Fabian unconsciously pushed up his glasses as he looked out of the window beside the desk of a new inn room, studying the busy city below.
He watched as a group of guards came to surround the inn with serious expressions on their faces. It was clear as day who they had come for.
Azrael lay on one of the two small beds a few paces away from him, staring blankly at the ceiling in silence.
"It looks like she is about to leave." Fabian suddenly voiced, his eyes still fixed outside the window.
Azrael furrowed his brows on the bed, then let out a sigh. "I suppose, she is," he answered simply.
Fabian was forced to tear his gaze away from the view outside to face him. "You don't sound like you're just accepting of this, Milord," he told him. "Aren't you going to go after her?"
Azrael shot him a disbelieving sidelong glance. "Have you lost your mind?" he retorted. "That would make me look far too desperate."
