The gentle stillness inside the cathedral room was broken by the soft creak of an old wooden door swinging open. Luke and Ilyrana turned their heads toward the sound, startled for a moment, especially Luke, whose heart still raced at the faintest surprise after everything he'd endured.
Through the open door stepped a young woman clad in the modest, pale attire of the cathedral's sisters. Her hair was tucked neatly beneath her veil, and in her hands she carried a modest wooden tray with a steaming bowl of stew, a slice of bread, and a pitcher of water. It was a humble meal—likely something meant for Ilyrana, who'd been spending most of her time here.
The sister hadn't looked up at first, carefully minding her steps as she entered the room. But when her gaze finally rose to the bed—and caught sight of the wide-eyed, half-sitting Luke, along with Ilyrana beside him—she froze.
Her mouth dropped open.
The tray followed.
Clatter.
