In the firelight, Charlotte's face was still pale. Her tear tracks had dried, and her blue eyes, like water-washed gems, looked back at him intently, seeming to retain some of the warmth from moments ago, along with a lingering haze.
"Charlotte," Karl's voice was unusually low. Forcing himself to meet her eyes without flinching, he said, "There's something... I want to tell you."
Charlotte looked at him quietly, not answering at once. Her gaze traveled over his face, as though trying to read something from those heavy eyes. After a moment, she spoke softly, her voice astonishingly steady. "Is it good news... or bad news?"
Karl's heart sank sharply. He caught the fleeting glimmer in her eyes. It was not entirely confusion; it was more like a cautious probe, even... a trace of almost pitying foresight.
He forced the words out with difficulty. "It's... bad news."
He had thought she would press him for answers, grow nervous, or show a wounded expression.
Yet Charlotte merely looked at him quietly for two seconds. Then the corner of her mouth curved upward ever so slightly. It was not a smile, but more like the weary curve of one.
She raised a hand, extended her index finger, and gently pressed it against Karl's slightly parted lips, stopping the words that were about to spill out—words that might tear apart every last shred of peace.
Her fingertip was faintly cool, with thin calluses, yet its touch was startlingly clear.
"Then don't say it, Karl. Seeing you... made me very happy today. Truly happy. I don't want to hear bad news. At least not tonight."
Those words caused Karl a sharper, more piercing pain than any questioning, sobbing complaint, or furious accusation could have.
He understood at once—she had guessed.
Perhaps not every detail, but