Cassian had drifted off sometime in the afternoon, only to wake much later in the evening. The room was quiet, almost too quiet. Outside, the faint murmur of cultist voices carried through the streets, broken now and then by the hollow clang of a weapon or the smell of burning oil from makeshift torches. This village still wasn't a home—just a battlefield's shell.
Brigid was nowhere to be seen. Her desk, however, betrayed her absence—books cracked open mid-study, magical instruments scattered across the table like she'd simply stood up and forgotten the world behind her.
"She's messy…" Cassian muttered, his eyes narrowing at the chaotic sprawl.
