Going upstairs, I picked one of the many rooms available. It was plain and modest—small, but functional. A single bed rested in one corner, its mattress rough and uninviting.
A wooden desk stood against the wall, its drawers slightly ajar, as if someone had gone through them not long ago. A single window let in the dim light from outside, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor.
There were no fans, no aether crystal-powered conveniences, nothing remotely close to luxury.
I dropped onto the bed, letting its stiff surface press against my back. A far cry from the heavenly, seductive, entrancing embrace of my own bed back home. My standards had risen.
But I didn't sleep.
This place was dangerous. The people even more so.
So, I simply lay there, eyes half-closed, waiting—for movement, for an attack, for anything.
Seconds crawled into minutes. Minutes stretched into hours.
Nothing.
Not a creak in the floorboards. Not a breath of movement beyond the walls.
