The first time Adrian had mentioned a headache, it was in passing — over breakfast, while slicing toast for Seraphina. He had winced slightly, massaged his temple with two fingers, and when Ethan looked at him questioningly, he'd smiled like it was nothing.
"Just a little strain," Adrian had said. "Probably from reading too long last night."
Ethan hadn't pushed — not then.
But that was seven days ago.
And now, as Adrian sat on the edge of the bed in their shared room, shoulders hunched forward, hands pressed tightly to the sides of his head, Ethan stood frozen in the doorway — watching, helpless.
Adrian didn't notice him at first. His body was trembling slightly, as if the pain was somewhere deeper than just the surface. Ethan crossed the room in three steps.
"Adrian?" His voice was low, cautious.
