By the time the shed's door creaked open again, Theo's dragged his steps forcing his spine straight. He stood at the threshold, eyes sweeping over the scattered tools, the piles of scrap wood shavings, and the buckets of clean water stacked in the corner. The faint smell of burned rope and freshly cut planks still hung in the air, mingling with the crisp scent of dusk seeping through the gaps in the shed's old walls.
Behind him, Narmidor crossed his arms, patient yet restless as always. He had stayed silent the entire time, watching Theo's every move from under the guise of mindless boredom.
Now, however, his attention was in the corner of the shed, on a small part of it currently covered by a simple, cheap blanket.
