Zafron paced an unfamiliar room, his eyes darting from one corner to another. The space exuded an air of neglect, with dust motes dancing in the shafts of light that pierced through partially drawn curtains. Ornate furniture, draped in white sheets, stood as silent sentinels to a bygone era.
'This place feels... abandoned,' Zafron thought, running his finger along a mahogany table, leaving a clean streak in its wake.
He recalled Cassandra's instructions, delivered through a stoic guard who'd led him to this secluded wing of the mansion. "Wait here," the man had grunted before taking up position outside the door. Zafron knew Cassandra was attending to some private matter with Lucien, but the details eluded him.
As the minutes ticked by, Zafron's mind wandered. 'What could Lucien want? And why this room?' The questions swirled in his head, unanswered.