When Nox returned to the hotel from his training session, something in him had shifted.
The sun was setting, painting the ruined city in shades of orange and purple that would have been beautiful if they weren't filtering through the haze of destruction. He climbed the creaky stairs slowly, each step measured, his mind unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
The constant gnawing anxiety that was his companion for years, the feeling of being hunted, of being perpetually two seconds from disaster, it was gone. Not dulled or suppressed. Just absent. Replaced by something harder, colder, more final.
He opened the door to their shared room carefully, the hinges protesting with a faint creak.
Serian was still asleep where he'd left her, curled on her side on the salvaged bedroll, the thin blanket pulled up to her chin. She'd shifted slightly, one hand visible now, relaxed against her face. Breathing deep and even, unconscious to the world.
