Senna
He came late. Very late. And for nothing.
It was way past midnight when the knock came, soft but firm, on the infirmary door. I was still up, mixing a salve. My fingers paused over the mortar and pestle. Curiosity, a thing I sometimes tried to ignore, pricked at me. Who would come now? And for what?
I opened the door, just a crack at first. It was Caius.
He stood there, framed by the dim hall light. His face was usually sharp, but tonight it looked… softer? Tired, maybe. In his hand, he held the other one, a small stain of red on his palm.
"Problem?" I asked. My voice came out flat, professional. It was always professional when it came to him. Or at least, I tried for it to be.
"Cut my hand," he said. His voice was low, a rumble I could feel in my chest. "On a training post."
