The room Raven had given the group was cluttered with suitcases, cloaks, and weapons. The morning sun streamed through the angled windows, casting golden beams across the wooden floor, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The smell of leather and blade oil permeated the room, mingled with the rhythmic sound of Kael folding clothes and adjusting buckles.
He knelt next to the bed, going through his travel bag for the third time. His discipline bordered on the military—every item had its proper place, from the spare change of clothes to the medicinal herbs stored in small bags. His sword rested against the wall, polished and ready.
Behind him, Sylphie watched silently, sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling. Amelia, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her expression disinterested but attentive. Irelia, impatient as ever, sharpened her short sword with brisk movements, the air clinking with each scrape of the stone against the blade.
