Back to the present.
"Hm? What are you guys doing here?"
Azhriel turned his head slowly, his tired eyes widening just a little when he saw who stood behind him.
He had been expecting Elizabeth, maybe even Alaric—but the rest of them? The entire group from the banquet hall, gathered here at the top of the tower?
That was surey unexpected.
"Haa… That's what we should be asking you, dude," Raymond said with a weary sigh, his tone halfway between exasperation and exhaustion.
He walked over and dropped down beside Azhriel without ceremony.
His suit was torn in several places, dark patches of dried blood staining the fabric. Cuts crisscrossed his arms and shoulders, and the scent of battle still clung to him.
Azhriel leaned back, resting against the cold wall behind him, and tilted his head slightly.
"Me?" he said, as if the answer was obvious. "The banquet chatter was just too much for me. So I came here to get some fresh air."
