Malin rushed into his room and quietly locked the door behind him. Only then did he let out a shaky breath, as though the walls themselves were finally shielding him from the storm outside. His hands went to his face, wiping away the last traces of tears. He moved slowly, as if weighed down by something invisible, and sat on the edge of the bed.
For the first time, his mind was silent—completely blank, like a page not yet touched by ink. He stared at one spot on the floor, unmoving. Time passed, unnoticed. Minutes bled into nearly an hour before he finally blinked and came back to himself.
Without saying a word, he rose and walked to the mirror. As he feared, the bruises were there—dark, ugly marks left by Lord Rhaegal's hand.
"Did I really cross the line?" Malin asked quietly, half-hoping the mirror would answer.
