The morning of the third day crept into the warehouse exactly as the previous two had. Silent, biting cold, and entirely devoid of news.
Roland was already standing by the window again.
But this morning, there was a subtle shift in his posture. The bags under his eyes were no longer charcoal-black. The line of his shoulders wasn't as stiff as a wooden board. Last night, the man had finally slept.
Adul sat with his knees pulled up on his wooden crate. His fingers gently massaged his kneecaps, which were beginning to form dry, itchy scabs. "Lord Roland... it's the third day today, you know."
"I know, Adul."
"If, say... if they don't show up... do we have a backup plan?"
Roland didn't answer. He didn't budge from his spot overlooking the street. It wasn't because his mind was blank without a solution. It was because the contingency plan in his head was far too bloody to vocalize.
