Ink & Crown

Chapter 69 – An Unexpected Recommendation

The narrow room was filled with quiet movement.

Eiran stood near the small window, a newly bought book held open in one hand, its edges already slightly worn from repeated reading as he paced slowly across the floor, his steps measured and deliberate. His eyes moved quickly across the page, then lifted as he stopped mid-step, his expression shifting with sudden intensity.

“No,” he muttered, turning slightly as if addressing someone unseen. “You’re overlooking the obvious.”

He lowered the book just enough to glance ahead, his gaze sharp now, focused on a point that did not exist.

“The answer was never hidden,” he continued, his voice steady but firm. “You simply refused to see it.”

For a moment, he held that expression, letting the silence linger as if waiting for a response.

Then he exhaled softly and looked back down at the page.

From the doorway, Taren Halvek watched without interrupting.

He had arrived a few moments earlier, quiet as always, and had simply remained there. It was not an unusual sight. His nephew had always been like this, completely absorbed whenever something captured his interest, but there was something different this time.

It was not just imitation, there was a deliberate understanding behind it, and he was interpreting it in his own way.

Eiran moved again, this time slower, as if carefully retracing the steps of a thought. His brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed as something seemed to click into place. He closed the book halfway, holding it against his chest as he spoke again, quieter now.

“It fits,” he said, almost to himself. “It all fits.”

Taren’s gaze shifted briefly to the cover of the book.

The title was unfamiliar, and that alone was enough to catch his attention.

Eiran had always had a sharp eye when it came to stories, much like himself. Not in the way most people judged them, not based on what was popular or widely praised, but on something harder to define.

He did not follow trends or popularity, but instinct, and more often than not, he was right.

Taren had learned to trust that over time.

He noticed structure, pacing, and the way a character carried a scene. It was not something he talked about often, but it showed in moments like this.

Which was why, seeing him this engrossed, in a way he had not seen in a while, he chose not to interrupt.

Instead, he stepped forward quietly and placed a hand on Eiran’s shoulder.

Eiran flinched slightly, pulled out of his concentration, then turned quickly. The moment he saw Taren, his expression changed immediately.

“Uncle,” he said, almost relieved, then without hesitation he pushed the book into his hands. “You came at the right time. You need to read this.”

Taren raised a brow slightly. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Eiran replied, already nodding. “It’s not just good. It’s different. You’ll see.”

There was no exaggeration in his tone.

That was what made Taren pause.

He glanced down at the book again, turning it slightly in his hands. The cover was good, still nothing particularly eye-catching for him, but he found himself pausing on it a moment longer than expected.

“Where did you get it?” he asked.

“At the bookstore we usually go to,” Eiran said. “The owner recommended it. Said quite a few people have been buying it recently, and it’s picking up slowly.”

Taren nodded once, though his attention had already shifted.

Without another word, he opened the book.

Eiran watched him for a moment, then stepped back slowly, as if careful not to break whatever was about to begin. He moved toward the door, his movements quieter now, and slipped out of the room, closing it gently behind him.

In the small hallway outside, Lysa was just about to step in.

Eiran caught her arm lightly. “Wait, Mom.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “What is it?”

“He’s reading now,” Eiran said, lowering his voice instinctively. “Don’t disturb him.”

Lysa frowned slightly. “He just got back. He hasn’t even eaten yet.”

Eiran gave a small, awkward smile. “He will eat later.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “You both uncle and nephew are always the same when it comes to books. The moment you find something interesting, you forget everything else.”

Eiran did not deny it, because what she said was true.

Instead, he gently guided her away from the door. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

She let out a quiet sigh but allowed herself to be led. “You should have waited until after dinner.”

“I couldn’t,” he said simply.

That answer made her glance at him again, as there was something different in his tone.

“What is it this time?” she asked.

Eiran’s expression shifted, a hint of excitement returning. “It’s a new book I found,” he said and continued, “But it’s not like the others.”

Lysa gave him a look that suggested she had heard that before.

Eiran shook his head slightly. “No, really. It’s… different this time.”

He hesitated for a moment, then added, “If Uncle can get this opportunity, it could change things for good.”

She stopped walking.

“Change what things?” she asked quietly.

Eiran met her gaze. “His work.”

Lysa’s expression softened, though concern lingered beneath it. “You know how things are there.”

“I know,” he said, his voice tightening slightly. “That’s why this matters.”

She looked at him for a moment, though the concern did not leave her eyes.

“You always say that,” she murmured.

Eiran hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “Not like this.”

She studied him, searching his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him, then let out a slow breath.

“Your uncle has been working like that for years,” she said after a pause. “Doing the work, carrying everything, and still…”

Her voice trailed off.

Eiran’s expression tightened slightly. “And still getting nothing for it.”

Lysa didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, she looked away, her gaze lowering as if the thought itself was too familiar.

“He doesn’t mind,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. “And still, he doesn’t complain.”

“That’s the problem. He should,” Eiran replied quietly.

There was no anger in his voice, only quiet frustration.

Lysa let out a slow breath, her shoulders lowering. “He’s always been like that.”

She paused, then added more quietly, “Even before…”

Her voice faltered, and Eiran didn’t interrupt, as he already knew what she meant.

She pressed her lips together, trying to steady herself, but her eyes had already begun to glisten.

“After your father passed,” she continued softly, “I didn’t know what to do.”

The words came slowly now, as if each one carried weight.

“Everything just… stopped.”

Eiran stepped closer to her.

“And your uncle,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “he didn’t hesitate. He just… stayed. Took care of everything.”

A tear slipped down before she could stop it.

Eiran reached out immediately and pulled her into a quiet embrace.

“You don’t have to think about that now,” he said softly.

She shook her head slightly against him. “I do,” she whispered. “Because it never really goes away.”

He didn’t argue, and simply held her there for a moment, letting her steady herself.

After a while, she pulled back, wiping her eyes quickly as if trying to dismiss it.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was still unsteady.

Eiran gave a small nod, not pressing further.

“He deserves better,” he said after a moment.

Lysa looked at him again.

“That’s why this matters, Mom,” he added quietly. “If this works… things could finally change for him.”

She held his gaze for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” she said.

Eiran gave a small nod in return, because he believed it would work.

And inside the room, Taren Halvek turned the first page.

The room was quiet.

Taren adjusted his position slightly, resting back in his chair as he began to read.

At first, his expression remained neutral.

He had done this countless times before. Opening a new manuscript or book rarely meant anything. Most followed familiar patterns, predictable in structure, easy to evaluate within a few pages.

His eyes moved steadily across the lines.

Then, after a few moments, they slowed. Not by much, just enough to notice.

He turned the page and the writing was clean.

That was the first thing he registered. No unnecessary clutter, no awkward phrasing. Each line moving forward with purpose.

He continued reading. A few more lines passed, then a few more, and his posture shifted slightly, almost unconsciously as this was not what he expected.

He turned the page again, then another.

The pacing was steady, but there was something deliberate about it. Nothing felt wasted. Every line seemed to carry forward into the next with a quiet precision that was difficult to ignore.

Taren’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in doubt, but in focus.

This was not following the usual pattern and, it was not how most books he usually came across were written.

Usually, it did not take long for patterns to appear. Predictable setups, familiar structures, forced tension that relied more on repetition than intent. He had seen enough of them to recognize it within moments.

But here, he found himself reading without reaching that point.

He paused briefly, his gaze lingering on a paragraph he had just finished, then went back and read it again, and this was not because it was unclear, and he had trouble understanding it, but because it was precise.

He leaned forward a little, adjusting the angle of the book in his hands more firmly before continuing.

The character’s voice was distinct and held steady throughout. That was the next thing he noticed. The character being not exaggerated, not overly stylized, but sharp in a way that made each line feel intentional.

It carried itself naturally, held its shape, that consistency was difficult to overlook, that alone set it apart from most common books.

Taren exhaled quietly through his nose and turned the page again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a familiar habit stirred.

He had done this for years. Reading, evaluating, sorting through works that came and went without leaving much behind. Most were easy to place. They fit into categories he already understood, outcomes he could predict before reaching the midpoint.

This one did not fit as easily and that was unusual.

His fingers shifted slightly along the edge of the page, and he was no longer reading just to follow, as he was paying attention now.

A small detail stood out, a line placed just slightly ahead of where it should have been, followed by another that answered it without stating it directly and Taren’s gaze sharpened as he realized that this writing style was intentional.

He went back again, scanning the earlier section briefly, then moved forward once more and the structure held perfectly and also not loose, but very consistent.

He shifted in his seat again, this time more noticeably, the book lowering slightly before he adjusted it back into place and this was no longer a casual reading.

Outside, faint sounds of movement drifted through the walls. Dishes being set, quiet footsteps, the low murmur of conversation.

He didn’t hear any of it as his attention remained fixed on the page.

The story moved forward, and with it, something else began to take shape in his mind, not a conclusion, not yet, but a possibility.

He did not notice how much time had passed.

The light in the room had shifted slightly, softer now, stretching longer across the floor and the edge of the table beside him.

At some point, the sounds from outside had quieted, replaced by a calmer rhythm of the house settling into the evening.

Taren remained where he was.

His posture had changed multiple times throughout his reading without him realizing it, as he was too engrossed in the story to notice.

Outside the room, the hallway had grown quieter as well.

Eiran stood near the doorway for a moment, glancing back once before turning toward his mother.

“You should get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll wait.”

Lysa looked at him, then toward the closed door. “He might take a while.”

“I know,” Eiran replied. “It’s fine.”

She studied him for a moment, then sighed faintly. “Don’t stay up too late.”

He gave a small nod. “I won’t.”

Lysa thought for a moment, then turned and walked down the hallway, her footsteps fading gradually.

Eiran remained where he was, leaning lightly against the wall, his attention drifting back toward the door.