred from Palea. Others say they chose exile rather than rule a world that turned from them. A few speak of imprisonment."
"By whom?" Junior asked.
Orestes' fingers tightened on the cane.
"That," he said, "is where the record fractures."
Silence stretched.
"The sea has been quieter since," Orestes added. "More predictable. Governed by instruments instead of auguries. We learned to cross it without asking permission."
Junior absorbed that.
"And you believe," he said slowly, "that's changing."
Orestes met his nephew's direction squarely.
"I believe," he said, "that when boundaries weaken, old authorities take notice."
Junior exhaled softly through his nose. He could feel his exasperation mounting.
"Belief is not evidence."
"No," Orestes agreed. "But neither is absence proof of nonexistence."
Junior's jaw tightened.
He had asked for context. He had been given belief.
Useful, perhaps — but not enough.
Not anymore.
Junior drew a slow breath.
"That isn't an answer," he said. Not accusatory. Not yet.
Orestes tilted his head. "It is context."
"It's your context," Junior replied forcefully. "History. Destiny. Obligation."
A pause.
"You used those words before. When we spoke last."
Orestes' expression did not change, but Junior felt a shift. The stillness deepened, the way water does when something large passes beneath it.
"You talked about the Stoneberg name as something that endured," Junior continued carefully. "Not because it was powerful, but because it survived. Because some families aren't erased when things break. They're… shaped by it."
Millie shifted, sensing the turn.
"You said the world remembers who it leans on," Junior went on. "Even if it pretends it doesn't."
Orestes' fingers rested still on the cane.
"I said something like that," he replied.
"So when the System appeared," Junior said, his voice steady but thin, "and it started talking about thresholds, and roles, and failure states — you didn't hear disruption."
He leaned forward a fraction.
"You heard recognition."
Silence.
Alexis watched both men now, attention sharpened but unreadable.
Orestes did not deny it.
"I heard resonance," he said at last. "A pattern reasserting itself."
Junior's jaw clenched.
"Then stop speaking to me like I'm a student of myths," he said. "And tell me why you sound less surprised by what's happening than I am."
The words hung there; not an accusation, but a line drawn.
Orestes regarded him for a long moment.
"That," he said quietly, "is a more dangerous question."
And for the first time since the conversation began, he did not elaborate.