The doorbell chimed at precisely 11:03 PM, a sharp, intrusive sound that sliced through the heavy silence of my temporary inn room. I glanced up from the mountain of silk pillows on my ridiculously large king-sized bed, a flicker of irritation crossing my face. The adrenaline from the trials had finally worn off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and the phantom ache of virtual wounds. I had just begun to sink into the quiet solitude, and now this. Who in the hells would be calling on me at this hour?
"Enter," I called out, my voice flat and laced with weariness, not bothering to get up.
The door creaked open to reveal a young maid, her body trembling so hard the polished silver tray she was clutching rattled softly. She had mousy, chestnut hair tied back in a bun so tight it looked painful, and her eyes, wide with a mixture of awe and sheer terror, were fixed on the floor.
