Vencian ran a hand through his damp hair as he crossed the threshold into his room. The bath had done its work, stripping away the grime of the evening and leaving him alert, clean, empty. He moved toward the desk where the gramox sat, a black iron box with its slotted mouth waiting.
He checked for his mother's message first.
The device sat silent. No letter. No reply.
They had exchanged a few letters after Vencian had heard the news. Lumea had said it was all on Vencian whether he wanted to keep his word. If he chose otherwise, then she would support him, but that didn't mean it would come without consequences. She had left the choice to him. That was her way. She gave him space to decide and told him plainly what the cost might be.
He withdrew the first glyphsteel and set it aside.
