Chapter Text
The first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. Outside, birds chirped lazily, and the faint rustling of trees in the breeze gave the morning a serene rhythm.
James stirred awake slowly, adjusting to the weight beside him. Madeleine was curled against his chest, her breathing slow and even. He didn’t move at first, just watched her, memorizing the way the soft light caught in her hair, the steady rise and fall of her chest.
It was a sight he never thought he’d have. A life he never thought he’d live.
Somewhere down the hall, Mathilde’s small feet padded across the wooden floors. A second later, the bedroom door creaked open.
James turned his head just as Mathilde peeked inside, still wearing her pajamas, her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm.
She hesitated. “Are you awake?”
James smirked. “I am now.”
Madeleine let out a sleepy hum beside him but didn’t open her eyes. Mathilde took that as permission to scramble onto the bed, settling between them.
“Are we going to town today?” she asked, kicking her legs slightly.
James stretched his arm behind his head. “That depends. Are you going to behave?”
Mathilde gasped in mock offense. “I always behave.”
James glanced at Madeleine, who was now fully awake, watching them with amused eyes. “Did you hear that?” he said dryly. “She always behaves.”
Madeleine chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Mathilde’s face. “Then I suppose we have to take her with us.”
Mathilde grinned triumphantly.
James exhaled dramatically. “Fine. But if you cause any trouble, you can explain to the shopkeeper why we’re not allowed back.”
Mathilde giggled. “Deal.”
⸻
The streets of the small French village were quiet, bathed in the soft warmth of late morning. Cobblestone paths wound between rustic buildings, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from a nearby bakery.
James walked beside Madeleine, Mathilde’s small hand tucked in his as they made their way through the marketplace. It was… normal.
It still felt strange.
Madeleine pointed toward a flower stand. “We should get some for the house.”
James arched a brow. “You already have flowers.”
She shot him a look. “And?”
James sighed, shaking his head as she wandered toward the vendor. Mathilde tugged at his hand, pointing at a stall filled with fresh fruit.
“Can we get strawberries?” she asked.
James exhaled. “Fine. But don’t eat them all before we get home.”
Mathilde beamed, running ahead slightly to pick the ripest ones.
For a few minutes, everything was calm. The quiet murmur of locals, the soft clang of bells from the church tower, the warm buzz of small-town life.
But then—
James felt it.
A shift in the air. The kind of instinct that had been drilled into him over decades of survival.
Someone was watching him.
He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the street. Just people walking, vendors selling their goods, nothing out of place.
And yet, that feeling didn’t go away.
Then he saw it—a man standing near the corner of a bookstore. Dressed simply, blending in. But the way he was positioned, the slight turn of his head when James moved—it wasn’t casual.
James exhaled slowly, forcing himself to appear unaffected. Whoever this was, they weren’t making a move. Not yet.
But it was enough to put him on edge.
James forced himself to look away.
The last thing he wanted was to alert whoever was watching him that he had noticed. Instead, he kept his posture relaxed, adjusting the bag of strawberries in his hand, his expression unreadable.
“James?”
Madeleine’s voice was soft beside him. He turned his head slightly to find her studying him, a subtle crease between her brows. She knew him too well. She could sense when something had shifted.
“Everything alright?” she asked.
James gave her the faintest of nods. “Fine.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not yet.
Still, he took Mathilde’s hand again, his grip just a fraction tighter than before.
⸻
They continued walking through the market, stopping at a small cheese vendor where Madeleine spoke in quiet French to the shopkeeper. James kept his movements natural, but his attention was divided.
The man near the bookstore hadn’t moved.
He wasn’t browsing the market like everyone else. Wasn’t carrying anything, wasn’t talking to anyone. Just standing. Waiting.
James didn’t react. Didn’t turn his head again. But he was already making a mental map of the town’s exits, the possible routes they could take if something went wrong.
Mathilde tugged at his sleeve. “James, look!”
She pointed toward a display of handmade toys—a wooden train set, carefully carved animal figures. Something light, something innocent.
James crouched beside her, keeping his voice level. “Which one do you like?”
She studied them for a moment before picking up a small carved fox. “This one.”
James ran a finger over the polished wood, forcing his muscles to unwind. “Good choice.”
He pulled out a few euros and handed them to the vendor, thanking him with a polite nod.
“Merci, monsieur,” Mathilde chirped, hugging the fox to her chest.
James smiled, but his mind was still calculating. If this was nothing, then he was being paranoid. If it wasn’t…
His gut told him it wasn’t.
When James finally allowed himself another glance toward the bookstore, the man was gone.
Just like that.
No trace of him. No sign of movement. As if he had never been there in the first place.
That, more than anything, made James uneasy.
Because it meant one of two things: Either the man had been a ghost of paranoia, or—he knew exactly when to disappear.
James exhaled slowly, slipping his sunglasses back on.
Madeleine looped her arm through his as they started toward their car. “You’re quiet.”
James hummed. “Enjoying the view.”
She didn’t believe him. Not entirely. But she didn’t press.
Mathilde walked ahead, still clutching the wooden fox. She was humming to herself, blissfully unaware that something in the air had changed.
The countryside stretched out before them, endless fields of golden wheat and patches of dense green forest passing in a blur as the car moved along the narrow road. The windows were rolled down just enough to let in the warm summer air, carrying the distant scent of lavender.
Mathilde sat in the backseat, her wooden fox nestled in her lap as she quietly hummed a song to herself. Madeleine had one elbow resting against the car door, her fingers lightly tracing patterns against the window as she stared outside.
James drove in silence.
His grip on the wheel was firm, his posture relaxed—but his mind was elsewhere.
The man from the bookstore hadn’t followed them. Not visibly, at least. But James knew better than to take comfort in that. Disappearing without a trace was a skill he knew well. It meant whoever was watching him was trained. Careful.
This wasn’t just some passerby.
The feeling in his gut didn’t fade, even as the road stretched on without another car in sight.
“You’re too quiet,” Madeleine said suddenly, her voice breaking through the low hum of the tires against the road.
James glanced at her briefly. “Am I?”
She turned her head to face him. “Yes. And when you’re quiet like this, it usually means something’s wrong.”
James exhaled through his nose, keeping his focus on the road. “It’s nothing.”
Madeleine didn’t respond right away. She let the silence stretch between them for a few seconds before saying, “You saw someone.”
James’ fingers flexed against the wheel.
He should have known better than to think she wouldn’t notice.
“I don’t know that yet,” he admitted.
Madeleine shifted slightly in her seat, her expression unreadable. “Did they follow us?”
“No.”
“Then maybe it was nothing.”
James’ jaw tightened slightly. “Maybe.”
But they both knew he didn’t believe that.
Madeleine studied him for a moment longer, then sighed, turning her gaze back toward the open fields. “You don’t always have to expect the worst, James.”
James didn’t answer.
Because the worst had followed him his entire life.
⸻
From the backseat, Mathilde spoke up, oblivious to the quiet tension between them.
“James?”
James glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Yeah?”
Mathilde lifted the wooden fox. “Do you think real foxes are lonely?”
The question caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected something so… simple.
Madeleine turned slightly in her seat, giving Mathilde a curious look. “Why would you ask that, mon trésor?”
Mathilde shrugged, stroking the smooth wooden surface with her small fingers. “Because they always hide. And they live alone.”
James let out a slow breath, easing his grip on the wheel.
“Foxes aren’t lonely,” he said, his voice softer now. “They just know when to keep to themselves.”
Mathilde nodded thoughtfully, as if considering this. “But do they ever want to be found?”
James felt something tighten in his chest.
Madeleine was watching him again, her blue eyes unreadable.
James kept his eyes on the road. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But only by the right people.”
Mathilde smiled, satisfied with that answer, and went back to humming her song.
Madeleine, however, didn’t look away from him for a long time.
And James kept driving, the weight of unseen eyes still lingering at the back of his mind.
By the time they pulled into the long, winding driveway leading to their cottage, the warmth of the afternoon had started to soften into something gentler. The sun hung lower in the sky, stretching golden light over the fields, and the house stood just as they had left it—quiet, untouched. Safe.
James cut the engine, the steady hum of the car fading into the peaceful rustling of leaves in the breeze. Mathilde was already unbuckling her seatbelt, eager to return to whatever game she had been playing before they left.
Madeleine stretched slightly, letting out a soft sigh. “It’s good to be home.”
James didn’t respond right away. His fingers still rested on the wheel, his thoughts caught somewhere between the drive back and the man he had seen earlier. But there was no reason to let it linger. Not yet.
He glanced at Madeleine, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. It is.”
Inside, the house was cool, the air carrying the faint scent of lavender from the dried bundles Madeleine had hung near the windows. James set the bags down in the kitchen while Mathilde ran off to her room, her small footsteps echoing lightly through the wooden floors.
Madeleine poured them each a glass of wine, sliding one toward James as she leaned against the counter. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”
James took the glass but didn’t drink from it yet. “Would you believe me if I said nothing?”
Madeleine gave him a dry look. “No.”
James smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I won’t say it.”
Madeleine exhaled, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she took a slow sip of wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.
“You don’t have to fight ghosts anymore, James.”
James studied the deep red swirl of his drink before taking a measured sip. “That’s the thing about ghosts,” he murmured. “They don’t always stay buried.”
Madeleine reached out, lightly brushing her fingers over his wrist. “Then let me remind you what’s real.”
James finally looked up at her. She held his gaze, steady and unwavering, as if daring him to argue.
He didn’t.
Instead, he set his glass down, sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her in. She fit against him easily, as if she had always belonged there.
They stood like that for a long moment, the quiet hum of the house surrounding them, grounding them.
James exhaled. For now, that was enough.
Later, after dinner, James found himself sitting on the edge of Mathilde’s bed, listening as she told a story about something one of her stuffed animals had “done” that day. She was curled under the blankets, her fox tucked against her chest.
“…And then Bunny said he was the fastest in the whole world, but Foxy said, ‘No, I am the fastest,’ so they had a race,” Mathilde explained with dramatic gestures.
James nodded seriously. “And who won?”
Mathilde grinned. “Foxy, of course. Because foxes are smart.”
James smirked. “Good answer.”
Mathilde yawned, blinking sleepily. “James?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?”
She hesitated, then asked, “You’ll still be here tomorrow, right?”
The question was innocent, but something in James’ chest twisted all the same.
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mathilde smiled sleepily. “Bonne nuit, Papa.”
James stilled.
He had heard it before. Back in the car. But this time, Mathilde was awake when she said it. This time, she meant it.
James swallowed, then leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Bonne nuit, mon trésor.”
He sat there a moment longer, watching as her breathing evened out, her small frame relaxed in sleep.
It was such a small thing. Such a simple thing.
And yet, it felt like everything.