Lucien carefully held the glass to his grandmother's lips, waiting until she had swallowed the last of her medicine. As he set it back on the bedside table, Azalea's soft voice broke the silence.
"Are you still upset, Lucien?"
He turned his gaze to her. "I'm not upset, Grandma."
Azalea studied him closely, her frail hands resting atop the blanket. "You hardly spoke at dinner. It feels as though you're still holding back, still unwilling to reconcile with Leia. Why do you let arguments come between you, when it's clear how much you love her?"
A muscle ticked in Lucien's jaw, but he said nothing. Instead, he drew the blanket higher around her shoulders. "It's late. You should rest now."
She sighed softly but didn't press further.
"Goodnight, Grandma," he whispered, switching off the lamp. The room sank into darkness, leaving a tiny lamp on. With quiet steps, Lucien moved to the door, pulling it closed behind him.
