The warmth of the hall, the quiet camaraderie, and the absence of tension felt strangely unfamiliar—yet comforting.
By the time I returned home, the rain had softened to a gentle drizzle. Water still clung to the eaves, dripping steadily into the courtyard below.
It was already late.
When I stepped inside, Lucian was sitting on the sofa in the front room, one arm resting along the back, his posture stiff.
He turned the moment he heard the door.
“Why are you back so late?”
I did not answer. I set aside my cloak, changed my damp shoes, and washed my hands at the basin near the entrance. My limbs ached with weariness, and the faint scent of rain clung to my clothes.
All I wanted was to return to my room, bathe, and sleep.
But as I turned toward the corridor, Lucian rose and stepped in front of me, blocking my way.
“Selene,” he said, his voice hardening. “What is the meaning of this?”
I lifted my eyes to look at him.
There was a time when his face alone stirred warmth in me. A single glance from him used to be enough to brighten my entire day.
Now, I felt nothing.
“What do you mean?” I asked calmly.