The quiet in Ethan's room didn't loosen its hold. It stayed, warm and steady, threaded through the soft weight of blankets and the low thrum of wards under the floorboards.
The scent of him lingered in the way it always did here—clean, a little salt from training, a note of tea he sometimes forgot to finish.
It felt like a hand on the door could turn, and he might walk in with that tired half-smile he wore when he didn't want to admit he needed rest.
The room carried that promise even when everyone knew he wouldn't be crossing the threshold today.
Lilith had pushed herself upright against the headboard, hair spilling over one shoulder in a loose river, the silver catch of it dulling to pale with the low light.
Seraphina stayed at the foot of the bed, knees drawn up, arms loose over them like she was ready to move if she had to and also ready to sit for hours.
