Northern exhaled heavily as he stepped onto the balcony. The tension inside had weighed on him like an anvil, and now, with each breath, it felt as if some of that weight had been lifted—though not entirely.
Regret crept in almost immediately. The words he'd spoken echoed in his mind, leaving a bitter taste behind.
The next moment, his steps faltered, and he frowned.
"What are you doing?"
Bairan stood beside him, arms folded, a dark expression settling over his features.
"What?" Northern asked, noticing something unusual. The Sword King carried an aura he didn't usually have.
Bairan had always been capable of coming across as cold and detached—his sharp features only reinforcing that impression. But with Northern, he had always been different, more direct and never unfeeling.
This time, however, something was different.
