Lucien sat at the long oak table, his eyes fixed on the parchment spread before him, though he hadn't read a word in the last half hour. His mind was elsewhere—always elsewhere these days. He remembered Isadora's laughter, the way she leaned close when she spoke, as though her every word was a secret just for him. But she was gone, and though he scoured every possibility, no trace of her remained.
The soft creak of the door interrupted his thoughts. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"Lucien," Sephrina's voice drifted through, smooth and warm like honey. She entered the council chamber as though she belonged there, her gown trailing the floor in dark velvet. "You're still working? Even generals need rest."
Lucien set down his quill, keeping his tone even. "What brings you here again, Sephrina?"
She smiled faintly. "Concern, of course. You haven't been home in days. Your duties consume you, and someone has to make sure you're not drowning yourself in them."
