To Love a Shadow, To Be the Sun novel Chapter 228

When Elara walked through the door, Rose paused what she was doing.

“These next few days, stay with your grandfather out in the country. Keep an eye on how he’s doing, especially his mood.”

Elara sat across from her. “Is something wrong with Grandpa?”

Rose sighed. “He’s been troubled for days. I asked him about it, but he won’t say a word. This morning, when he was sitting in the sun, some woman came by and spoke with him. Ever since, he’s been even more withdrawn.”

“Any idea who she was?” Elara asked.

Rose glanced down at her own foot. “I tried to follow, but I twisted my ankle before I could get a good look.”

Elara frowned, worry creasing her brow.

—

Early the next morning, Elara returned carrying a basket of fruit. Her grandfather was already up, sipping his morning tea.

“Grandpa, do you want me to pick up anything special for the memorial? Candles, flowers?”

He waved her off. “No need. Maybe... maybe he won’t receive them anyway.”

Elara was taken aback. Seeing the calm, almost empty look in his eyes, she swallowed her questions.

They set out together for the Linden family cemetery.

At Ryan Linden’s grave, her grandfather’s withered hand lingered over the photo on the headstone, tracing it again and again. One moment, he muttered to Elara that a cenotaph like this could never bring Ryan’s soul back, that he wanted to tear it down; the next, he’d say he was just a confused old man, unsure what to believe anymore. It left Elara quietly worried about his state of mind.

At noon, her grandfather cooked sweet potato rice with a tray of roasted peppers.

The taste transported Elara back to her earliest days with the Lindens.

When they first took her in, money was tight—so tight that every grain of rice was rationed. With another mouth to feed, Grandpa would go out to the fields after the harvest and gather leftover potatoes and yams people had left behind, mixing them into the rice so everyone could eat their fill.

Elara couldn’t remember if she’d ever truly had a home before she turned thirteen. For as long as she could remember, she’d been drifting, sleeping beside dumpsters. Whenever thunderstorms rolled in, she’d huddle beneath storefront awnings, shivering, only to be chased away like a stray dog by people disgusted by her presence. On those nights, she’d just keep walking through the rain—either until it stopped, or until she found somewhere she could hide.

Medicine for a cold or fever was out of the question. She’d gotten through every illness on her own, one stubborn recovery at a time.

That afternoon, Grandpa explained the way to Felton’s house, then sat on the stone steps outside, watching as Elara walked away.

He hadn’t been sitting long when a group of men appeared.

One of them, a man with three scars on the back of his hand, laid a heavy palm on Grandpa’s shoulder and stared him down. “Old man, where’s Elara?”

Grandpa blinked his cloudy eyes at him, taking several seconds to respond before pointing toward the edge of the village. His voice was feeble. “Just left. She’s fetching my medicine.”

“Come on, boss,” grumbled a man with tattoos snaking up his arm. “That woman’s info is always late. I told you we couldn’t trust her, and you’re still hiding this from Ellis—”

“Shut up. Move.”

The scarred man squeezed Grandpa’s shoulder hard, then led his crew away.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped. Slowly, he turned, his cold, predatory gaze settling on the old man’s hunched back.

A heartbeat later, he spun on his heel, stormed back, and drove his foot viciously into Grandpa’s side—