AELIA REVA
A week later.
The inn is hushed, though not in the way it usually is after a long night of travelers drinking themselves into forgetful sleep. This silence is heavier, softer at the edges, like everyone has agreed not to disturb it. A silence that belongs to grief.
It's been two days, Ulric hasn't left the hospital since Hayden brought the news. The moment he heard about his father, he had moved like a storm breaking loose, and I, helpless in every way, had followed. I sat with him through the endless blur of sterile lights and muted voices, the hours stretching like years. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw a stone wall, and not once did he let his mask slip. The only thing I could offer him was my hand, hidden under the shadows of the waiting room, when I thought no one else was watching. He didn't even look at me, but his fingers tightened around mine, and that was enough.
