The infirmary stood just as he remembered it—cold stone walls, a single wooden door at the entrance, and the faint scent of herbs drifting from within. Nothing had changed.
Trafalgar pushed the door open and stepped inside. Rows of rooms stretched down a narrow corridor, their doors ajar, each revealing empty cots and unused equipment. Only one door remained closed at the far end. His chest tightened.
A voice broke his focus. "Trafalgar?"
He turned. An elf healer stood beside the entrance desk, her long ears twitching in surprise. Her green robes marked her as staff of the estate.
His brow furrowed. "What did you just call me?"
Her eyes widened, and she bowed quickly. "Forgive me—young master Trafalgar."
But he was no longer listening. His gaze was fixed on the closed door at the end of the corridor.
The healer shifted uneasily. "May I help you with something?"
