The night slipped away quietly, the way it always did in this place—soft, unhurried, almost protective. By the time dawn crept in through the shutters, the house was already warming with the faint glow of early light.
Luke stirred first.
He blinked up at the wooden ceiling, disoriented for only a heartbeat before the memories of yesterday drifted back. The feast. The laughter. Gareth. The kids. The old familiar halls filled with life. It put a small, tired smile on his face before he even swung his legs off the bed.
The floor was cold. Like every morning here.
He liked it. It woke him up better than the Emperor's tea ever did.
He washed up quickly at the basin, splashing his face, combing his fingers through his hair until it looked… passable, at least. By the time he tightened his belt and stretched the sleep from his shoulders, he heard the sheets behind him rustle.
