Ren slept for hours. It was a deep, heavy sleep, the kind he hadn't experienced since the days before the Pierce Manor turned into a house of whispers and secrets.
When he finally opened his eyes, the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner.
The sharp scent of chili oil and garlic hit him instantly.
On the bedside table sat a white carton of noodles, steam still curling from the top. Beside it was a small, handwritten note in Cilian's elegant, sharp script: Still hot. Eat slowly.
Ren reached out, his hand much steadier than before. As he pulled the carton closer, he noticed a small silver object resting next to it. It was his old medical pager—the one he thought had been destroyed during the massacre. It was cleaned, polished, and fully functional.
