Yeva pulled out the kitchen drawer and retrieved a small hourglass, shifting it back and forth in her hand as she thought. He had included all those words related to time, but had it meant anything outside of a clever joke on her brother's part? Probably not. After hunting down every single watch, sundial, and hourglass in their home (which, wasn't many) she didn't feel any closer to her solution. When balanced upon a wobbly chair, she had looked for little nooks and crannies he could have hidden her, but all she had found was a couple copper nel that had fallen behind a disheveled bookshelf. Outside, it began to rain, the light of the windows fading as fat clouds obscured the sun. The world was turning grey, her textbooks becoming harder to read.
She had thought, hoped, she would have found something else. A notched on one of the clocks, or a message written with reference to precise time frames. Her brother might not have considered this, but not all messages were written. Yeva had heard (and was dying to witness) an entire code system revolving around knotted braid work in one's hair, a means to relay hidden messages in public. Just like the secret language of fans.
Begrudgingly, the red head sat back down in front of the paper.
She had copied and struck out the words she knew. That left the following:
It meant nothing, and yet it had to. She took out the vowels, she put them back. She removed the consonants without luck. Yeva spaced out each letter, jumbled them and groaned. So close, she could feel it. There was no way Isaac could have been smarter than her - older, yes, but smarter?
The front door open and closed, the sound of popping cork right behind it, "Hooooome," A mop of strawberry blond hair peeked into the kitchen and Petyr grinned. Pushing back a wave of curls, his smoke green eyes looked sleepy. In fact, from his disheveled clothing and stained shirt, he had been drinking all day, "What'r ya doing?"
"Go away, Petyr."
"Ouch," he fumbled, clutching his broken heart, shattered by a callus sister too preoccupied with her own business to care for her family. Or so he whined. Yeva had stopped listening when he pretended to swipe his hand at her, making her flinch. He laughed and then walked around her chair, using her shoulder to lean on. He was purposefully being annoying, "This one's easy. I know the answer."
"No you don't."
"I do," he took a swig, "Here, have a drink and it'll come to you." He waved the bottle her direction and she shoved him off her.
"Goooo away," Yeva kept nudging him, hoping he'd just disappear into his room, or out the door, but he snorted and pressed his fingers on the page. A twist of his wrist, and her scrawled message was upside down. As he was leaving the room, he laughed.
"You need a different perspective, Yee."
"That's not my name," she shouted, sighing as the sound of his boots thudded up the stairs. He was so annoying.
Yet when she looked down at the page, her mouth dropped.