Sleep evaded Horace's grasp.
The mansion had long since fallen silent, yet his mind remained a battlefield, every sense heightened, every instinct primed. He stood solitary on the highest balcony, the night wind playfully tousling his dark hair and tugging at his dark coat as moonlight draped over Illuze like a silver shroud.
Tomorrow.
The word resonated with both anticipation and foreboding.
Behind him, the balcony doors opened with a hushed, respectful creak.
"You're still awake," Xavier observed, stepping onto the balcony. "I assumed you'd attempt to find some rest."
"Rest," Horace echoed softly, the word seeming alien on his tongue. "Is a luxury I cannot indulge in tonight."
Xavier leaned against the railing beside him, mirroring his gaze down into the slumbering city. "You're worried."
The unspoken truth hung between them.
