The next morning began far too late for two people who had an itinerary.
Dean blamed Arion.
Arion accepted the blame with the calm satisfaction of a man who considered it less an accusation and more a compliment.
By the time Dean managed to get out of bed, the sky beyond Ylico House's tall windows had already turned a bright, rain-washed blue, making the previous day's mist feel like something from another life. Autumn sunlight spilled over the hills, caught in the wet gold of the trees, and made the glass walls of the lower wing shine like the palace had been built to collect light.
Dean stood near the window in one of the robes provided by the house, hair still damp from the bath, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee that had been delivered without anyone risking conversation.
Excellent staff.
Truly, Minerva had selected survivors.
Behind him, Arion was still in bed.
Not asleep.
