"Are you planning to watch me all night, or do you intend to speak?" Gillian murmured, his voice thick with the disorienting haze of deep, restorative sleep.
The silence of the Mourning Manor was absolute, broken only by the faint, rhythmic crackle of the embers dying in the hearth. Gillian lay on the velvet sofa in the central hall, his limbs feeling heavier and more relaxed than they had in years. For as long as he could remember, his nights had been populated by the jagged memories of past missions and the relentless, biting chill of the curse. He usually woke in a cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs, hyper-vigilant and ready for a threat that never materialized. Tonight, however, there was a different weight pressing against his consciousness.
He opened his eyes slowl
