The night was quiet, the secret courtyard of the Grey family illuminated by soft moonlight filtering through the trees. The silence carried a weight of memories—the kind both Morris and Drake had long tried to bury.
Drake stood with his hands behind his back, staring at the old stone fountain in the middle of the courtyard. His usually proud shoulders seemed heavier now, his expression softened. Morris arrived slowly, still dressed in his clothes he arrived there with, the faint traces of fatigue from their journey still visible on his face.
For a while, neither spoke. The only sound was the trickle of water from the fountain.
At last, Drake turned. His eyes, once filled with superiority whenever they landed on Morris, now carried something else—regret.
"Morris," Drake began, his voice low, almost hesitant, "I've been meaning to say this for a long time."
Morris kept his gaze steady, but his fists clenched slightly at his sides.
