"First, in case you were wondering, Lucius is awake. Lysander is examining him as we speak," Heinz said quietly.
His tone was even, restrained, but his eyes—those crimson eyes—never left Florian.
He leaned back against the wall, arms loosely folded, but the faint tension in his posture betrayed his unease.
Florian didn't turn to look at him. He didn't want to.
Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the lone butterfly fluttering lazily through the room, its pale blue wings catching the faint light.
The sight calmed him—barely—but not enough to silence the pounding in his chest.
He exhaled slowly, relief slipping through his lips before he could stop it.
'I'm glad he's okay… I…'
But the relief didn't last.
Images—sharp and sudden—flashed behind his eyes: Lucius collapsing, the wet sound of steel cutting through flesh, the smell of blood.
Florian flinched, his fingers tightening around the duvet until his knuckles turned white.
He couldn't show it.
Not here.
