The silence Reiner left was… loud. Like, "turn it down, buddy" loud. Cherion sat on the edge of the mattress, suddenly noticing that the fancy borrowed sheets had a secret mission: torture him.
He stayed by your side the whole time. Reiner's voice, bubbly and far too sincere, kept ping-ponging around his brain like some kind of unskippable TooTube ad.
It was a ridiculous image. The Duke of Valtrane hunched over a bedside like a common nursemaid? Cherion tried to wrap his head around it and failed. Guilt, probably. Or, more likely, a very cold, very calculated fear. After all, if Cherion's heart decided to stop beating, Zarius's own clock would start ticking toward a very messy end.
It made perfect sense. If you own a rare, fragile vase that happens to be the only thing holding back a curse, you're going to watch over it. You aren't going to let it out of your sight.
"Rational… rational… think rational," Cherion muttered to the air. "It's just a business."
