Kael sat stiffly on the velvet sofa, like a man seated beside a guillotine that hadn't yet dropped.
Same room. Same decor. Same faintly cursed atmosphere.
But this time, Seraphine was bathing behind a curtain that was more decorative suggestion than barrier.
And Kael—poor Kael—was left alone with his thoughts.
Which were not behaving.
Water trickled softly beyond the veil.
Occasionally, there'd be a splash, or a hum—low and indulgent.
Each sound felt like it had been crafted specifically to dismantle his focus, cell by cell.
He stared at the nearest bookshelf as if it held the meaning of life.
It didn't.
Why is she bathing here?
Why am I in the same room?
Why is my entire existence a test of moral restraint?
Then came the scoff.
Quiet.