Chapter 43: From Dinner to Dungeon
Time passed as Marcus ate dinner with his new family. Nothing particularly important happened, aside from the occasional small talk and a few scattered questions about his first day at the academy. He navigated the conversation cautiously, dodging anything that edged too close to personal history. Every word felt like a test. Every smile, a performance.
By the time Marcus made it back to his room, the faint scent of roasted duck and lavender glaze still clung to his shirt—one more detail that felt too elegant for someone still pretending. He unbuttoned it slowly, the fabric softer than anything he'd worn before, expensive in a way that made him feel like a guest wearing someone else's clothes.
Dinner had been... strange. There was laughter, but it came in all the wrong places. Polite questions with answers he had to invent on the spot. Aveline had kicked him under the table twice—once for calling their father "sir," and again for accidentally saying "back home" like he'd lived somewhere else.
Nobody noticed the way he hesitated before calling their mother "Mom."
Marcus collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh, his limbs splayed out across the plush mattress.
"Man... I can't even count how many excuses I made up."
He stared at the ceiling, then muttered with a tired smirk:
"Well, when in Rome do what the Romans do."
A pause.
"Well... I think that's how you use that phrase?"
He chuckled softly, covering his eyes with the back of his hand as exhaustion crept in. The sheets were impossibly smooth—almost silk-like—and the pillows practically swallowed his head. It felt like sleeping on a cloud. Too comfortable, too unreal. Almost suspiciously so.