Chapter 78: The Companionless World, III
Chapter 78: The Companionless World, III
The drive was long and quiet.
Outside, the city gave way to a slow crawl of thinning trees and distant rooftops. Spring clung to the edges of landscapes—buds trembling on thin branches, grass half-awake and scattered with dew. The road curved gently through a corridor of soft gray sky and pale green growth.
Lucien sat with his elbow propped against the window, fingers resting at his temple, gaze fixed forward. His reflection moved faintly in the rain-misted glass—angular, unreadable. Light filtered through the clouds in long silver bands, washing the car's interior in a cold, sterile tone.
Julian sat beside him, posture composed but not as ease. His dark coat was sharply pressed, the lapel stitched clean. A navy tie knotted neatly at his collar, chosen for solemnity rather than flair. He adjusted it quietly with one hand, smoothing it down as if preparing for a conversation that hadn't begun.
The silence was not strained, but heavy. A silence with shape.
Julian cleared his throat lightly. "The west gate should be open... I made sure to call ahead."
Lucian gave a slight nod, eyes still forward.
Julian hesitated, then turned his gaze back to the road. Rain clung to the window in fine rivulets, gathering in the corners before trailing downward.
"I thought I should dress properly," Julian said after a moment. "I wasn't sure what would be..."
Lucien's voice came quiet and clipped. "It's fine."