When Caelum left, silence reclaimed the room. Trafalgar lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, but rest did not come easily. Sleep had always been a fragile thing for him, and tonight it was nearly impossible.
The day's revelations weighed heavily.
'Mordrek's death… it hurts, yes, but not as much as it should. I barely knew him. The pain will be sharper when I see Sylis and the others—because for them, it's not an uncle they've lost, but a father, a pillar of their home.'
Yet that grief was overshadowed by something else entirely.
'Mayla is awake.'
The thought pulsed in his mind again and again. After so many time of uncertainty, of wondering if she would ever open her eyes again, the idea that she was conscious, alive, breathing—he almost couldn't believe it. The heaviness of loss gave way to a spark of hope.
But hope did not mean peace. His body shifted restlessly, tangled in sheets that felt too warm, too heavy. His mind refused to quiet.
