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There’s a boy sitting in the grass, deathly still amongst the chaos.
Nicholas isn’t sure why he’s compelled to approach him. The children are exhausted, ready to return home - and so is he, quite frankly - but there’s something different about this boy.
All of the students from the Institute are confused, angry, and probably mournful to lose the home they’ve made for themselves here.
There are plenty of kids spread across the grounds, either waiting for a ride on the ferry or protesting their departure to the authorities.
But this boy.
He isn’t crying, yelling, or muttering. His face is blank, slack, and his eyes look almost glazed over.
He doesn’t even look upset. He looks broken, like he’s suffering through something he doesn’t even understand, can’t begin to process.
Nicholas is tired, he’s ready for this day to be over, but he can’t stomach walking away without at least checking on him.
”Excuse me, are you alright?”
The reaction is instantaneous. The boy whips his head around fast enough to hurt and gapes up at Nicholas, his eyes as wide as anything.
”Dad?”
For the first half-second, Nicholas doesn’t catch on. He stares blankly at the boy, whose previously blank eyes are now filled with reluctant hope.
Then horrible, heart wrenching clarity washes over him, and he realizes that he must be the one to tear that hope away from him.
”No,” breathes Nicholas, and he’s painfully aware of how badly his legs want to fold underneath him, “I’m not. I’m sorry.”
He is sorry. He is so unspeakably sorry.
This is his fault. It’s his fault that this boy, his nephew, sits here alone and frightened.
It’s his fault for turning Nathaniel into the kind of man that would leave his own child here, in the wreckage he’s created.
At his words, the boy’s - for heaven’s sake, he needs to learn this child’s name - delicate features seem to crumble.
His eyes squeeze shut and his bottom lip begins to quiver, and Nicholas is dying, he’s sure he’s dying, but he pulls him in anyway, shushes him and murmurs reassurances.
“It’ll be okay,” says Nicholas, and immediately feels like a liar. This isn’t okay. He can never make this okay.
But his nephew’s tears are soaking into his shirt, so he pushes that away and focuses on now.
He can’t fix this, but maybe he can make it a little bit better.