The night had grown unusually heavy over the Rodrigo estate.
Even the wind seemed reluctant to move.
In The North Wing Alex, lay quiet under the dim corridor lights. The tall windows reflected the pale glow of the garden lamps outside, and the long hallway carried the stillness of a place that had gone to sleep hours ago.
Alex, however, could not sleep.
He had tried.
He had turned on his side.
Then on the other.
Then onto his back.
But rest refused to come.
Something felt wrong.
It was not pain, though the dull ache in his sides had become familiar these days. Nor was it the nausea that occasionally crept up his throat. This was something else entirely — a quiet unease sitting somewhere deep inside his chest.
He slowly pushed himself upright in bed.
The sheets slid off his body as he swung his legs to the floor.
The polished wood beneath his feet felt cool.
He rubbed his face tiredly.
"Why can't I sleep…" he murmured to himself.
The estate was silent.
Too silent.
