When Morrison opened the door, Karl was just about to call them. Seeing his brother appear, Karl quickly put away his phone and grinned.
"Ah, there you are, bro! Where's Lilian? Didn't she come here with you?"
As he spoke, Karl peeked past Morrison's shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the room behind him. The curtains were drawn tightly, but he could make out the faint outline of a disheveled interior—clothes scattered, the bed vaguely visible through the dim light.
Morrison calmly shifted his position, subtly blocking Karl's view. His tone remained indifferent.
"She was feeling a little carsick on the way. I told her to get some rest. Better not bother her for now."
"Oh…"
Karl gave a casual nod, as if understanding—but his eyes lingered on Morrison.
His brother's messy black hair, the lazy droop of his eyes, the thin sheen of sweat on his skin under the open collar of his robe—it didn't take a genius to figure out what had just happened in that room.
