The day seemed to blur past, much faster than Luke anticipated. His hands worked in a steady rhythm, faster and more efficient than usual. Every time his mind drifted to the grim possibilities—the attacks on Noirist towns, the Association of Schadenfreude—he pushed the thoughts aside and redoubled his focus on the task at hand. It was an unconscious effort to suppress the rising fear, the anxiety that gnawed at his core.
Shovelling, cleaning, feeding the wolves—it all became a way to escape the uneasy thoughts swirling in his head. The faster he moved, the more he hoped to bury his worries beneath sweat and muscle memory layers. But as efficient as he was, the worry clung to him, lurking just beneath the surface, refusing to be shaken off.
