Sion had just stepped past the orphanage gate when Darius called out to him.
"Sion."
He turned, one brow lifting slightly at the sight of the knight standing there, as though he had been waiting.
"What is it?" Sion asked, his tone light, almost idle. Then, with a faint smirk, he added, "Don't tell me you came to see me off. You'll miss me that much?"
Darius stiffened, caught off guard as always. A flush crept up his neck.
"I—yes… and no," he admitted, fumbling slightly.
Sion watched him for a moment, amusement flickering in his eyes. But it did not last.
There was something off.
Darius's posture, the way his gaze lingered but did not quite meet Sion's it lacked the usual straightforwardness he carried.
The teasing faded.
"…What is it?" Sion asked again, more quietly this time.
"What is it?" he asked at last. "What do you want to talk about?"
Darius opened his mouth, then closed it again.
For someone who faced battlefields without hesitation, this felt strangely more difficult.
"…How much do you trust Eiran?" he asked instead.
Sion's brows drew together slightly.
The question was unexpected.
"I trust him more than you think," Sion replied without pause. His tone was calm, but there was a faint edge beneath it. "Why ask that all of a sudden?"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Did he do something?"
Darius shook his head quickly. "No. Not exactly. I just…"
He hesitated again, weighing his words.
"I'm not certain yet."
Sion's patience thinned. "Then stop circling around it and speak plainly."
Darius exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
"There was a murder," he began. "Five victims. All connected to former nobles who served the queen consort."
Sion's gaze sharpened, though he remained silent.
Then, without another word, he reached into his coat and pulled something out.
A dagger.
He held it out between them.
Sion's eyes fell on it—and recognition struck instantly.
The design. The balance. The faint engraving near the hilt.
Eiran's initials.
"This was found at the scene," Darius said. "It's suspected to be the weapon used."
Silence settled between them, heavier now.
Both of them knew.
They had seen that dagger countless times. In Eiran's hand. At his side. Always within reach.
Sion let out a quiet scoff, his expression turning cold.
"…So what?" he said. "You think Eiran did it?"
Darius did not answer immediately.
And that silence ...was enough.
Sion's gaze hardened.
"You're serious," he said flatly.
Darius stepped forward slightly. "I'm not saying he did. I'm saying we don't know yet."
Sion crossed his arms. "Eiran is not stupid. If he were a killer, he wouldn't leave something like that behind."
Darius met his gaze. "What if that's exactly the point?"
Sion stilled.
"What if," Darius continued, "he left it there on purpose? To make it look too obvious. To make us think he couldn't possibly be the one because it would be foolish."
Sion's jaw tightened.
"That's your reasoning?" he said, his voice sharpening. "To suspect someone based on assumptions?"
"I'm asking you to be careful," Darius replied. "Until we know the truth—"
"I already know the truth."
Sion's voice cut through his.
Clear.Certain.
"I trust Eiran," he said. "And I know he didn't do it."
Darius frowned. "Sion—"
"Are you seriously suggesting that I doubt the man who stayed by my side all these years?" Sion's voice rose, anger surfacing now without restraint. "You may not know this, but I've long since considered him a friend not just an aide."
The words struck deeper than intended.
Darius felt it.
Still, he did not step back.
"I understand that," he said quietly. "But—"
"No," Sion cut in sharply. "You don't."
There was a brief pause.
Sion stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "If Eiran wanted to harm me, he would have done so long ago. Especially when I left the palace. There were countless chances."
Darius had no answer to that.
Sion took a step back.
"So stop this," he said, his voice colder now. "Unless you want me to start hating you again."
The air between them turned brittle.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Sion turned and walked away.
This time, there was no pause. No glance back.
"…I'm sorry," Darius said quietly to his retreating figure.
But Sion did not stop.
After a moment, Darius called again, softer now. "Let me at least escort you. I can take you back—"
"No need," Sion replied without turning. "You seem busy enough already. I wouldn't want to disturb you."
And with that, he was gone.
Darius stood there for a long moment after Sion disappeared from sight.
The dagger felt heavier in his hand now.
"…Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
But the unease in his chest did not fade.
If anything, it deepened.
"…I'll find the truth," he muttered to himself.
His gaze hardened.
Because whether Eiran was guilty or not did not matter yet.
If there was even the slightest chance...
Even the smallest possibility...
That Sion could be harmed…
He would not forgive it.
By the time Sion reached the house, the sun had already set.
The sky was dim, painted in deep shades of fading gold and blue.
As he approached the gate, he saw a familiar figure in the yard.
Eiran.
He was sweeping lightly, movements unhurried, as though it were just another ordinary evening.
When he noticed Sion, his expression brightened immediately.
"You're back," he said, waving his hand as greeting.
Sion paused.
For a brief moment, Darius's words echoed in his mind.
Be careful.
His gaze lingered on Eiran—on the familiar ease, the unguarded expression, the way he had always been.
Then Sion scoffed inwardly.
Ridiculous.
There was no way.
"…You're back late," Eiran said, setting the broom aside.
"Had things to do," Sion replied casually, stepping closer as if nothing had passed through his thoughts at all.
Dinner passed quietly at first.
The usual rhythm returned. The clink of utensils, the faint sound of the wind outside, the simple comfort of routine.
Still, something lingered at the edges of Sion's mind.
He watched Eiran more closely than usual, though he disguised it well.
At some point, as if the question had come to him idly, Sion spoke.
"Where's your dagger?" he asked.
Eiran paused.
Just for a moment.
"My dagger?" Eiran repeated.
"The one you always carry," Sion said, his tone light. "I haven't seen it today."
Eiran scratched the back of his neck slightly, looking almost sheepish.
"Ah… that."
He chuckled softly.
"I left it at my parents' place," he said. "When I visited a few days ago. Must've slipped my mind."
Sion's gaze flickered.
"…I see."
The answer came easily. Naturally.
There was no hesitation in his voice. No sign of strain.
The tension in Sion's chest eased—if only slightly.
See?he thought. There's nothing to it.
Darius was overthinking.
As usual.
Later that night, as usual, Eiran brought him tea.
"Drink this," he said, setting it down beside him. "It'll help you sleep better."
Sion took it without much thought.
"Thanks."
Eiran gave a small nod before leaving him alone.
He lay down not long after.
The events of the day drifted through his thoughts, slower now, softened by fatigue.
Darius's expression.
The dagger.
Eiran's answer.
"…Tch."
Sion turned slightly, staring up at the ceiling.
Come to think of it…
Eiran had never really spoken much about his parents.
Where they lived. What they were like.
The thought lingered, faint but persistent.
I'll ask tomorrow, Sion decided.
But the drowsiness had already begun to take hold.
His eyelids grew heavy.
The warmth of the tea settled deeper, pulling him toward sleep.
Unaware of how fragile that sense of certainty truly was.