The moonlight poured through the tall windows of the west tower.
The candles burned low, flickering shadows dancing against stone walls lined with books and velvet drapes. The room smelled faintly of aged parchment, ink, and something softer—lavender, maybe. Sebatien leaned back in the plush chair, shirt unbuttoned halfway, collar loose, the weight of the past few days settling into his spine.
He hadn't slept properly in nights. Not since the memories started crawling back, like whispers he couldn't quite hold onto.
The knock at the door was soft—almost too soft to be real.
He turned his head lazily. "It's open."
The door creaked.
And there stood James, his blonde hair glowing silver in the moonlight, dressed in nothing but a loose black robe barely tied at the waist. His eyes were unreadable—calm, cool, but burning with something Sebatien couldn't name.
James stepped in, locking the door behind him with a quiet click.
Sebatien arched an eyebrow. "Can't sleep either?"
