"What are you thinking about?"
The deep voice made Ren flinch. He turned, finding Zayden standing before him, hair damp from his shower. The white robe given by the inn hung slightly open, loosely tied at his waist, revealing a hint of his chest.
Ren's breath caught in his throat when he felt the tall figure's warmth almost reach him. He hadn't expected Zayden to be standing so close—the faint scent of soap, the trace of pheromones lingering in the air.
"It reminds me of something I would rather forget," he replied, turning toward the windowpane once again. His gaze remained fixed on the window, where snow fell endlessly in rapid spirals, carried by loud bursts of wind.
Not hearing Zayden speak, he said, "Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to ruin the mood."
The General didn't respond right away. The fire crackled softly behind them, painting the room in gold and amber. When he finally spoke, his tone was low and steady.
