THIRD POV.
The night was quiet and deep when Festus sat down again in his study. The old room smelled of smoke and dusty books. Papers and scrolls covered his desk, piled high in messy stacks. In the middle of the clutter lay one open journal, waiting for him to write.
His thoughts was still wandering around his discussion with Elisa the previous night, as he dipped his quill into the ink, the black liquid shining in the weak candlelight. The fire in the hearth was almost gone, leaving only faintly glowing embers that cracked softly.
Festus rubbed his tired eyes. He was used to silence, but tonight it felt different. There was something different about the silence tonight. Almost like the house was holding itself was asleep in ways Festus couldn't explain.
He lowered his quill to writ
