Chapter 77: The Serpent's Smile
The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the morning sun. Only the crackling hearth and the soft rasp of Darius's breath filled the silence. Every inhale was a task. Every exhale a surrender.
He lay motionless, the sheets damp from fever. Sweat clung to his skin like a second, sour layer. His chest rose in slow, uneven rhythms. Each breath was a dragged anchor. His fingers twitched, weak and restless atop the coverlet—reaching for nothing, grasping only air.
The room was still. Too still. The fire in the hearth had withered into a few gasping embers. Shadows leaned long and quiet across the walls, like patient vultures waiting their turn.
Then—
Click.
The latch turned with the soft finality of a lock on a crypt. The door creaked open, and cold air slithered in.
Footsteps echoed over the stone floor.
Slow, but measured and purposeful.
