Salvar woke to the sound of adults talking somewhere outside the room. Voices overlapped faintly with Milo's louder interruptions and another quieter child answering occasionally.
Xavier.
There was laughter too, along with the clinking of ceramic utensils and the soft sounds of movement downstairs.
Domestic peace.
Which felt deeply offensive considering the current state of his life.
Salvar wondered who was in his house.
The room remained dark, faintly illuminated by the lamp in the corner. He had clearly slept for a long time.
Slowly, he lifted his head from the pillow and touched the wet towel resting across his forehead.
Cold.
The sensation spread through his fingers.
Someone had changed it recently.
He wanted to get up and go downstairs, but instead remained where he was, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The ceiling offered no opinions.
One arm rested bent across his chest while the other lay over the quilt. Salvar stayed motionless.
