As Augustus stepped inside the house, the door creaking behind him, Florian exhaled slowly, his breath shallow and uneven.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he turned to Heinz, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. There was so much he wanted to say—so much he needed to—but the words felt like hot coals on his tongue.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice quieter than he intended, but firm nonetheless, "can we speak privately for a moment?"
Heinz regarded him with an arched brow, his expression unreadable in the dim light. There was a beat of silence, then a small nod. Without another word, Florian led him a few steps away from the ruined house, just far enough that the others wouldn't overhear.
'I don't think I could get used to the smell.'
The air here smelled of damp rot and decay, the very earth seeming to suffocate beneath its own curse.
