Moonlight spilled through the slats of the shuttered window, casting pale lines across the stone floor. The room was silent, save for the slow rhythm of Timofey's breathing, and the occasional metallic click from the table across the room.
Auri lay on his side, half-curled under the rough wool blanket. The boy had fallen asleep not long after their late dinner, worn down by the day's excitement. Timofey's small hand was tucked beneath his cheek, soft hair brushing Auri's shoulder.
Across from them, Wrye sat at the table, carefully polishing the edges of his knives. The low flame of the oil lamp flickered beside him. The scent of metal polish and faint herbs drifted in the air, mingling with the subtle coolness of the fortress's stone interior.
Everything felt still—too still—for a space shared by three.
Auri didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling beams, heart beating a little faster than it should.
Wrye hadn't said a word since the kiss.
