Maverick's fingertips brushed lightly across Julius' hair, sweeping the strands from his face.
In the pale dawn light, Julius' sleeping features seemed softer, almost peaceful—his head tilted against the carriage wall.
A faint smile touched Maverick's lips. Morning had come, but the sun had yet to fully crest the horizon.
After last night's chaos, they hadn't gone back—not until Julius finally succumbed to exhaustion.
Maverick had carried him to the carriage himself, careful not to wake him, settling him into the corner like something fragile.
The murmur of voices outside drew his attention. One of them—a familiar tone—made him pause. Henry.
Maverick quietly stepped down from the carriage. The coachman noticed him first, giving Henry a nudge.
Henry turned immediately, bowing. "Good morning, my lord."
Running a hand through his hair, Maverick walked toward him. His eyes swept over the street as he asked, "Is everything taken care of?"
