The sound was subtle.
A small, dry click, almost imperceptible to someone distracted, but not to Agnes. Her body reacted even before her mind fully processed what she had heard, her muscles contracting slightly as her head turned toward the source of the sound.
And then she saw.
Strax.
Standing near the entrance to the fountains, as if he had always been there.
A towel fastened tightly around his waist, still slightly damp at the edges, his loose hair falling partially over his face, though he was already beginning to pull it back with a calm, nonchalant movement. His posture was relaxed—dangerously relaxed—as if there was absolutely nothing unusual about the situation.
But there was.
And Agnes felt it immediately.
