Beron sat motionless on the edge of his mattress, his hands resting flat on his knees as his gaze remained fixed on the floor beneath him. The lingering exhaustion from the night before still settled within his muscle tissue, but it was nothing compared to the chaotic storm thrashing through his mind. His jaw was tightly set, his broad shoulders tensed into rigid blocks of muscle under his shirt.
The bedroom door creaked open smoothly, breaking the stillness. Jackline stepped into the space, her eyes instantly anchoring onto her son's brooding silhouette. She paused near the doorway, sweeping her gaze over his rigid posture before walking over with deliberate, measured steps.
"You look like a man who has lost a war before the first battalion even marched," Jackline said, stopping right beside the edge of the bed. She folded her arms over her chest, looking down at him with a demanding, motherly scrutiny. "Why are you sitting there so troubled, Beron?"
