There was a knock on the door.
Berith sat on the edge of the bed, one boot half-laced, his fingers still at the laces. He didn't look up. "Enter."
The oak door creaked open, and Cassar stepped inside, the scent of morning snow clinging to the hem of his cloak. He smelled of pine smoke and the sharp sting of morning frost.
"You're up early," Cassar said, letting the door close behind him. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the untouched tray of breakfast. "Trouble sleeping? Or did the ghosts get loud again?"
Berith didn't bother with the pleasantries. He tugged the leather tighter around his calf, fastening the second boot. "You didn't come just to check on my sleep."
Cassar gave a dry, amused hum and wandered a few steps further in. "Still too clever for your age." he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You used to at least pretend to be surprised."
"I used to pretend a lot of things."
