Late morning light filtered through the wooden-framed windows of Orthran's home, soft and steady against pale stone walls and simple furnishings. The house carried the quiet order of someone accustomed to living without excess. A kettle still rested warm near the hearth. The scent of tea lingered faintly in the air.
Noel stood near the table, coat already in place, posture relaxed but prepared. Everything that had brought him to the Holy Capital had been resolved.
Redna's support was secured.
The Church had aligned itself.
Erick had been visited.
The orphanage had heard his voice again.
There was nothing left to delay him.
Orthran returned from the adjoining room after setting aside the breakfast dishes. He stopped when vio el objeto en la mano de Noel.
Noel extended it without ceremonia.
"It's the same model I'm using," he said.
