The stillness in the courtyard was suffocating. Uncle William paced relentlessly, wearing a path into the stone floor of the Celestial Apothecary Guild's private garden. Alistair Northwood sat rigidly at the table, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the weathered wood.
"It's been hours," Uncle William muttered, glancing toward the entrance for the hundredth time. "He should have returned by now."
Alistair's face was drawn with concern. "Tristan Thornton is no ordinary opponent. The man has shattered boulders with his bare hands. He's broken champions in tournaments without breaking a sweat."
I watched them from the shadows of the entrance, curious about their conversation. Neither had noticed my arrival yet.
"And if something happens to Liam..." Uncle William's voice cracked. "The boy trusted me. He came to me when he had nowhere else to go."
