The letter lay folded on the table beside the bed, its edge squared with the wood. Vencian stayed where he was, one hand resting against the sheet, his breath moving slow enough to lift the fabric and let it fall.
For a moment he'd thought the room had changed. But it didn't. The chair sat angled toward the window, the ceiling beam above him held the same hairline split it always had, and the latch on the shutters held fast against the morning air. Light crept in along the floorboards and stopped at the bedframe.
He shifted his wrist and felt the paper through the table grain. He didn't reach for it.
So much for being all so mysterious and shit…
He let the thought fade unfinished when his chest tightened, a brief squeeze he could not tell was physical or something else.
Rolling to the side he planted his palm against the mattress. The fabric bunched under his fingers as he drew his legs over the edge, letting their weight settle before the rest followed.
