Zafron descended the stairs slowly, his pants the only garment clinging to his body. He could still feel the faint traces of sweat cooling on his skin as he reached the bottom. The house was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes from the kitchen.
As he approached the kitchen, he saw Mara standing at the sink, her back to him. She was finishing up the last of the dishes, wiping the counter with a practiced efficiency. The sight of her, absorbed in her task, was a comforting one.
Mara turned as she heard Zafron's footsteps, her eyes widening slightly when she took in his disheveled appearance. "Zafron," she said, a note of surprise in her voice. "Didn't expect you to be up and about. Shouldn't you be resting?" She asked while her mind ventured straight to the enforcers that came visiting and the rumours she had overheard outside.
