Enrique was close to his room when he remembered he wanted to check on his father first before calling it a night. He turned around and headed back the way he came.
The halls were quieter now, the torches dimmed low for the evening, shadows stretching lazily across stone walls that had seen far too much blood and history to ever feel warm. His boots echoed softly as he walked, his thoughts still tangled in the aftermath of addressing the pack. Standing in front of them, speaking as though everything was steady, as though he was steady—it had taken more effort than he cared to admit.
About ten seconds in, he saw Elias quietly walk out of a room.
Enrique barely slowed at first. Elias lived here. He could come and go as he pleased. There was nothing strange about that. Still, his eyes ling
