The heavy silence of the room was broken by a soft, repetitive thud. Julian raised his head, his neck stiff and eyes burning. He hadn't realized how long he'd been sitting on the cold marble floor, his back pressed against the door as if he could still feel Alaric's presence.
The light of the afternoon had long since bled into the black of the night.
"Master Astrea?" a small voice called from the other side of the door. "Dinner is prepared."
Julian swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was lined with glass. He forced his numb limbs to move, pushing himself up. His joints protested with sharp, clicking pops.
"You may... come in," he said, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears.
The bolt slid back—a sound that now triggered a Pavlovian spike in his heart rate. Two maids entered, their faces as expressionless as the stone walls, and their affection levels at 1%.
