The road was silent.
Too silent.
Only the dull rhythm of the wheels grinding through wet soil dared to break the stillness. The horses snorted every now and then, hooves splashing into deep puddles as rainwater collected in the grooves of the muddy road. The sky above sagged under the weight of swollen gray clouds—like bruises waiting to split open.
Inside the merchant's carriage, the air was heavy with damp and the scent of rotting fruit.
Luther sat near the back, elbow braced against the small window frame, his chin resting on his hand. His eyes were half-lidded—neither tired nor awake, just… empty. Wind slipped through the cracks, biting cold and smelling faintly of pine and wet bark. He didn't mind. The chill at least made him feel something.
The silence stretched on, longer than comfort should allow.
