The church was quiet.
Too quiet.
Only the creak of old beams and the occasional flicker of candlelight stirred the air.
Dust danced like lazy spirits in the golden shafts of evening sun, slipping through cracked stained glass.
Kael sat sprawled across a crooked pew, legs stretched out, flipping through a half-crumpled newspaper as if nothing in the world could touch him.
Outside, chaos brewed.
Inside, he was barefoot, bored, and reading.
Across the room, Saintess Nyra moved gently through the kitchen space they'd cobbled together from broken furniture and borrowed magic.
She hummed a soft lullaby under her breath, stirring something fragrant in a copper pot.
Her hair was tied loosely.
Her robe hung open at the sleeves.
It was domestic.
Strange.
Almost peaceful.
Yue hovered above, frowning.
"You're really not worried?" she asked.
Kael turned the page. "Nope."
"There's a duchess out there who wants your head.
A political war inching toward bloodshed.
