The car moved quietly as Sofie drove toward home. Ania was asleep in the back seat, her small chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Sofie stole a glance at her through the rearview mirror, relief washing over her that the little girl had finally found some rest after such a long, overwhelming day.
The stillness inside the car was comforting, until Ania's soft voice broke through it.
"Big sis Sofie, I want to see Mr. Nicholson again."
Sofie's heart tightened. Ania's eyes fluttered open, and she sat up, rubbing her sleepy face with tiny hands. Sofie forced a gentle smile.
"We're going home now, Ania. You can ask him more tomorrow."
But Ania's expression shifted. Determination replaced sleepiness in her gaze.
"No. I need to ask him more. Now."
Sofie reached back and touched Ania's shoulder with a steady hand.
"You're tired, sweetheart. We can come back another day."
Ania shook her head stubbornly, her small frame tense.
"No. I want to know now."
Before Sofie could say anything else, Ania's frustration bubbled over into tears and a rare tantrum. Her sobs were small but fierce, and the raw emotion hit Sofie like a wave. Panic fluttered in her chest, this wasn't like Ania at all.
"Okay, okay," Sofie said quickly, trying to keep her voice calm despite the racing thoughts. "We'll turn around. We'll go see Mr. Nicholson again."
She jerked the wheel, tires crunching softly on the gravel as the car reversed. The night air seemed to thicken, the quiet streets suddenly feeling heavier, as if they too held their breath.
As the car pulled back up outside Nicholson's office, Carolina was already hurrying toward them, eyebrows knitted in concern. The sight of Sofie and Ania returning so soon clearly caught her off guard.
"Hey, what's going on? Why did you come back?" she asked, sliding open the door before Sofie could answer.
Ania climbed out, still sniffling, her small face set with stubborn resolve.
"I forgot to ask Mr. Nicholson some things," she said firmly, almost defiantly.
Sofie gave a tired but affectionate smile.
"She's been thinking a lot about what she heard today. Wanted to come back right away."
Carolina's features softened with understanding.
"Alright, let's get inside. I'm sure Nicholson will be ready for more questions."
Taking Ania's hand gently, Carolina led her toward Nicholson's office. The little girl's grip was tight, still trembling slightly from the upset.
Meanwhile, Sofie lingered by the car, pulling out her phone with a sigh. She dialed Slacovich's number, her mind running over everything again, the secrets, the shadows, the weight of history.
"Hey, Slacovich," she said when he picked up. "Just a heads-up, we're going to be home late tonight. Got to follow up on some things with Nicholson. I'll keep you updated."
After hanging up, Sofie took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and stepped inside. Whatever lay ahead, they couldn't afford to wait.
Carolina gently guided Ania down the dimly lit hallway toward Nicholson's office. The walls were lined with old paintings, faded with time but still holding a quiet power. Each canvas told a story from the past, stories whispered in shadows, half-forgotten but never gone.
Ania's steps slowed, her attention caught by one painting in particular. She stopped midway, eyes fixed on the image before her.
The painting showed the first Queen seated on her throne, regal and proud, her face tight with displeasure. Beside her stood the Traitor King Uldeir, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder. His smile was cold, almost mocking. The Queen's eyes, however, were sharp and full of silent fury.
But Ania's gaze wasn't on the figures themselves. Instead, she was staring at the reflection in the background, the faint image captured in the glass window behind them.
It was subtle, almost hidden, but to Ania it was unmistakable. Something alive flickered there, watching from the shadows of the painting.
She blinked, then leaned closer, curiosity and unease mixing in her young eyes.
Carolina noticed the pause and slowed beside her. "You see something?" she asked softly.
Ania didn't answer at first. Her voice came out barely a whisper. "There's someone behind them. In the glass."
Carolina frowned, studying the painting. "It's just the window reflection," she said cautiously. But even as she spoke, a shiver ran down her spine.
Ania nodded, still unsettled. "No. Not just a reflection."
The hallway felt colder all of a sudden, the silence stretching tight around them. They stood there a moment longer before Carolina gently took Ania's hand again, urging her forward.
"There's more waiting inside," Carolina said quietly. "We should go."
Ania hesitated, then followed, her mind still tangled in the shadows of that old painting.
When they finally reached Nicholson's office, the warm glow from the desk lamp spilled softly into the hallway. Nicholson looked up just as they entered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, well," he said, nodding toward Ania. "Back so soon, little investigator? And this time, try not to fall asleep during our talks. I have a feeling you'll want to hear every single word."
Ania blinked, a faint smile breaking through her earlier worry.
Sofie stepped inside behind them, giving Nicholson a nod of thanks. "Thanks for staying up with us, Nicholson. We appreciate it."
Nicholson shrugged lightly. "It's nothing. These things can't wait, it seems."
Ania settled into a chair nearby, her eyes still curious and wide as she prepared herself for more answers.
Ania sat forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Mr. Nicholson, can you tell me more about the Shadow Guards? How do they really work? I want to understand everything."
Nicholson smiled and said, "I already told your big sister everything, but since you're asking, I'll explain it again in a way that's easier to understand."
He then patiently went over the story of the Shadow Guards and the royal bloodline, using simpler words and examples so Ania could follow along.
Ania listened carefully, nodding as the pieces started to fit together in her mind.
"…and the one who led the attack, the man who started it all, was Uldeir," Nicholson said as he continued explaining.
At the sound of the name, Ania's head perked up.
"Uldeir?" she repeated, interrupting him. "Do you have a picture of him? Like… what he looked like?"
Nicholson blinked in surprise, then chuckled softly. "Well, we don't exactly have photographs from that era, but there is an old painting. We managed to recover one where he stood beside Queen Nimpha. It's actually hanging right outside this office, in the hallway."
Ania's eyes widened slightly. "Is it the one where the man is smiling really big, and he has one hand on the Queen's shoulder… but the Queen isn't smiling at all?"
Nicholson raised a brow. "You saw that?"
Ania gave a little nod. "I saw it when we came in earlier. The Queen looked... uncomfortable. Like she didn't want to be there."
Sofie, standing nearby, glanced at Ania with new curiosity in her eyes. Nicholson leaned back slightly in his chair, thoughtful now.
"That's the one," he said. "Interesting that you noticed that much."
Ania tilted her head, clearly still thinking hard. "I don't think that painting was just for decoration."
Nicholson and Sofie exchanged a glance.
"You might be right," he said. "There's more truth in old art than most people realize."
Ania suddenly hopped down from her seat and tugged on Nicholson's sleeve.
"Come with me," she said, already heading for the door.
Nicholson blinked. "Where are we going, little investigator?"
She didn't answer right away, just kept walking down the hallway until she stopped in front of the same painting that had caught her attention earlier. Sofie and Carolina followed curiously behind.
"There," Ania said, pointing at the canvas. "That's the one."
Nicholson stepped beside her, nodding. "Yes, that's Uldeir. And Queen Nimpha."
Ania's eyes didn't leave the painting. Her finger moved slightly, aiming not at Uldeir or the Queen, but at the glass window painted in the background.
"Who's that?" she asked. "In the reflection?"
Nicholson leaned closer, eyes narrowing. For a moment, there was silence.
The reflection on the window wasn't just vague brushwork. A shadowy figure stood behind the Queen, blurry, but unmistakably intentional.
"Was this painting done by a real painter?" Ania asked next, her tone innocent, as if just curious.
Nicholson turned to her, still focused on the canvas. "Yes. Royals always hired skilled painters for portraits. Cameras weren't around back then, so portraits were done by hand."
Ania nodded slowly, then tilted her head.
"So… did the painter paint himself, too? In the background?"
Everyone froze for a second. Their eyes moved back to the reflection, the vague face captured behind the Queen. It wasn't smiling. And it didn't belong to either person in the foreground.
Carolina stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought that was just part of the window."
Nicholson's jaw clenched slightly. "No. That was done on purpose. Painters back then… they were careful. And symbolic."
Sofie stared harder at the figure behind the glass. "Then who was watching her from the other side?"
Ania stayed quiet, still looking up at the reflection like she was waiting for it to speak.
Nicholson stepped back slightly, eyes still locked on the shadowed figure behind the glass in the painting. His expression shifted, no longer amused, but thoughtful, almost disturbed.
"That painter…" he muttered under his breath. "This style, these brushstrokes, they were always too exact. Too real."
Sofie glanced at him. "You know who painted this?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I've seen this signature before," he finally said, pointing to the faint etching in the lower corner of the canvas. "But this one's different… something's off."
Ania continued to stare at the figure in the reflection. Her voice came soft, like a child commenting on something strange they couldn't quite name.
"He's still watching her."
Carolina swallowed, her arms wrapping around herself.
Nicholson stepped closer again, squinting at the shadowy face.
"We need to look into this," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I'll dig up the painter's records. This wasn't just a portrait."
Sofie gently placed a hand on Ania's shoulder.
"Let's call it a night for now," she said, even though the heaviness in her chest warned her it was far from over.
Ania gave one last glance at the window's reflection, then turned back toward the hallway.
The painting remained still on the wall, but something about it felt different now. Like it had finally been seen.