SWNOVELXO Chapter 10: Step Ten: Smile Through the Silence
Because when you're under their roof, politeness is armor and words are weapons.
The dining room of the Greyson estate was cathedral-high, echoing with the soft clinks of silverware and the low murmur of conversation.
Sunlight poured through the stained glass windows in fractured patterns, but the warmth never touched the long obsidian table at the room's center.
It could seat sixteen, though only six were present today, and even then, it felt crowded.
Asher casually strode into the dining room as murmurs rippled through the room, his hands behind his head.
"So this bastard dare show his face?" Cain sneered, taking in how different Asher looked.
Rene narrowed her eyes, sensing something was off before turning it back to a happy curve.
"Don't talk to our little brother like that," Rene whined before ushering Asher to have seat.
Rene was confused on why Asher was suddenly so tall and buff.
Asher used to be only two inches taller, yet now he seemed like a giant.
Asher sat at the far end, back straight, expression neutral, fork gliding through a neatly cut segment of omelet he had no intention of finishing.
Brad stiffened, watching how casual Asher was acting, he was unsettled by Asher's change.
The weight of Asher's presence shifts the atmosphere: a silent acknowledgment that he's no longer the boy they used to dismiss.
The room was a battlefield, every glance a bullet, every word a blade.
His red eyes skimmed the familiar faces, cataloging their expressions.
Brad, the eldest, sat at the head of the table with the entitled air of a crown prince.
His blond hair was perfectly parted, his tailored blazer crisp.
He barely acknowledged Asher, preferring instead to sneer at his phone, murmuring with Cain beside him—the second eldest, whose arms were too large for the sleeves of his shirt and whose attention span had always leaned toward cruelty.
Rene sat further down, her beauty poised and cold.
Her glossy brown hair spilled over one shoulder, her smile a curve of sharpness wrapped in honey.
She waved her fork elegantly, making some vapid comment about the upcoming charity gala.
"The venue's been redone entirely. Crystal chandeliers, new marble floors flown in from Verona. I hope none of you wear last season's suits," she said, glancing at Asher like he were gum stuck to the bottom of her designer heel.
Asher didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He knew exactly what she was: venom with perfume.
Kieran and James sat closer to him, the only two whose presence didn't make his skin crawl.
Kieran, dressed in black as always, was idly swirling his tea but watching Brad out of the corner of his eye.
James, ever composed, quietly cut into his toast but offered Asher a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment.
"Father said the gala's a chance for us to strengthen ties with the military," Cain said around a bite of sausage.
Rene added in with some gleefulness, "The Young General will be there. I can't wait to see his handsome face again."
Asher paused, the name flickering like static in his brain.
The Young General.
He made no visible reaction, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
"That man could freeze a whole river with his glare," Rene said, shivering theatrically.
"Still, he's handsome in a... grim way."
Asher stood abruptly, his chair scraping lightly against the polished floors.
"Excuse me. I'm done."
Brad scoffed. "You're always done. You barely eat. It's shocking how you transformed. If it weren't for your measly allowance, I would have thought you did plastic surgery. You want to faint at the gala and embarrass us again?"
Asher didn't rise to the bait.
He simply turned and left, ignoring the tension following him like a shadow.
He navigated the mansion's hallways with the ease of someone who'd memorized every creaking board and hidden passage.
Inside his room, he shut the door and leaned against it, breathing in silence.
Time to check on Tristan.
Tristan met him behind the estate stables, dressed in a simple dark coat, gloved, as always, and looking as unassuming as ever.
"Everything's ready, young master," he said, holding out a key.
"I took the liberty of preparing the storage site farther out, in the Ashgrove district."
Asher took the key.
"No questions?"
Tristan shook his head.
"Your mother entrusted me with your safety. That hasn't changed."
They drove in silence, the countryside bleeding past the windows until the scenery gave way to cracked roads and distant warehouses long forgotten by the city.
The safehouse Tristan had chosen was expertly hidden, tucked behind layers of rusted fences and camouflage netting.
The interior was cool and dry, the floor swept clean, every item arranged with meticulous precision.
Stacks of preserved food: rice, dried meat, nutrient blocks, canned vegetables, and seeds.
Medical cabinets lined one wall, filled with antiseptics, antibiotics, emergency kits, blood substitutes, and painkillers.
There were even rows and rows of clothes, soap, and other needed supplies.
Asher exhaled slowly.
This was more than he expected.
"How did you get all of this?" He asked.
Tristan hesitated, then said, "Some of it came from old networks. Your mother had... connections. She never spoke of them openly, but she prepared for more than just a hard life."
Asher stared at the stockpiled shelves.
His mother.
The maid who was never just a maid.
The daughter of a northern noble house who ran to escape an arranged life, only to fall into another cage here in the capital.
She had always known something.
Maybe not the apocalypse, but she had prepared for disaster.
Asher silently stored the food and medicine into his Space, making sure to leave the warehouse intact as a decoy backup.
When the end began, having layered options would matter.
By the time they returned to the estate, the sun had begun its descent, casting long crimson streaks across the horizon.
Asher parted ways with Tristan and headed to his bedroom, locking the door behind him.
He sat at his desk again, unrolling a list: supply levels, weapon contacts, and emergency rendezvous plans.
He ticked off today's success in his precise handwriting: Food/Medical Secured.
Tomorrow, he would go to the lower district of the black market to meet the Guildmaster.
Weapons were next.
But tonight, he needed to breathe.
To think.
Just then there was a knock at the door.
"Asher?"
It was James.
Asher opened it, just enough to show his face.
"Yeah?"
James glanced down the hall, then back at him.
"You okay? You left breakfast early."
"I'm fine."
James nodded, hesitating.
"You look tired. Just... be careful."
Asher smiled faintly.
"Thanks, big brother."
James blinked, startled by the title.
He didn't say anything, just smiled back and left.
Behind the door, Asher leaned against the frame, a strange warmth spreading through him.
It felt dangerous to hope, but maybe—
Just maybe, this time, some people might stay.
Tomorrow, he would take another step toward survival.
And eventually, toward revenge.
But tonight, for the first time in this life, he let himself feel something dangerously close to safety.
For a moment.