Chapter 42

Morning crept gently through the aged wooden slats of the inn's shutters, its golden rays pouring over the interior with a soft glow. A cool breeze filtered through the narrow gap beneath the window, carrying with it the scent of dew-kissed earth and warm bread from the kitchen below. Inside the modest guest room, Lucien lay undisturbed, his tall frame partially swaddled in the white linen sheets. His silver-white hair, tousled from sleep, fanned across the pillow like strands of moonlight. His face was peaceful, boyish even, unmarred by the concerns of the world.

Then, a knock.