The next morning, Lucas woke earlier than usual.
He stood in his room, pulling his shoulders back before starting a light stretch. He slowly rolled his neck, twisted his waist. His joints let out faint sounds.
"Hm…"
His movements looked relaxed, but his mind wasn't entirely calm.
…Today was the duel.
He reached for his coat—then the door opened.
"Lucian."
The Baroness stood there, already dressed, her gaze immediately drawn to Lucas's body as he continued stretching lightly.
"You're up early," she said.
"Habit," Lucas replied shortly.
The Baroness stepped closer. Her eyes traced his shoulders, his posture, his breathing.
"You're nervous."
Lucas clicked his tongue softly. "A little."
The Baroness crossed her arms.
"Remember," she said, her voice calm but firm, "if you—"
"Yeah, yeah. I know," Lucas cut in, waving a hand.
The Baroness stopped walking.
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then she let out a quiet sigh.
—
The morning at the field felt quiet.
