The room had emptied.
Eastiel remained by the window, back turned to the hollow space, golden eyes fixed on the horizon where snow swallowed sky in an endless white blur. His hands clasped behind him, shoulders straight.
The door creaked open.
Eastiel turned, brow faintly furrowed. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
Oathran crossed the room, planted himself beside Eastiel, their shoulders almost brushing. He turned his gaze toward the same unforgiving white expanse of the white capital.
Side by side they stood, watching snow fall. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out, then wisely shut up.
"Sensed Arkai coming," Eastiel said. "But it's you."
"Asked him to let us be." Oathran shrugged.
Just a month ago, this ease between them would've been unthinkable. Then again, the last world they'd crashed through, where they'd been three roommates who'd bonded over the years, had burned that awkwardness to ash.
