Luke hesitated momentarily outside the door, his hand hovering above the wood. He took a deep breath, gathering himself, before knocking gently.
"It's me, Luke," he called out, his voice soft but clear. "No one else."
He waited. Nothing.
A minute passed, and still no response came from within. His brow furrowed with concern. Surely, Ilyrana would have heard him. Was she ignoring him? Was she angry? A swirl of uneasy thoughts began to rise in his chest, and with a growing sense of urgency, he put his hand on the wooden handle.
He pushed the door open slowly, cautiously, as though afraid of disturbing whatever might lie behind it. The hinges creaked softly, and the door opened to reveal the dimly lit guest room. It wasn't pitch black—the faint light of the evening sky filtered through a narrow gap in the curtains, casting soft shadows across the space. Luke's eyes scanned the room quickly, his heart pounding, anticipating what he might find.
