Luke made his way back to the guest room, the familiar path through the halls of Esbakan's main building now lit only by dim lanterns and moonlight streaming through high windows. The quiet of the evening felt almost suffocating, as if it pressed down on him, urging him to confront his tangled thoughts.
His hand reached for the door handle, ready to enter the room where Ilyrana was waiting. But just as his fingers brushed the still wooden handle, they froze. He stood there, hand hovering, staring at the door as if it were a barrier far more imposing than the solid wood it was made of.
For a moment, he thought he had made progress. He thought the conversation earlier, his honesty about not truly being a mage, had brought him and Ilyrana closer, bridging the distance that had always lingered between them. But now, in the stillness of the hallway, he realized the opposite might be true. Instead of closing the gap, their talk had unintentionally widened it.
