Caius tossed his clothes onto the bed. He didn't like how he felt; it didn't help that he'd had the most peculiar dream. He couldn't recall the details exactly, just how he felt, and it wasn't good.
He scratched his stubble, wondering if this had something to do with his father dying. He didn't care about the old man; he was certain about that. He would be upset if his mother died, but his father's death shouldn't matter to him.
Yet, here he was, gloomy as though a rain cloud hung over him. He didn't want Rose to know; she had an annoying way of being perceptive, and if she caught a scent, she wouldn't let it go until she uncovered it all. But there was nothing to uncover. He was quite aware he didn't care, but his father dying seemed to bother him.
