'What is going on? What is going on...'
Florian exhaled sharply, his fingers curling against the hem of his cloak as he paced the confined space of their room. His heartbeat hadn't settled, his breath uneven as if his body itself refused to accept the reality before him. The eerie brightness outside, the chief's words, the time that had seemingly slipped between his fingers—it gnawed at him, whispering of something unnatural.
Heinz sat by the worn wooden table, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded neatly against his chest. He observed Florian with that ever-calm expression, golden eyes flickering with unreadable thoughts. His stillness was in stark contrast to Florian's restless energy, but that was always the case, wasn't it?
"You need to breathe," Heinz finally said, tone almost lazy, as if the weight suffocating Florian wasn't worth acknowledging.
