The house was quiet—almost unnaturally so.
Nathan sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, gaze resting on nothing in particular. The weight of everything he'd just declared hours ago was finally settling—not as doubt, but as calculation. Expectation. Anticipation.
Downstairs, faint sounds drifted up through the floorboards—clattering utensils, boiling water, and two voices that absolutely should never have been in the same kitchen together.
His mother laughing.
Validia—yes, the same Validia who impaled monsters like she was swatting flies—calmly chopping vegetables like a trained housewife.
Nathan exhaled through his nose.
If Fiona could see that, she'd have an aneurysm.
Before he could enjoy the absurd peace, the familiar crystal-clear tone vibrated in his skull.
[Ding.]
A translucent blue notification slid into view.
[The Tower Manager requests a private audience.]
[Would you like to accept?]
Yes.
No.
Schedule.
---
Nathan stared at it without blinking.
