The room felt too still.
Merlin sat there a moment longer, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
The hum of the rune-light above cast soft shadows across the walls. Warm, steady, artificial.
Eventually, he moved.
Not because he wanted to, but because the exhaustion coiled behind his eyes was beginning to press inward, too dense to ignore.
His limbs didn't ache as badly as they had that morning, but they still felt like they belonged to someone else. Someone heavier. Slower. Emptier.
He shifted carefully onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath him, firmer than what he was used to, but clean.
The pillow smelled like nothing.
The blanket was light, made of spell-woven fabric designed to regulate temperature.
He lay back.
Exhaled.
The ceiling above him stretched plain and white. One hairline crack ran along the left edge near the corner. No runes. No enchantments. Just stone and plaster.
