The moment the door creaked open, Luther flinched from the sound and squinted, groaning at the sudden brightness that poured in.
Standing there was the cheerful female apprentice, a warm smile stretched across her face as she bowed lightly.
"Good afternoon, Saint Luther," she greeted, voice like morning bells.
Luther blinked. Afternoon? His eyes darted to the window. The sunlight wasn't soft anymore—it was a heavy, golden hue that only came after noon. He groaned, dragging a hand across his face.
"Don't tell me I slept through the morning again."
"Oh, you didn't just sleep," a dry voice drawled in his head. "You hibernated. Like a log. A very useless log."
Luther shot a glare toward the necklace lying innocently on his neck. The demonic sword's voice had that irritatingly smug undertone again.
He wanted—desperately wanted—to smack it against the wall, but doing so in front of the apprentice would raise questions he wasn't ready to answer.
