"What happened to that guy? Why does he look like that?"
Aramis—sent as an envoy from Estalis—called out to Logan the moment they stepped into the inn's stone-paved courtyard. He had been in the middle of practicing his swordsmanship, the steady rhythm of steel slicing the air filling the quiet morning.
Netser, however, barely spared Aramis a glance. He answered with only an indifferent nod when Aramis greeted him, before striding toward the mess hall on the ground floor, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion—or something darker.
"He visited his old home," Logan said, lowering his blade. "It hit him hard. I think he just needs time to climb out of that grief." He walked toward the threshold of the inn, but suddenly paused, scanning the courtyard.
"The sun's already up," he muttered. "Where is everyone? Aren't the envoys supposed to head to the palace?"
