Alex stopped on the second floor. Ten private rooms stretched ahead of him, curtained doorways spaced evenly down the hall, the quiet of the place sitting undisturbed. His eyes settled on the room at the far corner without deliberation, and a few strides brought him to it.
He pulled the curtain back.
The space beyond was small and neat, a carpet covering the floor in warm tones, cushions resting against the walls at sitting height, a low table at the center carrying a teapot and two cups.
On the left side of the table, seated on the floor was a man, holding a steaming cup and in the process of taking a sip.
The amber and gold met the abyssal black, and Magnus smiled, the genuine kind, not the social one, the smile of a man who was, at this particular moment, simply enjoying himself.
"I have to say," he remarked, lifting the cup slightly as if presenting evidence, "this place has quite a soothing and rich tea."
"Yes," Alex said. "It does."
