The soft flicker of candlelight danced along the walls of the common room as the group lounged in exhaustion. After the chaos of the mission board, the clash with Lord Davos, and the long road back to Arthalon, they all needed a moment to breathe. Their minds were still tangled in thoughts about the King Tier mission and the weight of what it meant. Everyone was talking, voices low but tense.
Marcus was sitting near the hearth, a flagon of water in one hand, leaning back like he was trying to relax. He hadn't said much since they arrived. At first, everyone assumed he was just tired—but then it started.
He jolted forward suddenly, gripping his chest.
"Ah... shit..." Marcus muttered through gritted teeth, the flagon dropping to the ground and rolling away unnoticed. His other hand reached to brace himself against the floor as his whole body trembled slightly.
"Marcus?" Sophia was the first to notice, getting to her feet. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer.
