The door clicked shut, leaving Julian and Lucius in the quietness of their quarters.
They couldn't have asked for more, actually.
Julian helped Lucius out of his boots and sat him down at the table where a tray of food—mostly pale fruits, light broth, and white bread—had already been placed.
"Master," Lucius said, his voice small as he picked at a piece of bread. "Is every day going to be like this? Just walking and reading?"
Julian sat across from him, pouring a glass of water. "For the most part, yes. It's better this way, Lucius. The quieter we are, the faster the time will pass."
…
The next morning, the light hit the marble walls with such intensity that Julian woke up with a sharp headache. He missed the muted, grey dawns of the North, where the sun had to fight through the mist and the pines.
As Elian had promised, the knock on the door wasn't the Purifier's rhythmic, measured strike. It was a soft, hesitant tapping.
