Morning light filtered weakly through the narrow stone windows of Orthran's underground office, illuminating dust motes drifting above the old wooden table. The room was quieter than usual. No chanting from the upper halls, no footsteps from the sisters, no soft hum of clerics organizing scrolls.
Just the three of them.
Orthran poured tea into three small cups with steady hands, yet even he couldn't hide the slight tremor in his fingers. He pushed two cups forward — one toward Charlotte, one toward Noel — then sat heavily.
Charlotte wrapped both hands around her cup, letting the warmth seep into her palms. She kept glancing at Noel from the corner of her eye.
He hadn't spoken since they entered.
Noir curled on his shoulder, unusually silent as well.
Orthran took a slow sip, then set his cup down. "…From your expressions," he said quietly, "it seems you found something."
Noel lifted his eyes.
Charlotte shifted in her seat, a tiny breath catching in her throat.
