The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of the Vaise family's private infirmary, gilding the room in muted gold.
Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams, floating above the bed where the mountain of a man—Varian Von Vaise—lay still, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths.
Raven stood at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, posture casual, but his eyes sharp.
Clara leaned at his side, expression calm as always, though her gaze kept flicking between Raven and the man in the bed, her mind no doubt already parsing the weight of this "family secret."
Selena stood a step back, composed as a blade sheathed, though her fingers curled slightly whenever Raven shifted closer to Clara.
Siris, predictably, was pouting. "Why isn't he up yet? Why don't we just stab him awake?"
"No stabbing," Raven deadpanned without looking at her.
