The door opened without ceremony.
Trafalgar didn't turn right away. He heard the hinge move, felt the shift in presence more than the sound itself. The bathroom remained quiet, the air still warm from the water, marble reflecting soft light without judgment.
Footsteps stopped just inside.
"Young master."
Caelum's voice carried the same tone it always did—controlled, precise, devoid of unnecessary weight. When Trafalgar finally lifted his gaze, their reflections met in the mirror. Caelum stood straight-backed, coat immaculate, hair combed cleanly back as if nothing in the castle had been out of place tonight. His yellow eyes were fixed on Trafalgar, sharp and assessing, missing nothing.
Trafalgar set the towel aside and turned halfway toward him. "I didn't expect anyone to follow me," he said calmly.
Caelum closed the door behind him, careful, deliberate. The sound was soft, final. "I noticed," he replied. "This bathroom isn't the closest one to the hall."
