Noah sat in silence beside Arlo's bed, the soft flicker of the crystal lantern casting shadows on the infirmary wall.
The room smelled of herbs and mana-soaked ointments, and though most beds were empty now, the quiet buzz of the healer's footsteps could be heard in the background.
Outside, the sky had gone completely dark. He should have left already. But his feet wouldn't move.
Arlo lay still, his breath steady but shallow. His white hair, always a little messy, was now damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead.
A light sheet was drawn over his body, and his face was pale, far too pale for Noah's liking.
It was strange to see him so still, so vulnerable. Arlo, who always had a grin and a witty comment. Arlo, who joked even when he was coughing blood. Arlo, who ran into danger beside him without hesitation.
Noah leaned back in the wooden chair, running a hand through his hair, his other hand resting on the side of the bed. He stared at Arlo for a long moment.
