Morning light filtered through the high stained-glass windows of the Cathedral's inner hallway, painting the marble floors in soft hues of gold and blue. The city outside was unusually quiet — as if holding its breath for what was to come.
Inside the preparation room behind the Grand Hall, Noel stood at a broad wooden table, finishing his letters with slow, deliberate strokes. His handwriting was clean but firm, every word chosen carefully.
One letter sealed for Seraphina.
The other sealed for Elyra.
Noir sat on the table, tail curled around her paws, watching him with sharp, alert eyes.
'You write like an old man sometimes,' she commented dryly.
Noel didn't look up. "It's called being careful."
'Old man,' she repeated with smug certainty.
Noel exhaled through his nose, but his lips twitched.
