“Do you have any rooms available?”

His voice was as heavy as the air around them; it was so quiet that it was almost surprising that it hadn’t been drowned out by the noise nearby.

Only then did Aillen realize that she had been staring at the stranger for far too long. Flustered, she forced an awkward smile and apologized hurriedly.

The guest raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by her apology, but remained silent.

“There is one room left on the second floor. How long will you be staying?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Is it reserved after me?”

“No. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’re comfortable.”

“That’s a relief.”

He lifted only one corner of his lip. Strangely, it didn’t seem to be a mocking gesture. Perhaps it was due to the weight of his presence.

Aillen drew her brows together slightly at this thought. What an impolite thought to have about a guest! Feeling guilty, she forced a smile and continued.

“Shall I book you in for three nights to begin with?”

“No, that would be troublesome. Make it a week.”

“Of course. If your schedule changes and you need to leave early, we’ll refund the difference. And if you decide to stay longer, you can extend your stay anytime at the counter.”

The guest responded with a brief nod.

Now that the room had been booked, he was officially a guest. Aillen was about to ask him for his name to write beside the key slot for Room 205 when Riman hurried over to her. Noticing the guest, he lowered his voice and whispered urgently.

“Sister, sister, can you go to the kitchen right now?”

“Why? Wait a second, I just need to write his name down.”

“I’ll do it, hurry! Haila and Dad are at it again—the atmosphere’s no joke. If it’s not you, no one can fix this.”

“I tried and just got scolded.”

With no other choice, Aillen stepped back.

“I’m so sorry. He’ll take care of the rest. Riman, don’t forget to carry the guest’s luggage.”

She only left after the guest nodded slightly in confirmation.

The guest had seemed unsettling from the outset, and now she was leaving without finishing the transaction properly. It was like walking barefoot across gravel.

From behind her, she heard Riman ask the guest for their name, but the reply was drowned out by the sudden roar of laughter that erupted from the dining hall.

“Oh, honestly, I can’t live like this. Are you two children?”

“But this is a matter of pride.”

“Exactly. Do you have any idea how much this one thing changes the taste?”

Aillen pressed her fingers to her temple as a dull headache began to throb.

Ultimately, the problem was absurdly simple: whether or not to add butter to the beef stew.

Haila insisted that it was essential for flavor, having read this in a cookery magazine, while Father argued that it would only make the stew greasy. He demanded to know if she was going to ignore the traditional recipe that had been passed down from her grandmother.

Unfortunately, Aillen had never been particularly skilled in the kitchen. Even when she followed a recipe to the letter, her dishes always tasted strangely bland, and she could never understand why. Her cooking was passable when the family needed to put together a quick meal, but it was hardly something she would proudly serve to guests. So she stuck to simple tasks such as chopping onions, washing up and helping out wherever she could.

If taste alone were the standard, Riman’s cooking had far more depth than hers. However, when it came to disputes like this, Riman was utterly helpless.

This was probably why he had fled straight to the counter where she stood.

Unwilling to scold her timid younger brother, Aillen merely clicked her tongue in mild exasperation.

“Then leave it out for lunch and add it for dinner. We’ll see which one gets the better response.”

“No! There are more guests at dinner. If anything, switch lunch and dinner.”

“How much difference could it possibly make? Don’t be petty.”

“You don’t want to give up dinner either, do you?”

“Shouldn’t the older one compromise?”

“I will not compromise on culinary principles!”

‘Why… why did Riman call me instead of Mother?’

How troublesome.

Aillen let out a sigh and was just about to speak—

“If you’re going to argue, why don’t you do it properly in the hallway, where everyone can see? Shall I clear the tables and set up a stage for you?”

The back door slammed against the wall as Mother marched in and dropped a wooden crate filled with bottles of traditional liquor onto the floor with a heavy thud. Her voice dripped with biting sarcasm.

The guests outside were lost in their own laughter and chatter — surely none of this would reach them? Even so, Aillen found herself glancing uneasily towards the dining hall. From the kitchen, she couldn’t see the counter. She had no way of knowing whether the unsettling guest had gone upstairs yet.

“My dear, you’ll break the bottles at that rate…”

“If you’re so worried about breaking bottles, then stop arguing with children over trivial matters! Haila, you too — stop being so stubborn over nothing. If you want to change the recipe, write a separate menu item with butter added. Aillen, go up to the third floor and change the sheets first. They put up the cleaning request sign before leaving.”

“Yes, Mother.”

At that precise moment, the expressions on Father’s and Haila’s faces could not have been more different: one triumphant, the other deflated.

Aillen nodded quickly and hurried off.

There were still far too many hours left in the day to endure the two of them bickering endlessly or to withstand Mother’s sharp rebukes. Now was the time to conserve her strength.

As she climbed the stairs, Father’s plaintive grumbling and Haila’s triumphant voice gradually faded behind her. As she did so, she was grateful it was the third floor and not the second.

***

Only two days had passed since the guest from the north arrived.

And yet—how could she explain it?

Aillen couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but the long-haired guest dressed in black made her uneasy. At first, she thought it might simply be because of the small mistake she had made that day. But the feeling ran deeper than that.

It wasn’t just because he was from the north. More than half of the inn’s guests were northerners.

Still, this one was different.

Heavier. Colder.

Yes.

He reminded her of that place.

Aillen froze mid-motion, a half-rolled towel in her hands.

That mansion.

She had only seen it twice: once when she moved in and once when she moved out. She had fled the estate as though it were a prison.

Sunlight streamed through the lattice window, casting long, patterned shadows across the floor. For reasons she couldn’t explain, those shadows felt like prison bars closing in around her.

She let out a quiet, unsteady sigh.

Now that she had identified the source of her unease, the feeling did not go away. In fact, it deepened.

To be honest, the guest — whose name she didn’t even know — hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

When would the ghost of the North finally loosen its hold on her?

Perhaps, she thought, if she spent more time there, she might finally begin to feel at peace.

Carrying a stack of freshly folded towels, Aillen stepped out of the room. They carried the clean scent of afternoon sunlight, dried to perfection.

Unfortunately, her heart felt nothing like that.

Even though she knew the guest was innocent, she would quietly swap tasks with the twins and slip away without a word whenever he came near.

Before she knew it, Friday had arrived.

By the third day of the guest’s stay, her family had started giving her curious, almost suspicious, looks. But she couldn’t help it. Her reaction was instinctive — almost reflexive.

Thankfully, the guest knew nothing of her past, and he did not appear to find her behavior unusual.

Nevertheless, she could not shake off her lingering worry about what he might be thinking.

She did her best to hide her discomfort, though she wasn’t sure how convincing she was.

Aillen began to incorporate small, silent gestures of apology into her work. For instance, she would leave an extra towel in his room or give him slightly more meat with his meals. Seeing that he was still wearing clothes from the north of the country, she assumed that he would need the extra towels.

Her efforts were so subtle that the guest probably never realized what she was doing.

But she did not need him to notice.

And so her quiet acts of atonement continued, unseen and unsaid.

“Oh dear…”

After clearing the table, Aillen waddled over to the gramophone and carried it away. A dull ache flared in her lower back, causing her to groan involuntarily. She untied her apron and leaned back, stretching exaggeratedly.

“Shall I help you?”

Under the muted lighting, the blue-gray eyes that met hers appeared even darker.

Aillen froze in her awkward, half-bent posture.

“Ah… pardon?”

The voice was almost perfectly level.

Letting out an uneasy laugh, Aillen shook her head.

“It’s quite all right. I can’t very well ask a guest to do the work.”

The guest—whose name she still did not know—said nothing, merely looking down at her steadily.

When flustered, she tended to ramble. Words spilled from her before she could stop them.

“Ah—would you like something to drink? We’ll be setting it out soon, but since you came early, I could let you have a taste first. It’s our inn’s best seller—Maren wine.”

Maren was a specialty fruit from the south that was renowned for its sweetness. The liquor brewed from it was richly sweet yet faintly tart, and so distinctive that some people travelled south specifically to seek it out.

However, the guest shook her head, suggesting that this had never been her intention.

“I have nothing else to do. And the more hands, the better—wouldn’t you agree?”

Her blue-grey eyes swept over the twins as they hurried back and forth between the kitchen and dining room. Then they returned to Aillen, as if seeking confirmation.

Aileen blinked, taken aback.

Guests occasionally offered to help, but they were usually people she knew well. For someone to step forward like this without hesitation was rare.

The northerner wore a dark blue sheath dress that hugged her slender figure perfectly. Even in the dim light, the fabric had a subtle sheen and was clearly of the finest quality. It matched her refined, urban elegance perfectly.

But it did not belong in a kitchen.

A memory rose unbidden of being scolded at the mansion for not knowing how to refuse southern hospitality. Aileen understood the situation at once.

The guest might think that this was a polite way of declining.

However, if Aillen refused twice, the woman would surely back down. That was northern etiquette.

But before she could speak, Riman came stumbling towards them, his arms stacked precariously high with dishes.

“Riman!”