Micah hadn't slept a wink the night before. He had tossed and turned beneath the covers, staring at the faint glow of moonlight that filtered through the curtains. Even after he knew Darcy was okay and had fallen asleep under the infusion, Micah's heart had been in turmoil. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind dragged him back to Darcy's pale, sickly face and the sound of those two cruel words.
By the time dawn broke, he gave up. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, his face was full of exhaustion, but he forced himself out of bed and walked down to the kitchen.
"Morning, young master," the butler greeted, but Micah barely heard. He poured himself a glass of milk with sluggish hands, grabbed a slice of toast, and chewed mechanically.
Clyde had left for Isatis City. And Darcy had decided he wanted nothing to do with him…
