*Bael's POV*
Sleep doesn't come.
Bael lies in bed staring at the ceiling, running through the dinner conversation for the third time, trying to identify where exactly the miscalculation occurred.
He'd said Runze's name.
Simple, direct, an opening for conversation.
But Runze had stood up and left.
The logic doesn't track.
If Runze wanted answers, if he cared about what happened that night, then why shut down the first attempt at discussion?
Bael turns onto his side, the room looks the same, nothing has changed. The furniture is exactly where it should be, the lights off, the curtains drawn. There is no reason for it to feel… off.
And yet.
He exhales slowly and closes his eyes again, counts backwards from one hundred.
At seventy-three, his thoughts loop back to the same place.
Runze.
Specifically, the fact that Runze is not here.
Which shouldn't matter… it didn't matter before.
Bael's eyes open again.
This is ridiculous.
