The chamber was quiet in the way that only old, thick walls could provide, shielding them from wind, distant footsteps, and the shifting bones of the house itself. A single lamp burned on the nightstand, casting honeyed light across the edge of the bed, where Lucas sat with his legs tucked beneath him and the tablet balanced against one thigh.
The comforter was pulled over his knees, the scent of warm soap still lingering on his skin. He'd taken a bath an hour ago, and his hair was mostly dry, with a slight curl around the edges. A bowl of ice cream sat on the nightstand beside him, slowly melting in the room's faint heat, half-finished because he'd become distracted while rereading the notes he'd made in the early months after waking up in this life.
