By the time they got back home, the house had settled into that after-party quiet where the air still felt warm, but the noise had drained away. Most of the cleaning was already done. The counters were wiped, the table was mostly clear, and the only things left were a few plates and cutleries waiting to be put away properly. Sorianne hung her cardigan on the usual hook, slipped her boots off at the door, and walked into the kitchen with Aunt Vee behind her.

Her eyes caught a note stuck to the fridge.

She went to it immediately, peeled it off with careful fingers, and read it out of habit, like notes on fridges were small mysteries meant to be solved. Vee, who was holding a stack of clean plates, tilted her head. “What does it say?”

Sorianne looked up, still smiling faintly. “Uncle Trunde cleaned most of everything. But he went out to help a neighbour. Something about a broken staircase.”

Aunt Vee paused mid-step, then made a sound that was half disbelief and half pride she refused to admit.

“Of course he did,” she muttered. “On one hand, marrying a handyman is a blessing. On the other hand, I still can’t believe the man actually cleans.”

Sorianne laughed softly, the kind of laugh that felt easy and safe.

“The more you know,” she said.

Aunt Vee narrowed her eyes in a playful way. “Don’t get used to it.”

Sorianne lifted her hands in surrender. “I won’t.”

She moved toward the stairs, already thinking about the sunroom and the unfinished painting waiting for her. The light she had captured yesterday still felt fresh in her mind. She could almost feel the colour on the tip of her brush again.

“I’m going to change,” Sorianne said. “Then I’ll paint a bit more.”

Vee was placing cutleries into the drawer when she spoke, voice firm enough to stop a teenager mid-step.

“Sori.”

Sorianne turned, one foot already on the first stair.

Aunt Vee held up a plate as if it was evidence. “Before you disappear into your painting cave, you promised.”

Sorianne blinked, then her face shifted as memory caught up with her. She had promised.

Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Oh. Right.”

Vee gave her a look that carried love and mild annoyance in equal measure. “You got caught up today and forgot, didn’t you?”

Sorianne’s smile turned sheepish. “A little.”

Vee snorted. “You’re exactly like your mother, alright.”

That made Sorianne laugh again, quieter this time. She nodded once and headed upstairs, moving quicker now, half eager to paint and half curious about what her aunt wanted to say. A few minutes later, she returned in lounge clothes, hair tied up so it wouldn’t fall into paint. She didn’t go back to the kitchen. She walked straight into the sunroom, set her phone reference beside her palette, and began mixing colours again. She didn’t paint with frantic speed this time. It was steadier. More controlled. Like the earlier excitement had settled into commitment.

Downstairs, Vee continued putting things away. Plate by plate. Fork by fork. Her hands moved automatically, the way they did when her mind was somewhere else.

Sorianne was young. Sweet. Vulnerable in a way that didn’t show until you looked closely. Vee paused with a towel in her hand and stared at the counter without seeing it.

She had to tell Sorianne.

It wasn’t a decision she wanted to make today. She would have preferred more time. She would have liked Sorianne to be older, more steady in herself, less likely to take something serious and carry it alone.

But Thea had asked her. And Vee had promised.

She finished the last of the kitchen tasks, took a breath that didn’t fully calm her, and checked the clock.

About thirty minutes passed.

Then she went upstairs. Her steps were quiet. The house creaked softly in the places it always did. She stopped outside the sunroom door for a moment, listening. A faint scratch of brush on canvas. The soft clink of a palette knife against a glass jar. Sorianne humming under her breath, barely audible.

Aunt Vee pushed the door open.

Sorianne looked up immediately, eyes bright. Her cheeks had a faint flush from focus. A little paint smudge sat on one knuckle.

Vee raised an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting the artist prodigy?”

Sorianne’s smile came easy. “Never.”

Vee stepped inside and the room felt warmer just from having her there. She sat on the small sofa, posture careful, hands resting on her lap like she didn’t know where to put them.

She patted the cushion beside her. “Come here.”

Sorianne wiped her hands quickly, set the brush down, and crossed the room. She sat beside her aunt, close enough that her shoulder almost brushed hers. She tried to act normal, but she couldn’t hide the sparkle of curiosity. Her body leaned slightly forward.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

Vee looked at her for a long moment carefully as if she was checking Sorianne’s face for readiness.

Then she spoke.

“Before I tell you anything,” Vee said, voice low and serious, “it has to stay in this family.”

Sorianne’s smile faded into attention. She sat up straighter, suddenly aware that this was not a casual conversation. Vee continued, steady and firm. “Nothing leaves this house. Nothing goes outside. It stays between you, me, and Uncle Trunde.”

Sorianne swallowed. Her fingers curled slightly in her lap. She nodded with a timid seriousness. “Okay,” she said. “I promise.”

Vee watched her closely, then nodded once, satisfied.

She took a slow breath.

“If it were up to me,” Vee said quietly, “I would wait until you’re older.”

Sorianne’s brows knit, worry starting to rise in her eyes. Vee reached out and covered Sorianne’s hand with her own. “This isn’t a punishment. And you’re not in trouble.”

Sorianne nodded again, small and tense. “Okay.”

Vee’s throat tightened for a moment before she spoke again.

“Your mother asked me to tell you,” she said. “It was her request. She wanted it done now.”

Sorianne’s heart seemed to pick up speed. Her eyes stayed locked on her aunt’s face. Vee took another breath, deeper this time, and her voice changed slightly. It carried the weight of something that had been carried for years.

“The Valynn family has a secret,” she said. “Something that’s been passed down through generations.”

Sorianne barely moved. Only her eyes widened. Vee kept her gaze steady, even though her own chest felt tight.

“It’s magic,” she said, simple and direct. “Magic that lets us enter canvases.”

Sorianne stared at her, frozen in place, like her mind was trying to decide whether it had heard correctly. Vee squeezed her hand once, grounding her. Truth finally opened its door.