The air in Axel's apartment was thick with the scent of aged paper and ink. The small space was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from a desk lamp that flickered slightly. The table in front of him was a chaotic mess—books stacked high, their pages flipped open to various sections, old texts covered in dust, notes scribbled on loose sheets that were haphazardly scattered. The faint rustling of pages accompanied the steady tap of his fingers against the wooden surface, an unconscious rhythm that mirrored his restless thoughts.
He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten much either. His mind was consumed by one thing—Raelynn.
Or, more specifically, her pregnancy.
