The System alarm buzzed in Elian's skull like an angry bee.
BZZT. BZZT. WAKE UP, PLAYER THREE.
Elian jerked awake. He was sitting on the library floor, his head resting against the heavy oak desk. His neck felt like it had been welded into a permanent tilt.
[Time Until Death: 88 Hours, 00 Minutes (Paused).]
He stood up, his joints popping. He looked at the chair.
Cassian was still asleep. The Prince looked younger like this, his face smoothed of the lines of command. He was also currently clutching Elian's thin, cheap valet jacket to his chest in a death grip, nuzzling the collar like a giant, muscular toddler with a security blanket.
"Oh no," Elian whispered. "That's my only clean uniform. If I lose that, I'm showing up to work in an undershirt."
He couldn't leave it. He also couldn't wake the Prince.
"Operation: Jacket Heist," Elian muttered. "Commencing."
