Morning came cold over Euclid.
Inside Trafalgar's room, that cold barely reached. The mansion had been kept warm since the day before, and now the only thing filling the chamber was the faint rustle of cloth, the quiet sound of metal clasps, and Caelum's measured breathing as he worked.
Trafalgar stood in front of the tall mirror while Caelum adjusted the dark layers over his frame. The formal clothes were black from neck to hem, with silver details worked in just enough to show rank without turning the whole thing into vanity. The inner layer sat close to the body, the outer one heavier, structured across the shoulders and chest. Gloves rested on the nearby table for now, waiting until the end.
Caelum moved around him with the ease of someone who had done similar things many times before, though never for Trafalgar.
"Young master," Caelum said, smoothing one side of the collar before stepping back half a pace. His yellow eyes narrowed faintly. "Could you stop moving?"
