The air in Eric's study was stale and stuffy. For two days, he had buried himself there, a self-imposed exile from his own residence, from Delia. He was checking the ledgers of the last major shipment they had completed, his eyes scanning the numbers without really seeing them. His mind was elsewhere, stuck in that quiet kitchen, replaying her words over and over again. "I won't be here for long, anyway."
A knock came on the door, but Eric didn't look up from the meaningless columns of figures. "Come in," he said, his voice flat.
Aiden walked in, a stack of fresh documents in his hand. He looked at his master, at the tired slump of his shoulders and the tired look of his eyes.
"Your Grace," Aiden began, his voice full of a concern that went beyond that of a mere aide. "You have been here for two full days now. Working yourself to death. Why don't you go home and get some proper rest? I will take care of the rest of the work here."
