Strax slept soundly.
It wasn't a light sleep, the kind that wakes you at the slightest noise; it was a complete, deep, almost absolute immersion, as if his body were finally demanding everything that had been demanded of it. His breathing was slow and steady, his chest rising and falling in a tranquil rhythm, devoid of any tension. There was something almost unusual about that calmness, as if, for the first time in a long time, he had simply… switched off.
The room was silent, illuminated only by a soft light filtering through the cracks in the window, drawing delicate lines on the furniture and on the bed itself. The atmosphere carried a feeling of rest that contrasted completely with the recent chaos.
And yet—
Not everyone was asleep.
On the other side of the room, an open wardrobe revealed a small, carefully organized mess, with fabrics scattered, different colors, pieces being examined and discarded with an attention that didn't match the resting scene at all.
