The morning sun cast a pale, unforgiving light through the high, arched windows of the Valemont study, offering no warmth to the heavy gloom inside.
Lucien sat rigidly behind his mahogany desk, his posture unyielding, though his eyes were hollow and bloodshot. He hadn't slept a wink. Every time he closed his eyes, the chaotic echoes of the previous night—the maid's shrieked accusation, Cassian's bold public kiss, and the sickening realization that Elian was gone—flashed behind his eyelids like jagged glass.
A silver tray sat untouched on the corner of his desk, the food growing completely cold. A steaming cup of black coffee had long since formed a thin, bitter skin across the top. Lucien hadn't touched a single bite. His stomach churned with a nauseating mix of stress, fury, and a hollow, consuming panic that he refused to name aloud.
"Elian..." he murmured under his breath, staring at his desk like it had all the answers he needed.
