The door whispered shut behind Leon with a soft wooden thud, sealing him away from the echoing hallways, the fading lantern glow, and every pair of watching eyes in the mansion. Inside his room, the air felt still—quiet in a way that wrapped around him like a warm towel after a long bath.
For a moment, he just stood there. Bare-chested, muscles faintly tight, breathing steady but deep. The silence didn't feel empty; it felt earned. And he let it sit with him.
The moonlight slipped in through the tall window, painting a pale stripe across the floorboards and catching the bits of dust floating lazily in the air. The room smelled faintly of aged wood and a hint of lavender—someone must've placed fresh sachets earlier. The soft scent curled around him, subtle but grounding.
