The camping station buzzed with life—lively conversations drifted through the air, mingling with bursts of laughter and the cheerful clinking of glasses filled with sparkling liquors. Lanterns cast warm pools of golden light across the tents, and the faint scent of roasted meat and woodsmoke wrapped the gathering in a cozy, celebratory haze.
Both the hunting competition and the polo games had drawn to a close, and now the guests were simply enjoying a moment of leisure before the announcement of the prize winners. A relaxed excitement pulsed through the crowd, as if everyone stood on the edge of something grand.
Cillian sat in his chair with a half-empty glass of red wine balanced loosely in his hand. He scanned the crowd with dull, disinterested eyes, but every passing moment only sharpened the ache in his chest. No matter how many faces he sifted through, the only one he sought was nowhere to be found.
