The Slytherin common room was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the slow crackling of the dying embers in the grand fireplace. The greenish glow from the enchanted torches flickered against the damp stone walls, casting elongated shadows that danced with every slight shift of movement. It was late, well past curfew, but Lilith Nightingale sat unmoving in one of the high-backed leather chairs near the fire, her gaze unfocused, her hands curled around a cold teacup she had forgotten to drink from hours ago.

Dorian stood at the bottom of the boys' dormitory staircase, watching her. His sister was always composed, always precise in her mannerisms. She didn't fidget, didn't hesitate, didn't allow herself to be anything less than poised. But tonight, her entire frame was weighed down, her shoulders slumped in a way he had never seen before.

He hesitated before approaching, knowing better than most how she hated being caught in moments of vulnerability. But this was different. He had seen the cracks forming for weeks now, had watched her slowly become a mere shadow of the person she once was. After the Astronomy Tower, after the letter from their father, something inside her had shifted, and he wasn't sure if it was for better or worse.

He finally stepped forward, the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor breaking the silence. "You know, if you sit here brooding long enough, you might actually become part of the furniture."

Lilith exhaled sharply through her nose, a shadow of a laugh, but she didn't lift her gaze. "What do you want, Dorian?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the chair opposite hers. "To check on my sister. To see if she's still in one piece."

"I'm fine," she said automatically, her voice devoid of conviction.

Dorian arched a brow. "Try again."

Lilith sighed, placing the forgotten teacup on the side table. "What do you want me to say? That I'm falling apart? That everything I've spent my entire life building is slipping through my fingers? That I don't know who I am without Father's expectations dictating my every move?"

Her voice wavered, and she clenched her jaw, as if biting back any more words that threatened to spill out.

Dorian studied her carefully. "I'd settle for the truth."

She shook her head, a bitter smile curling at her lips. "The truth isn't something that benefits us, Dorian. The truth is dangerous."

"The truth is freeing, Lil," he countered, his tone softer now. "You don't have to keep carrying this weight on your own."

Lilith let out a shaky breath, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. For a brief moment, her carefully crafted mask slipped, and he saw the exhaustion, the raw vulnerability in her emerald-green eyes. "And if I let it go, then what? What happens to me when I'm no longer the perfect Nightingale?"

Dorian's expression softened, and he moved to sit beside her. "Then you finally get to figure out who you really are."

A long silence stretched between them. Lilith stared at the flickering flames, watching as they danced against the logs, their light flickering in and out of existence. The thought of choosing for herself was terrifying. She had never been given that option before, never been allowed to consider anything outside of the perfectly curated path laid out for her.

"I don't know how to be anything other than what he's made me," she admitted quietly.

Dorian placed a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. "Then maybe it's time to learn."

For the first time in weeks, Lilith didn't have an immediate answer. She only sat there, staring into the flames, wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, her brother was right.