A middle-aged man, his face and clothes caked with dust and his whole appearance haggard, walked down the barracks corridor. Behind him followed a younger man in a cleaner uniform.
From afar, the sounds of guards training carried all the way here.
"Those damn bandits! They kept me from contacting Gara and asking about the triplets. In just one week, I must've missed so much of their growth, right?" Tristan complained.
Emir wanted to say that for two-month-old babies, a week wouldn't bring much change. But he stayed silent, his expression unreadable as he trailed behind his captain.
They arrived at Tristan's quarters, a shabby room with dim lighting. After being closed for a week, the air inside smelled damp.
Tactfully, Emir opened the window, letting fresh air sweep out the staleness and sunlight brighten the space.
Tristan brushed the dust off his clothes and sat heavily in his chair. His vice-captain stood across the desk from him.
