I set my pen down and let my head drop on the bed. I finally got through all the annotations in Quiet Night. I was trying to read the book itself, but it would've been a crime against humanity if I didn't add to the insightful annotations. It also would've been a crime against humanity if I didn't berate the dumb ones.

Some people signed their names like Marlowe said, but the best annotations aren't signed which kind of sucks. I'd love to have a conversation with whoever wrote these comments. They seem to get Lanh, Hien, and Hai on a personal level from Lanh's internal conflict about what she wants to do to Hien's confusion about what she should or shouldn't do in the name of pleasing her parents to Hai's need to take out all his anger on other people or channel it in the things he likes to do.

I check the time on my phone. It looks like I spent... all night... appreciating these annotations. Not a bad way to spend an all-nighter. And I don't mind doing it again for the next two books.

I force myself to stand and get ready for the day. When I come downstairs, I head straight for the door, but someone calls my name. I pause and turn to face the kitchen where Grandpa and Mẹ are sitting. They already have mugs of coffee and breakfast set out on the table.

"What are you doing up so early?" Grandpa asks.

I gesture behind me at the door. "Going to get the next two books in Dad's series."

Mẹ laughs, taking a sip from her mug. "You already finished the first book?"

I nod, joining them at the table. I sit next to Mẹ, pulling a plate of waffles towards me. "Yep. And I responded to all the annotations, too."

Mẹ and Grandpa exchange amused looks. Grandpa smiles at me. "Sounds like what your dad would've done when he was your age."

"And what he would do now," Mẹ adds.

Grandpa raises his eyebrows. "Does he still stay up to read or is it just to write?"

I glance at him, feeling a weight settle on my chest. His voice is filled with nostalgia, genuine curiosity, and... sadness... But that's kind of on him. Thinking that makes the weight double down, but I shove it off. It's not like I'm wrong. It is on him. But I guess he's trying now.

Mẹ nods. "It's usually to write, but in between drafts, he'll stay up to read."

Grandpa smiles. "I'm guessing that's why he's still asleep?"

Mẹ snorts. "You have no idea. He was writing when I went to sleep, and when I woke up at three in the morning, he was still on his laptop. I made him go to bed, and I'm a little surprised he's not already up again."

"He's gonna be mad if he loses his train of thought," I laugh, taking a bite of waffles.

Mẹ waves me off, rubbing at her eyes. "He'll get over it. And his books always turn out great anyway." She smiles at me, propping her head up. "It's like how you used to get mad when we interrupted your rehearsals with Sarina because we ruined your mindset for the scene."

I stop chewing for a second and have to look down at my plate. It's hard to start chewing again now that my mouth has gone dry, and I have to take a few sips of milk. When I finally get the cinder block of waffles down my throat, I say, "At least that's not something you have to worry about anymore." I can't stop the edge from infiltrating my voice. Mẹ frowns while Grandpa glances between us. Shit. I take a deep breath and force a smile on my face. "Isn't that a good thing, though, since you don't have to deal with me being dramatic and being Dad's daughter?"

Just like I thought, the last part makes Mẹ laugh. "You're pretty much always your father's daughter." Her smile sobers. "Except when you perform. That's when you're my daughter."

The table goes quiet. Crap. How do I salvage this now? I can't think of anything to say except, "I'm also your daughter when I'm not annoying."

Amusement flickers across her face. "So never." My mouth drops open, and I make an indignant sound. Mẹ laughs, reaching out to smooth my hair down. "You're not annoying all the time, Con, but you're definitely your father's daughter most of the time."

"How so?" Grandpa asks, sitting forward.

Mẹ looks up at the ceiling as she thinks. "Headstrong. Empathetic. Talented. Stubborn."

Grandpa nods. "Sounds like Gareth. But if she's like you when she's performing, Thera, what does that look like?"

Mẹ studies me. I try not to break eye contact or bolt to the front door. I force myself to stay and finish my breakfast, waiting for Mẹ to come up with something to say. In the end, she says, "It looks like she's truly awake for the first time."

I don't know if Grandpa knows what that means or what it looks like, but his expression turns somber as he studies me. "I wish I could see that."

My chest tightens, and the waffles in my mouth turn to cinder blocks again. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner, but something about hearing Grandpa and only Grandpa say things like that makes my entire system shut down. And when it starts up again, all it knows is to escape.

I chug the rest of my milk to force the waffles down and practically slam the glass on the table. "Well, I'm truly awake every day, so you've seen it. And I lost interest in being on stage, so..." I shrug as I stand, gathering my things. "I should get going and return Quiet Night for the other two books."

Mẹ and Grandpa exchange glances. Grandpa's attention turns to me and he gives me a polite but concerned smile. "Okay. Do you want a ride? Or maybe take the car?"

"No, it's okay." I'm already turning to the front door. "I can use the morning walk, but thank you."

I wave to them without turning around. I yank the front door open and shut it behind me with a huff. My chest already feels so much lighter now that I'm out here, but... so much for being a former actress. If I was ever any good, I could've easily gotten out of there without Mẹ and Grandpa giving me weird looks. Maybe that's part of the reason why I stopped: because I suck. At least that's what—

No.

Stop.

That's in the past. And I stopped acting. So who cares?

I force myself to start walking to A Quiet Café and into a brand new day. Away from the past and any thoughts on it. As I walk, I absentmindedly flip through the book. Some of the annotations still stick out in my mind. All my arguments come up with it. I wonder if Marlowe might know who wrote these. If she's at A Quiet Café, I might ask. Or whoever else is working now. Someone has to know.

I push the doors open, and the bell goes off. My eyes flicker to the piano for a second before I force myself to look away. But it's too late. My fingers are already craving the feel of the keys, and I can already hear a melody playing in my head. I try to push both sensations away as I head for the counter, clutching the book a little closer to my chest.

Marlowe and some other person look up from behind the counter. Marlowe arches an eyebrow. "Did you stay up all night to read?"

"Is it obvious?" I laugh, setting the book on the counter.

She gives me a once over, the corners of her mouth turning up. "A little." She scans Quiet Night back in, setting it aside. "So are you getting the other two books?"

"Is that okay?"

"Of course, it is." She comes around the counter to take me to the shelf where multiple copies of the series are. Marlowe takes down copies of the last two books from the shelf and holds them out to me, but she doesn't let go right away. "Do not stay up for three nights straight just to finish your dad's series that you probably read a thousand times."

I roll my eyes. "I didn't stay up to read the book. I stayed up to read the annotations and respond to them."

She gives me a pointed look. "I don't think that makes it any better." She finally lets go, placing her hands on her hips. "But what did you think of them?"

"They were amazing. You wouldn't happen to know who wrote them, would you?"

She looks back at the counter to her coworker. I guess my coworker, too, starting next week. He's flipping through Quiet Night, his deep brown eyes scanning the pages. His skin looks bronze in the lighting, and his brown hair has natural amber highlights from the sun. But the most captivating thing about him is probably the series of expressions flashing across his face. Sometimes confusion. Sometimes disbelief. Mostly smiles. And it's that type of smile that lights up his entire face.

"Idris," Marlowe says.

I blink, turning back to her. "What?"

"The annotations. It has to be Idris if you think they were that good. He's the one that knows the series like the back of his hand."

I glance back at him. "He's a big fan?"

Marlowe laughs, nodding. "You have no idea. He'd probably be really happy to meet your dad."

I tighten my grip on the books, pressing them against my stomach to stop it from churning. "I still don't want anyone to know that I'm Gareth Chiem's daughter. At least not until I get to know them and they get to know me."

Marlowe nods. "To hear their real thoughts on the books, right?"

"That, and..." Marlowe arches an eyebrow. I shrug, looking down at my shoes. "So that they're not just hanging out with me to meet my dad."

Marlowe shifts her weight. "That happened before?"

"Well... not that I can prove. But someone told me that it happens." Myron tells me all the time.

"Huh..." I meet Marlowe's eyes. Her jaw tenses, and a crease forms between her eyebrows. "That really sucks. But I get it. I'll keep quiet about it until you want to say something to Idris. Or anyone." She glances past me. "I'm pretty sure he won't just hang out with you because of who your dad is, though." She smiles. "And I'm pretty sure he's already really excited to talk about the series with you."

I force myself not to look at him again no matter how much I want to see his reactions. It'll make me just as excited, and I want to go through the rest of the annotations to consolidate my thoughts before talking to him.

"Does he do that all the time?" I ask. "Read the annotations every time someone returns the books?"

"Only for the ones he likes," Marlowe says.

I guess that means he must crave a good conversation as much as I do.

Marlowe leads the way to the counter. Idris doesn't look up, but I swear he inhales, his shoulders rising ever so slightly once I'm across the counter from him. He smiles down at the book, gripping it until his knuckles turn pale. I watch his eyes flicker across the pages, the corners of his mouth tugging up with every line he reads. Whenever he comes across something that seems to particularly catch his attention, his eyes dart to me. Every single time it happens, I glance away, hoping he doesn't think I'm weird for watching him.

Marlowe looks between me and Idris, shooting me an amused smile. I shrug, sliding the books over to her, so she can check them out for me.

"Have fun," she smiles.

"Thanks." I gather the books in my arms. "You don't mind if I stay here all day to read, right?"

She waves me off. "Not at all. Do you want food or anything?"

"Coffee would be great."

Marlowe slides a mug of coffee and a small muffin over to me. She starts to tell me that I can probably get them for free or at least at a discount. I start to think she's about to say it's because I'm the owner's granddaughter and shoot her a look. She gives me an exasperated one in return and says it's because I'll start working here next week.

"Really?" Idris asks, his head snapping up for the first time. He blinks at his outburst, ducking his head. It's a little hard to tell with his skin tone, but I'm almost certain his cheeks darken with blush.

I feel the corners of my mouth turn up at his reaction. "Yeah. Might as well make money for the summer while I'm here."

He nods slowly, his eyes still on the counter. His lips part like he wants to say something else, but he presses them together in the end, doubling his focus on the book. Marlowe narrows her eyes at him, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. She lets me pay the full amount, and I retreat to a table in the corner of the room close to the mural and flip open the second book, Muffled Dusk, happily losing myself in the world and annotations.