Like that, a month passed.
By then, Daniel had finally understood what Evelyn and Elizabeth were doing.
They were perfectly fine—laughing, talking, sharing quiet moments—right up until he got comfortable. The moment he tried to slip in, act casual, or take advantage of the peace…
War.
This time, he didn't even make it two steps into the room.
The door slammed shut in his face with decisive force, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned.
Daniel stared at the wooden door, then slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor, back against it.
"…Sigh," he muttered, tilting his head back. "Why can't they ever let me join?"
From inside the room came muffled laughter.
Daniel closed his eyes, resigned.
"So this is my life now," he said to no one in particular. "Immortal. Powerful."
He glanced at the door again.
"…And banned from my own room."
He dropped onto the floor and decided it was close enough to a bed. Going to his room felt like far too much work.
"I wonder what my uncle is doing," he thought.
Compared to him, his uncle had always been far more straightforward—no games, no detours, no complicated balancing acts. If he wanted something, he said it. If he chose someone, he stayed with them.
Which made Daniel curious.
How was his uncle's life turning out now? Marriage, relationships… whatever form it had taken. Was it calmer than this? Simpler?
He let out a quiet breath.
"…Or did he somehow end up in trouble too?" Daniel muttered, "just in a much more direct way."
For some reason, that thought almost made him feel better.
Then a muffled clatter echoed from the hall.
"…Huh," he thought. "Visitors. At this hour."
***
Downstairs—
Two thieves crept in, dressed head-to-toe in black cloth, faces wrapped so tightly only their eyes showed.
One of them kicked a display case by accident.
CLONK.
The other froze.
"Idiot," he hissed. "Why did you knock over that case? Do you want to wake the owners up?"
"It was dark!" the first one whispered back. "And whose idea was it to rob a house with carpets everywhere? My foot got stuck."
They both stood still for a full five seconds.
Nothing happened.
The second thief relaxed a little. "See? No—"
"Wow," Daniel's voice cut in calmly from behind them. "That was almost professional."
Both thieves jumped so hard one of them nearly headbutted the other.
"WHAT—?!"
They spun around and saw Daniel standing barefoot, hair messy, clearly just thrown out of his room and deeply unimpressed.
"…Who are you?" one thief demanded, trying to sound brave.
Daniel glanced at their outfits, then at the overturned case.
"Homeowner," he replied. "Temporary exile. And currently in a very bad mood."
The first thief squinted. "You don't look scary."
Daniel nodded. "That's what everyone says. Briefly."
The second thief whispered urgently, "Just knock him out and go!"
"Well, no need to be violent," Daniel said pleasantly, cutting in before either of them could make a move. "Why don't we sit down, have a drink, and talk this through like civilized people?"
The words landed wrong.
Very wrong.
Both thieves froze, half-crouched, fists clenched, brains visibly buffering.
"…Drink?" one of them repeated.
The other narrowed his eyes. "Talk?"
Daniel nodded, as if this were the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Long night. Bad mood. You're already here. Might as well make it productive."
The two stared at him.
This was not how breaking and entering was supposed to go.
The first thief leaned closer to his partner and whispered, "What's wrong with this guy? He's the owner, right?"
"Has to be," the second muttered back. "Nobody this calm isn't either rich or insane."
They glanced at Daniel again. He was still standing there, relaxed, waiting—like he'd invited guests who were late, not burglars in his hall.
The first thief's eyes flicked toward the shelves. "I mean…" he whispered, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "the drinks in a place like this have to be expensive."
The second thief smacked him lightly on the arm. "Don't agree that fast, idiot. If we act desperate, he'll think we're desperate."
"We are desperate," the first thief hissed. "We're robbing houses at night."
"That's beside the point," the second snapped.
"But I really want a drink," the first went on miserably. "It's been a month—my tongue's dry without alcohol. And last time we tried to rob a house, the dog went mad, bit me all over. All the money went to hospital bills."
He lifted his sleeve slightly, as if to show old bandages.
The second thief groaned. "You didn't have to bring that up."
Daniel listened to them bicker, then pinched the bridge of his nose. These two weren't intimidating. They weren't even competent. If they were real thieves, they wouldn't be standing in his hall arguing about dry tongues, dog bites, and hospital bills like it was a support group meeting.
He almost felt pity.
Almost.
Daniel switched on a few lamps, just enough to soften the room into something resembling a late-night drinking spot rather than a crime scene. Then he headed into the kitchen and came back with a bottle, glasses, and some random refreshments.
Jonathan lived here. Heavy drinking came with the territory. There was always alcohol in the house.
Daniel sat down, set the glasses on the table, and poured without hurry.
"So," he said, gesturing with the bottle, "are you two coming, or are you planning to rob me while standing awkwardly?"
The first one cracked almost instantly. He picked up a glass, pulled off his mask, and took a long drink.
"…Ah," he sighed. "That's good."
The second thief stared at him in disbelief. "You didn't even hesitate."
"I've had worse nights," the first replied, wiping his mouth. "At this point, I'll take hospitality where I can get it."
Daniel leaned back, amused. "Glad to hear it."
Men were simple creatures. Even simpler with a drink in hand.
And just like that, the drinking continued.
Empty glasses piled up. Voices grew louder. Complaints grew deeper.
"You two don't understand my problem," Daniel said, setting his glass down with a dull clink. His words were starting to blur, honesty seeping through. "I can see heaven… but I can't enjoy it."
The two thieves nodded along like philosophers.
"Same," the first said solemnly, sloshing his drink. "We see rich houses every night. Can't enjoy a single one."
"Tragic," the second added, equally serious. "Absolutely tragic."
Daniel squinted at them. "You see? You get it."
They raised their glasses together, three miserable men united by alcohol and poor life choices.
"To problems," Daniel muttered.
"To problems," the thieves echoed.
*****
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