Morning crept gently through the aged wooden slats of the inn's shutters, its golden rays pouring over the interior with a soft glow. A cool breeze filtered through the narrow gap beneath the window, carrying with it the scent of dew-kissed earth and warm bread from the kitchen below. Inside the modest guest room, Lucien lay undisturbed, his tall frame partially swaddled in the white linen sheets. His silver-white hair, tousled from sleep, fanned across the pillow like strands of moonlight. His face was peaceful, boyish even, unmarred by the concerns of the world.
Then, a knock.
It came gently at first, then again with a rhythm that was almost apologetic. The sound reached Lucien's dreaming mind like the first whisper of dawn. He stirred, slowly. A quiet yawn escaped his lips as he sat up halfway in bed, his back slouched and his legs still tucked beneath the covers. He rubbed his eyes sleepily with the back of one hand, blinking against the brightness as reality returned.
