She didn't stop snooping.

Despite Emma's warning, she'd continued in her exploration. She'd stood in the hallway after the other woman had disappeared into her bedroom. Emma had slammed the door hard enough that it had reverberated through the floor, and Regina stood there in her socks as the echo played back in the wood. Surely the noise had woken somebody up - but she waited there in the hall for several minutes, and nobody emerged. Part of her had thought of returning to her bedroom - a larger part had thought about calling for an uber, but the chances of somebody picking her up so far into the middle of nowhere were miniscule, and even then, the mysteries of this place were tugging at her. So she tried to tamp down the ache in her chest and shuffled through the hall, her footsteps whispering against the plush carpet. Every sound echoed in this place, and she winced at every thud, every creak of a loose floorboard, but nobody came. Emma's door remained firmly shut.

Eventually she came across a tiny staircase, hidden in a corner, spiralling up into darkness. Curiosity overwhelmed her and she ascended it. She'd previously thought that there were only two levels to the inn - apparently she'd been wrong. The railing was old, not as well kept as the rest of the inn, and she winced as she felt tiny splinters enter the tender skin of her palm. Stained glass appeared at her side, and she found herself in a tiny nook, complete with pillows.

Pillows, and a child.

"Oh. Hi, Regina," Henry began. "Welcome to my castle."

He seemed more confident than he had before, his voice only wavering slightly, perhaps because his mother wasn't there.

"How much do you remember?" He asked, and Regina stepped back, taken aback by the question.

"I don't know what you mean." The defensive reaction was impulsive, but Henry raised an eyebrow and she knew that the child was seeing right through it.

"I know you have memory loss," he stated. Regina waited, but he didn't explain. Maybe he'd overheard her interaction with the doctor? Maybe Emma had told him?

"She takes more and more each time," Henry muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Regina. "That's okay, though. I know you'll remember." He flashed her a bright smile. "You always do."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she only hovered in the doorway. The boy had turned back to the laptop that was balanced on his legs, and he'd begun tapping away at the keys. After a moment, she felt compelled to sit down next to him, among the nest of pillows, though she wasn't sure why. The boy seemed pleased at the gesture, though, so she settled in, folding her hands over her lap.

"So, your castle, huh?" She took a moment to peer around the room and realized that this must be one of the tall spires she'd seen from the outside. The memory seemed distant now, though it had only been the night before. The stained glass cast a faded rainbow against the floor, barely lit by the moonlight. The floor was made of the same dark hardwood as the rest of the inn, but here the polish had worn off in areas and the stain was starting to lift. Cobwebs edged the corners of the high ceiling, strewn across exposed support beams. A tiny hanging bulb was the only source of light in the room. It was just big enough for two people to sit comfortably. Any more would have been claustrophobic. Despite the neglected maintenance, Henry seemed to have made it comfortable - the pillows and blankets covered the worst of the splinters, and there was a small plastic crate filled with a stash of snacks pushed off to the corner. A small plush seat, similar to the one in Regina's room, sat beneath one of the windows. "It's cozy," She conceded, though she ran a finger along the rough grain of the wall beside her. A thin layer of dust came off on her finger. "If a little bit of a health hazard."

Henry rolled his eyes, but there was a genuine, if sad, smile on his lips. "That's what you said about the last one."

Regina only stared at him, but he didn't elaborate, just continued to tap away at his keyboard. She shook her head. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

He only raised an eyebrow.

Regina frowned, disturbed that this child seemed to see right through her. "Okay, I am having trouble remembering things. How did you know?"

"My grandma told me."

Ah, so that explained that. This, and then Emma knowing her name: both traced back to Mary Margaret's apparent tendency to overshare. Regina was starting to question whether or not she was reading too much into everything. Maybe hitting her head had made her paranoid as well.

But then she remembered the hard set of Emma's jaw each time they were in the same room; the way she'd panicked when Regina had looked out at the garage. And then there was the hushed conversation she'd just overheard. No, something was definitely off here.

"Mary Margaret?" She prompted. Maybe Henry could provide her some more insight. He nodded. "She looks quite a bit younger than the average grandmother."

"She's older than she looks," Henry said, echoing Mary Margaret's own words the night before. "Plus, Ma was young when she had me."

"Oh."

"It's okay, it's not a big deal." He shrugged, and silence hung between them for a moment. Henry tapped his feet against the floor.

"She's an...interesting kind." Too kind. She snuck a glance at the boy, but he remained focused on his computer.

"Look, you probably shouldn't go around asking about my grandma. She's got good intentions. She's just a little...over-enthusiastic when it comes to acting on them."

"Alright, then. What are you writing? Can I ask about that?" Emma's words echoed in her head. He's going to tell her stories like he always does, and she's going to believe him.

This got him to pause his typing, and he lowered the screen before turning to meet her eyes. His expression had shifted to one that was so like his mother's - tired, worn. It was only for a moment, and then the casual, easygoing face was back - maybe a little hopeful too. "I'm not sure you're ready for that." He tilted his head, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. "But I promise that when you are, I'll tell you everything. My grandma included."

Not ready? Not ready for what?

She wanted to press him on the issue, but didn't want to risk it on the off chance that he'd respond as his mother had and clam up. It seemed unlikely, given his apparently opposite demeanor towards her.

Now, that was probably something she could ask about.

"Can I ask you about other things?"

He frowned, closing the laptop completely before setting it aside and rearranging the pillows behind him. They sent up a tiny cloud of dust as he settled back down, and Regina found herself concerned about what he might be breathing in if he spent as much time up here as the wear on the floorboards would indicate.

"That depends what you're asking about."

Regina couldn't help the frown on her lips. "Your mother. She really doesn't like me. Ruby says I remind her of her ex. What happened?" Normally she would have accepted that answer, but the conversation she'd overheard was just so strange. Mary Margaret had almost seemed to be suggesting that Emma let Regina in, which was ridiculous. They'd only just met. And what was all that talk about Mary Margaret making her a social worker? About taking her away and bringing her back again?

A tiny voice whispered at the back of her mind, telling her she'd woken up in a Stephen King novel, that somehow it was all related to her memory loss, that maybe she somehow did know them and only couldn't remember -

She shoved it away. That was ridiculous.

Maybe Mary Margaret had a habit of helping strangers? Maybe that was what Emma was talking about. Maybe Henry latched on too closely and was hurt when they left. At least, that was the only thing that made sense.

It was a stretch, and she knew it. There were just too many things that didn't add up.

Henry's voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she started, tasting copper and realizing she'd been worrying at her lip with her teeth.

"She's gone," was all he said, looking down at his fingers. He'd taken the edge of one of his blankets between them and was steadily unravelling one of the seams. "But I hope she'll come back one day. She was my mom," He added softly, and Regina mentally kicked herself.

Of course. If Emma and this other woman had been that close, then of course...and she'd just brought all that up with a teenager.

"I'm sorry," She breathed. Despite her guilt at asking in the first place, she couldn't help but note the other part of what he'd said: I hope she'll come back. So she hadn't passed away.

He shrugged again, still pulling at that seam. "It's okay. I've seen her a couple times since then, but she always has to leave again. I understand, though. It's not her fault. Ma takes it pretty hard, though. So does grandma, just...differently." He paused. "See, our family used to be really, really close. And then some stuff happened, and people kinda drifted. Grandma wants everyone to be close again, but Ma…" He shook his head.

Things could be like they used to.

"I'm sorry," She repeated. There was nothing else to say, really. There was so much she wanted to ask, but it wasn't the time. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until Henry yawned, causing Regina to echo him. "I'm going to get some sleep," She told him, reaching out to squeeze his ankle. She froze, unsure why she'd done it, and pulled her hand back. Henry offered her a small, understanding smile as if to say it was okay.

"Yeah, me too. Ma doesn't like it if I sleep past noon." He gave her a toothy grin before standing. He gestured for her to go first and then followed her down the staircase. They parted ways once they reached the hallway, Henry ducking back in the direction of Emma's room with a friendly goodnight.

Regina hovered for a moment before disappearing back to her own, unsure what to think of all the information she'd come across. It had left her with far more questions than answers.