Lucian's steps echoed faintly as he pushed the creaking door open. The hinges gave a long, complaining groan, as if resenting the intrusion after years of disuse. A gust of stale air spilled out to meet him, carrying with it the layered scent of old wood, lavender oil long faded, and the dry bite of dust.
He paused on the threshold. For all the shadows stretching in the corners, the place did not feel abandoned. It felt… preserved.
His gaze swept over the dim interior until it caught on the far wall.
Reniel's likeness stared back at him.
The portrait was carefully framed, almost lovingly so. The brushstrokes softened the lines of his face, lending him a warmth Lucian wasn't sure he had ever seen in the man himself. Every detail had been tended to: the curl of his hair, the gentle slope of his lips, even the faint intelligence in his gaze.
Lucian tilted his head, lips curving with something between amusement and disdain.
