The silence that settled within Rebeca's chambers was dense, almost palpable, broken only by the soft and gentle sound of her breathing.
After the avalanche of tension we had faced during the banquet and the meticulously calculated psychological clash that followed inside Lady Beatrice's office, crossing the threshold of that room felt equivalent to crossing the border of a battlefield.
The deep feather mattress, the perfectly arranged Egyptian linen sheets, and the muffled warmth trapped behind the heavy velvet curtains offered the only safe refuge in the entirety of the immense Fou Holfort Mansion.
I was lying on my back, my eyes fixed on the dark wooden beams decorating the high ceiling.
I could feel the weight of physical and mental exhaustion piling onto my shoulders like a suit of lead armor.
Beside me, Rebeca moved with soft slowness, as though she were still processing the events of the night.
