The Lockwood Manor, once a haven of warmth and laughter, now echoed with a hollow silence. The storm that had raged outside mirrored the turmoil within. In the master bedroom, sunlight slanted through the ornately carved windows, illuminating Jacob slumped in a chair beside Michael's bed. His normally vibrant figure was a picture of exhaustion. Dark circles marred his face, and his usually windswept hair hung limply around his forehead.
Michael, pale and bandaged, stirred restlessly. The encounter with the Deucalion had taken a heavy toll on him. Despite the ministrations of Thomas, the old gnarly housekeeper, who bustled around the room changing sweat-dampened clothes and dispensing soothing teas, Michael's breaths came in shallow gasps.
"Easy there," Thomas soothed, his voice a steady rumble. "Just a little more rest, and you'll be back on your feet in no time."
