Evangeline spent the daytime hours occupied with prayers and sermons. Only after the sun had set did she finally find time to see Sylas. Once or twice during the day, her thoughts wandered briefly toward the evening. Betty seemed to have noticed the change. 

One afternoon she remarked, “You seem happier these days, Sister.”

Evangeline offered a small smile.

“Seeing the villagers come each day to pay their reverence brings my mind ease and my heart joy.”

Betty looked at her for a moment longer, as though unconvinced, but said nothing more. She was certain it was little Ben, the new calf, that had put Evangeline in such good spirits.

Each evening she returned to the clean, orderly library. A glass of water waited on the table, as it did every twilight, and Sylas sat nearby, absorbed in a book. 

Whenever he saw her enter, he would offer a gentle smile and pull out a chair for her.

“There was a passage in this text that I thought you might appreciate,” he said, sliding the volume toward her.

Evangeline leaned closer to read the passage, the candlelight falling across the page between them. Their shoulders almost brushed, though neither of them noticed it.

She read the passage carefully before lifting her gaze.

“It is a thoughtful passage,” she said. “I am glad you shared it with me.”

Sylas lowered his eyes briefly, as though unsure how to receive the praise. When he looked up again, both of them seemed to realize the closeness they shared. For a moment neither moved. Then they each leaned back a little.

“Thank you,” he said.

Evangeline caught the slight fluster in his voice, though she made no remark.

They returned to their books, and the quiet of the library settled around them once more. After a while, Evangeline turned a page, only to realize she had not truly read the last few lines.

She lifted her eyes briefly, only to find Sylas still reading across from her.

Unbeknownst to her, Sylas was equally unable to focus on the prose before him. His gaze drifted again and again toward Evangeline, who appeared absorbed in the poetry book in her hands.

Now and then she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, sometimes even whispering a few of the lines to herself. The quiet of the library made every small sound seem clearer.

Evangeline murmured another line softly to herself, her voice barely louder than the turning of a page. 

Sylas realized he had been watching her for longer than he should have. 

Just then she lifted her head slightly, and he quickly lowered his eyes to his book. The soft rustle of pages was the only sound that followed.

Over the following days, the evenings in the library became something of a routine. 

That morning, sunlight poured through the tall stained glass of the church with unyielding force. The church was busier than it had been in days.

By the time evening approached, Evangeline was parched and hungry. She went first to the library, but silence greeted her there.

For a moment she stood frozen at the doorway. Then she climbed the stairs to the hallway. Empty.

She did not find him anywhere until she checked the kitchen.

There he stood, chopping something with swift dexterity.

Evangeline lingered at the doorway, catching her breath as she watched his back.

When he suddenly turned around, she stepped back and looked away before quickly regaining her composure.

The scent of onions and herbs drifted faintly through the room. The butter melted in the pan with a soft bubbling sound.

“I thought you had left again,” Evangeline said.

Sylas shook his head lightly.

“Oh, no. It seemed to be a busy day for you. I heard many footsteps from downstairs and thought you might be hungry.”

He gestured toward the pan.

“So I decided to cook something for you.”

Evangeline watched him in silence, unsure how to respond. 

“You need not have done that.” 

Sylas looked up and met her eyes.

“It was no trouble. I wanted to.”

He plated her meal on a clean white porcelain plate and set it on the table before her. For himself, he filled a goblet with animal blood. He had taken to refilling a vial from the northern forest every fortnight.

They sat opposite each other. Evangeline bowed her head and said a quiet prayer before eating, while Sylas observed in silence.

When she finished with a soft Amen, they began their meal. The quiet clink of the cutlery was the only sound between them. 

In the middle of their meal, the candle flickered as the wick burned unevenly.

Sylas reached forward to trim it just as Evangeline did. Their hands nearly met above the wavering flame.

A sudden warmth passed between them.

Startled, they both withdrew at once. 

Evangeline returned to her plate, though she found herself suddenly aware of how close he was sitting across the table. 

Sylas continued sipping from his goblet, though his thoughts kept drifting across from him. Beneath the table, he rubbed his fingers together where they had nearly brushed hers, as if recalling the warmth of that brief contact.

The dinner ended in silence, though something restless lingered between them.

The following day, Evangeline spoke to him.

“I may have to travel to a nearby village for a few days,” she said. “There is an orphanage there that needs my aid.”

Sylas looked up from the manuscript he had been holding.

“For long?” he asked. The concern in Sylas’ voice surprised even him.

“I… I do not know.” Evangeline replied. “It should not be more than a week.”

Sylas nodded slowly. 

“The roads can be unpredictable. Travel safely.”

Evangeline retired to her chamber to pack her belongings for the journey. 

Left alone, Sylas tried to return to his book, but the words refused to settle in his mind. His gaze drifted instead to the ceiling above, listening to the silence that had settled through the church.

Evangeline’s carriage departed from the church grounds early that morning. The villagers gathered to bid her farewell.

None of them noticed the tall figure standing at the top of the bell tower, watching the carriage disappear along the winding road, his brows furrowed with unspoken concern.