The footsteps came from upstairs, soft and unhurried, and they immediately pulled my attention away from the television. The sound was familiar—the particular weight of Kasteil's step, the way he moved through the house with an easy.
I looked up and saw Kasteil coming down the stairs.
He was moving slowly, still half-lost in the fog of sleep, one hand trailing along the banister as if he needed the support to keep himself upright.
His hair was a disaster—tangled and wild, sticking up in every direction like he had been caught in a windstorm. His eyes were heavy-lidded, still carrying the weight of dreams, and there was a soft, unguarded quality to his face that he only ever showed in these private moments.
