Outside the room, the winter cold bit much harder.
The moment the door closed behind them, the warmth from the sleeping chamber stayed inside, and the stone passage outside felt colder in a way that could go straight into the bones. A narrow opening higher up in the wall let in pale morning light, and snow could be seen falling beyond it in soft white sheets. The air smelled of stone, old smoke, winter wind, and that faint sharp scent that always came after demonic power had been used too close to the body.
Cyrus stopped a few steps away from the door.
He did not turn at first.
He only stood there with his back half to Zyran, his red hair a little messy from how quickly he had rushed in earlier, and his whole body looked too tight. Even in human form, there was still something serpent-like in the way he held himself now. His shoulders were drawn in, his hands had curled slightly at his sides, and his pink eyes, when he finally lifted them, looked darker than before.
