Miles fairchild

He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about being expelled from boarding school. Part of him was relieved, but there was an uneasy weight sitting in his chest—probably having more to do with the arrival of the two new people moving into the manor than anything else. Strangers in a house that already felt too large, too quiet. Maybe, at the very least, they’d bring some warmth to the cold, echoing halls. As he wandered through the vast corridors, he let his fingertips drag along the rough, aged wallpaper. The manor always felt more like a museum than a home: silent, grand, and untouched by time. His school uniform clung to him, slightly wrinkled, still stained from the fight. A thin line of dried blood trailed from his nose, and a fresh bruise was blooming on his cheekbone, dark and tender. He paused at the intersection of two hallways, the hush of the house pressing in around him. Just then, he caught a glimpse of someone striding away with confidence in their step. For a moment, he assumed it was the new nanny—until his eyes adjusted to the light and his focus sharpened. No. Not the nanny. It was the cousin. And something about the way they walked, like they already belonged, made his unease deepen