“Father Ivan, there’s something off about Lord Vlad.”
Hans’s voice was barely above a whisper. He leaned closer to the priest’s room, seated awkwardly in the dim, cramped confessional booth. Under his plain brown hair, his normally gentle eyes were clouded with worry.
With a sigh, he continued, “It takes him twice as long to read the same volume of reports. Tasks that should take ten minutes are dragging on for hours, or even all day. There’s so much work piling up, and the junior administrators are struggling…”
Ivan slid open the confessional screen, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You’re supposed to be confessing your sins, not gossiping about Lord Vlad,” he growled.
Hans nearly jumped out of his seat as he hastily adjusted his crooked glasses. “Gossip? I’m genuinely concerned. I haven’t seen him like this since we settled in Arcadia after the war. If I can’t speak to you about it, Father, who can I turn to? Perhaps even Lord Vlad has his limits. Maybe he’s worn out…”
