The sun had barely crept above the rolling hills of Galway when the curtains in Caleb’s room were flung open with a flourish. Mrs. Byrne stood in the pale, silvery light filtering through the windows, her sharp gaze fixed on the groggy figure tangled in the blankets. Outside, the sunlight struggled against thick clouds, casting a muted glow over the landscape, as though the day itself had yet to fully awaken.

“Up you get, Mr. Harrison,” she declared, her brogue crisp as the morning air. “The spirits of this house might let ye lie about, but I won’t. Breakfast won’t cook itself, and neither will those hands of yours be much use if you’re sleeping the day away.”

Caleb groaned, shielding his eyes from the unwelcome light. “Do you take courses in being this cheerful at ungodly hours, or is it just a natural gift?”

Unfazed, Mrs. Byrne’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “A gift, to be sure. Now move it.”

As Caleb swung his legs out of bed, muttering something about the tyranny of sunlight and cheerful housekeepers, he caught sight of a note on his bedside table. Written in Cormac’s neat hand, it read: “Meet me in the library after breakfast. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Caleb was already rubbing his hands together as he arrived in the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mrs. Byrne’s face lit up at the offer, though she didn’t stop flipping pancakes. “You can set the table, if you don’t mind. We’ll need three places today.” She paused, then added almost casually, “Cormac’s usual place will be ready, even if he’s not here just yet.”

"Right, of course," Caleb said, feeling the strange pull of curiosity about Cormac, but not wanting to pry too openly.

He moved toward the formal dining room, where he carefully arranged the plates and silverware. It wasn’t one of the grand rooms of the manor, but the smaller dining room had its own charm—warm, elegant, and inviting. He couldn’t help but think about how it felt like this space had seen many similar mornings, many different meals, but all under the same roof.

Mrs. Byrne’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “If you’re curious about the manor,” she began, breaking the quiet as she worked, “it’s a place that carries more history than anyone here remembers. But Cormac… well, Cormac carries it all on his shoulders, whether anyone sees it or not.”

Caleb glanced over his shoulder at her, but she was busy at the stove, seemingly distracted by the task of cooking. “He sounds like a busy man,” Caleb said, trying to keep his tone casual. “Does he always miss breakfast?”

Mrs. Byrne turned just slightly, and for a moment, Caleb could see the weariness behind her calm demeanor. “On occasion,” she answered. “But no one questions him about it. He’s got his responsibilities, his birthright. The manor’s not just a place to live. It's a life of its own, and Cormac does his duty to it, to the people, and to this land.”

Before Caleb could respond, his elbow knocked into the table as he adjusted the silverware, and a large wooden bowl teetered on the edge. The bowl, intricately whittled with the Darragh family crest, was a cherished heirloom, passed down through generations. As it toppled, the fruit scattered across the floor in a sharp, crashing mess. The sound startled Caleb, and his heart skipped a beat.

Mrs. Byrne’s reaction was instant. She darted across the room, her hand hovering over the fruit as if to protect it from any further damage. “No!” she gasped sharply. Her eyes flashed with a look Caleb hadn’t expected, one of quiet panic.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—” Caleb stammered, crouching down to help gather the fruit.

“Don’t touch it!” Mrs. Byrne snapped, her voice sharp, sending a chill through the room. Caleb froze, his hand still hovering in the air. Mrs. Byrne, her face pale for just a moment, quickly bent to gather the scattered pieces, not looking at him.

“I—I didn’t know... I won’t touch anything else,” Caleb muttered, his voice soft with an apology.

Mrs. Byrne didn’t respond immediately. She returned the fruit to the bowl, her fingers brushing over the carved wood with a reverence Caleb didn’t fully understand. When she straightened, she gave him a tight nod. “It’s fine. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” Her words, though, felt distant, almost forced.

She took a breath, glancing toward the stove. “Just be more careful next time. And finish setting the table, if you please.” Her tone returned to its previous calm, but there was a slight tension in her shoulders, as if the bowl had been more than just a vessel for fruit.

She took a breath, looking past him and toward the stove. “Just be more careful next time. And finish setting the table, if you please.” Her tone returned to its previous calm, but there was a slight tension in her shoulders.

Caleb, his mind still reeling from the suddenness of the exchange, nodded. “Right. Of course.”

He quickly returned to his task, his hands still a little shaky, and as he placed the final fork down on the table, he looked up at Mrs. Byrne again, trying to ease the awkwardness.

“So, about Cormac…” Caleb ventured carefully.

Mrs. Byrne glanced over at him, her eyes softening as if she had anticipated his question. “Ah, yes. Cormac…” She gave a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her fingers brushing over the countertop. “He’s a good man, Master Caleb. Kind, but distant. The manor... it takes a lot from him, sometimes more than he lets on. And with his work—well, it’s more than a man can bear alone, even one like him.”

Caleb paused, his curiosity piqued. “What kind of work? You mean the manor itself?”

She turned back to the stove, the familiar clink of utensils breaking the silence. “Yes, the manor. But also the responsibilities that come with it. His birthright, as I said. The local government, the land—there’s always something.” She hesitated, glancing back at Caleb. “Don’t worry about him, though. Cormac does what needs to be done. He always has. But no one here questions him when he’s absent from a meal. We know he’ll come when he can.”

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. The picture of Cormac was becoming clearer, though still shrouded in mystery. “Sounds like a lot to handle for one person.”

Mrs. Byrne’s lips curved upward in a small smile, but her eyes remained distant. “It is. But Cormac is strong. And he’s not alone here.”

Before Caleb could ask more, she straightened up, wiping her hands on a towel. “Now, let’s get to the table. You’ll want to sit down before the food gets cold.”

He moved toward the dining room, taking a seat at the table, trying to shake off the heaviness of the conversation. Mrs. Byrne placed the food in front of him, and for a moment, the quiet seemed to fall over the room again. The door at the end of the hall remained closed, but Caleb had no doubt Cormac would arrive soon. He wondered what it was like for the man, burdened by so much, yet seemingly so distant from the world around him.

Just then, the soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hall, and Maeve entered the dining room with a graceful air, her presence adding a certain warmth to the space. She nodded politely to Caleb before taking her seat at the table, her eyes briefly flicking to the empty place across from him.

The silence lingered for a moment longer before Mrs. Byrne cleared her throat, breaking it. “Eat up now, both of you,” she said, her tone returning to its usual calm. “It’ll be a busy day.”

As he dug into his breakfast, his thoughts lingered on the mystery of the man who called this manor home—the man who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.