Charles trudged through the clan's grounds, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black tunic, shoulders slouched.
The hallways were quieter than usual, with only a handful of clan members passing by, whispering among themselves.
His stomach let out a loud grrrumble, reminding him he hadn't eaten since leaving Lira's room, where he'd flat-out refused to touch her meat-and-rice dish out of sheer paranoia about being drugged again.
'Damn it,' Charles thought, rubbing his belly. 'I'm starving, but I'm not sure risking the dining hall is a smart move.'
Lira's words echoed in his head as he walked:
"At least for today, avoid training in public. You had a fight, Rian. Rest."
It had sounded more like an order than advice, but Charles couldn't help feeling a bit grateful.
Who wouldn't want a day off in a place where everyone seemed eager to punch or interrogate him?
The problem was, Charles had no clue what to do with all this free time.
