The morning arrived the way London mornings arrived.
Grey-gold. The light that wasn't quite overcast and wasn't quite clear, the city's particular contribution to the spectrum. It came through the tall windows of the Faust estate and landed on old floors and older furniture and the faces of people who had not all slept as well as they'd intended to.
Valerian woke before anyone else.
This was not unusual. He'd been doing it since the Night Kingdom, some internal calculation that had decided the last hour before the household stirred was worth being present for. He lay still for a while in the dark before the grey-gold started, the feeling of the room that had too many people in it the previous night and still carried the warmth of that even after most of them had dispersed to their own spaces.
