Julian smirked, running a hand through his hair as he took it all in. So this is what it looks like, he thought, when people are starving, not for food, but for seed.
The corner of his lip curled higher.
He stepped away from the window and dropped onto his bed, taking a deep breath.
"I wonder what Eleanor, Regina, Isabel… and the others are doing," Julian murmured, his gaze drifting back up to the ceiling. It had been ages since he last felt their presence, ages since their voices or whispers had reached him.
The thought left a bitterness in his chest.
He had tried—again and again—to reach for that connection, to open the path that tied him to the inner world. Yet every attempt ended the same way: with that fragile thread almost snapping.
It was maddening.
