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The week following everything that went down didn’t feel like a break or a chance to catch my breath at all. If anything, it seemed like the world had cranked up the volume, pushing harder and faster, almost like it had been waiting for the moment our lives would crack open to pour in.

Oakfield Mansion, which used to feel overly quiet and stifling in its perfection, transformed into something completely different. The silence that used to linger in its polished halls was gone, replaced by a constant clamor that never really settled into something I recognized.

It started outside.

Every morning, even before I pulled back the curtains, I could hear them. The distant hum of voices overlapping, the occasional shout, and the sharp clicks of cameras going off like insects right outside the gates. By the second day, the crowd had swelled. By the fourth, it felt like the whole city had decided our front driveway was the new hotspot.

Reporters, photographers, and people who openly displayed their curiosity pressed against the gates, bundled against the chill, waiting for any sign of life inside the mansion, as if we were some kind of live show they’d paid to see.

The first time I tried to leave for school three days after Keith’s arrest, I only got six steps out the front door before I stopped in my tracks.

As soon as the gates cracked open, the noise surged forward, voices rising together.

"Noah Valentine! Is it true you and Adrien Fellwere the one who exposed your stepfather?"

"Did you know about the murders beforehand?"

"Are you and Adrien Fell still living together?"

The questions came at me so fast I couldn’t even think straight, flashes of lights hitting my face as cameras captured every look I didn’t have time to mask. Someone thrust a microphone close to me while another voice broke through louder than the rest.

"Is it true your mother was involved in the affair before the first wife died?"

I didn’t reply.

I couldn’t.

How did they even know about that detail? Oh yeah, that’s right. You couldn’t really keep a secret in a town like Willow Haven.

The driver stepped in front of me, guiding me back toward the car like I was something delicate that could shatter under that pressure. Yet, the questions followed me, shouted through the closing door, through the glass, and all the way out of the gates.

By the time we reached school, my hands were still trembling.

After that, I gave up trying.

I stayed indoors.

And it wasn’t just the reporters. The police were in and out at all hours, their presence settling into the mansion like an unwelcome routine. They moved through the rooms with a quiet authority, rummaging through drawers, inspecting shelves, and hauling boxes of documents out the front door while the cameras outside tried to capture every glimpse.

Sometimes they asked me things. Most of the time, they treated me like someone caught in the middle of something way too big to fully grasp, which was almost funny because I’d been right there when everything fell apart.

The staff handled it even worse.

At first, they tried to keep things normal, going through their routines with this forced calm, but that didn’t last long. Whispers started almost immediately, soft at first, then growing louder as days passed.

I heard my name more times than I could keep track of.

"...can you believe it?"

"...Mr. Fell... and Mr. Carlby..."

"...two murders, they said..."

"And it was the boys who figured it out..."

Sometimes they fell silent when I walked into a room. Other times, they just kept talking.

I didn’t say anything about it.

It wasn’t worth my breath.

There was nothing I could say that would make any of this feel less real, less heavy, or like something that hadn’t already changed everything beyond repair.

The worst part, though, wasn’t the reporters, the police, or even the whispers echoing in the halls of home and school as well.

It was how quiet everything felt between the three of us.

We had stood together that night, side by side, like nothing could split us apart again. For a brief moment, it felt like we were solid, like whatever came next, we’d face it together.

But that feeling didn’t stick around.

Adrien shut down almost immediately.

He didn’t scream or lash out or break anything, which somehow made it worse. He just withdrew. The first day, he stayed in his room. The second day, he began spending hours in the home gym, the sound of weights hitting the floor echoing faintly through the walls like a steady, controlled release of everything he wasn’t saying.

I tried to check in on him.

The first time, I knocked on his door and waited longer than I probably should have before cracking it open a bit.

"Uh, Adrien?"

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like there was something down there he couldn’t quite figure out. For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard me.

Then he shifted just enough to show he knew I was there.

"Hey," I said, stepping in. "I just... wanted to check on you."

He didn’t look up.

"I’m fine."

His tone clearly said the opposite, but there was nothing in it that encouraged me to push further. It wasn’t anger, not really. It was something quieter, heavier, like he’d shut a door inside himself and didn’t know how to open it back up.

I lingered for a few seconds, not sure what to do with the silence stretching between us.

"If you need anything..." I started, but the words felt empty even before I finished.

"I said I’m fine, Noah."

This time, there was a slight edge to his tone...not sharp enough to bite, but clear enough to make it known that the conversation was over.

So I left, it’s not everyday a guy finds out their mom was killed by their dad...even if it took him years to come to terms with it all. I’d give him that with zero complaints.

After that, I stopped trying to force it. I still checked in now and then, with a quick knock or a soft question, but I didn’t stick around. Whatever he was dealing with, it was something he needed to work out by himself, and as much as it hurt to take a step back, I knew pushing him would only make things worse.

Ethan, on the other hand, handled it differently.