The dwarven morning rose with heat, not light.
Far below, furnaces exhaled slow ribbons of steam that curled up through vents in the stone. The walls ticked faintly as metal expanded. Somewhere in the distance, heavy gears clanked into motion like awakening giants.
But the corridor outside the infirmary was still.
Almost peaceful.
Luca lay slumped against the wall, his back curved at an uncomfortable angle. One arm hung limp across his lap, his other hand still half-curled as if he'd meant to push himself up hours ago but never managed it. His legs were folded unevenly, boots tilted awkwardly to one side.
His head had lolled forward at some point, and his messy hair fell across his forehead in soft, uneven strands.
His breaths were slow.
Gentle.
Completely drained.
He really slept here…
The infirmary door opened with a soft wooden groan.
The Tower Master stepped out.
She paused after one step.
