He no longer looked like the nobleman of Aldoria. He looked like any other farmhand. A man worn thin by work and worry.
Each night he lay on the straw mattress in their small rented shack and stared at the ceiling. He thought of Meical, alone in the estate with danger on every side. He thought of Seraphine, still free, still pulling strings, still able to frame him for crimes he never committed. He thought of his promise, spoken quietly as he fled into the forest: I will return. I will clear my name. I will come back to you.
Thirty days passed and he had found nothing. No letter. No rumor. No clue he could use against Seraphine. The guilt gnawed at him like an old wound that refused to heal.
Odysseus and Saar did what they could. Saar watched the roads. Odysseus hunted for information through the small tavern. But Aldoria was too far, and guards patrolled its borders heavily. News traveled slow. And Min-jae could not risk sending anything back without giving himself away.
