We sat together in a cozy living room that we were shown to and waited for Avery. The room was warmly lit, with soft, plush sofas and a fireplace crackling gently, casting a comforting glow. The shelves were lined with books and trinkets, and the air carried a faint scent of lavender, which added to the serene atmosphere.
I had received an urgent letter from Avery, written in a hurried, almost frantic script that conveyed the seriousness of the situation. Avery had mentioned that Sage was really sick and wanted to see me. The news had hit me hard, sending a wave of worry through me. I had dropped everything and came hurriedly, not like I had anything better to do, my mind racing with thoughts of Sage and memories of our time together.
As we waited, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia. The living room, with its inviting warmth, seemed to contrast sharply with the urgency of Avery's letter. My heart ached with the fear of what might come next.
