Eira's pov
I didn't knock.
I didn't hesitate, didn't pause, didn't let myself overthink it for once. I just pushed the door open, heart thudding in my chest like a war drum, and stepped inside.
Malrik's chambers were quiet.
Too quiet.
There was no fire in the hearth. No books half-flipped on the desk. No boots by the door, no dark coat thrown over the back of a chair like usual. Just... stillness.
Something was wrong.
I called his name once. Quiet. Unsure.
"Malrik?"
No answer.
My boots echoed softly on the floor as I walked deeper inside. The room smelled faintly of him,oak, metal, a hint of smoke. My fingers brushed the edge of the desk, the smooth grain of the wood oddly cold. The papers were all gone. The maps. The plans.
I looked toward the bed.
And that's when I saw it.
The window was shattered,glass scattered across the stone floor like fallen stars. The curtains billowed in the cold breeze, their edges torn.
